From - 'Seasons of the Word' (Fr. Denis McBride C.Ss.R.)

Not one of us
In today’s first reading we hear how the people of Israel were expected to treat the stranger: “You must not molest the stranger or oppress him, for you lived as strangers in the land of Egypt.” The Israelites had themselves been poor and strangers, and just as God had taken pity on them so they were to take pity on outsiders. They were commanded: “If a stranger lives with you in your land, do not molest him. You must count him as one of your own countrymen and love him as yourself – for you were once strangers yourselves in Egypt. I am the Lord your God” (Leviticus19:33-34).

The Israelites were commanded to love the strangers as they loved themselves. The reason for this was no further than their own experience: they were to look into their own heart and remember the time when they were the outsiders, when they were out of their element. Loving the stranger was something that had to be done because that was what God did: “It is he who sees justice done for the orphan andthe widow, who loves the stranger and gives him food and clothing. Love the stranger then, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy10:18-19).

Hospitality
Strangers ceased feeling estranged whenthey were offered hospitality. Not surprisingly, hospitality came to be regarded as one of the primary virtues. Especially for a nomadic people, hospitality could be a matter of life and death: travellers depended for their survival on the hospitality of strangers. The stranger, the wayfarer, the outsider, the shadow figure, anyone outside his or her home territory or natural space, was regarded as someone deserving special care. If the host was an enemy of the stranger, the act of hospitality was seen as a sign of reconciliation. When accepted, the guest was sacred and given the full protection of the host. In response, the guest honoured the customs of the house.

In the tradition of Israel the simple questions which we ask to unmask the stranger (Who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you here?) were reserved for the time after hospitality had been offered and accepted, and the guest had bathed and rested and been fed. Guests were allowed to wear the mask of the stranger until they had experienced the courtesies of hospitality. In that atmosphere they then revealed themselves. That tradition can be seen in the ancient Welsh greeting:

Hail guest, we ask not what thou art:
If friend, we greet thee, hand and heart;
If stranger, such no longer be;
If foe, our love shall conquer thee.

The love that conquers
In the Gospel Jesus speaks of the conquering power of love when he tells his followers, “You must love your neighbour as yourself.” As the Israelites were asked to love the stranger as themselves, so Christians are asked to love their neighbours. The ultimate offer of hospitality is the offer of love. Often the real stranger is not the person we don’t know but the person we don’t want to know, the person we refuse to love. That person could be a neighbour or a member of our own family. We can all have strangers in our own house, still waiting to be welcomed and loved.

We are often scared to take people in because we are afraid of being taken in ourselves. We don’t want to be duped, taken for a ride. Hospitality, like everything else, has a price. Jesus knew that when he opened up his heart to receive people: after a while the reception room begins to look like an emergency ward. People make demands on you; they bleed you. But remaining secure behind our locked doors has its own penalty: people die from being unvisited, people die behind locked doors and locked hearts, from caring only for themselves. We all need strangers and neighbours to test the quality of our mercy. When we respond, we have the assurance that we minister to Christ: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Christ still comes to us not only in the forms of bread and wine but in the form of the stranger seeking welcome. That is Gospel.