Matthew 10:1-42 · Jesus Sends Out the Twelve
What's Your Hospitality Quotient?
Matthew 10:1-42
Sermon
by King Duncan
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A certain county agent had to go to a farm in his jurisdiction to talk with the farmer about a matter of county business. Walking up the dirt road leading to the farm, he encountered signs that read things like: “Trespassers will be shot,” “Beware of Dog,” “Keep Out . . . This Means You!” Finally arriving at the door, he was greeted by a smiling, congenial farmer.

When the county agent was ready to leave, the farmer said to him, “Come and see me again sometime. I don’t get many visitors up this way.”

Well, no wonder. The entrance to his farm did not indicate that the visitor would be greeted with much in the way of warm hospitality. Only a very determined person would make the effort in the first place.

In his book Leaving Home, Garrison Keillor tells about a church that split into two fac­tions over some minor points of doctrine. One dispute had to do with showing hospitality in this case, whether or not it was right to show hospitality to those in error concerning church doctrine. They called this dispute, interestingly enough, the “Cup of Cold Water” debate.

One of the leaders of the church, Uncle Al decided to try to make peace between the warring fac­tions. He chose Brother Fields to help him. Brother Fields had never shown hospitality to anyone, whether they were in error or not, so he seemed perfect for the task.

They all arrived one Sunday for Aunt Flo’s famous fried chicken. The grace before the meal posed a problem. Church members were sometimes known to use prayer to beat other people over the head, so Uncle Al suggested a silent prayer. This was an excellent idea except that it soon turned into a contest to see who could pray the longest. Brother Miller, leader of one faction, snuck a glance at Brother Johnson, leader of the other faction. Brother Johnson showed no sign that he was done with his prayer, so Brother Miller dove back down for some more prayer, too. No one would come up for air, because it might look as if they wanted to eat more than they wanted to pray. It was becoming the longest table grace in history. It ground on and on and on.

Then without waiting for the men to finish their contest, good, practical Aunt Flo slid her chair back, rose, went to the kitchen, and brought out the food that they were both competing to see who could be the most thank­ful for. Tears streamed down Brother Johnson’s face; Brother Miller was weeping, too. The smell of fried chicken and gravy caused their hearts to melt. They raised their heads and filled their plates and slowly made peace over that glorious chicken. (1)

The cup of cold water debate: Should you show hospitality to someone whose doctrine is not sound? Here is the verse they were fighting over. “And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward” (Matthew 10:42).

Let’s begin by dealing with the “cup of cold water.” Jesus taught that we are to be hospitable to strangers.

In that far-off time, people practiced hospitality as a virtue. The stranger was like a brother or sister. The visitor had a place of honor. Water was not easy to obtain. In rural areas there was no access to running water and especially cold, running water. Women usually carried large jars on their heads to the well twice a day; once early in the morning and again in the evening. There was no refrigeration, so cold water would not stay that cold for very long. To give a cup of cold water was a luxury. It would indicate a high level of Mid-eastern hospitality.

We talk in our land about “Southern hospitality,” but Mid-eastern hospitality puts Southern hospitality to shame.

An American journalist named Afshin Molavi traveled through Iran a couple of years ago gathering information for a magazine article on the changes that are sweeping that country. The fear of terrorism causes us to view Iranians with suspicion, but Molavi reports that the Iranian people he met were gracious and welcoming.

The Iranians are famous for their hospitality to strangers. When Molavi mentioned to his taxi driver that he would love a cup of the fresh pomegranate juice sold by local street vendors, the driver sped him to the nearest juice stand and insisted on buying him a cup. The juice vendor, recognizing that Molavi was a visitor to his country, insisted on paying for the juice himself. So for the next few minutes, Molavi, the juice vendor, and the taxi driver all had a friendly argument over who would have the pleasure of buying his pomegranate juice. (2) Visitors to that part of the world report that demonstrations of such hospitality to strangers are not rare.

It was Jesus’ expectation that his disciples should be hospitable. “And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.”

Some years ago, Sam Foss, a writer and traveler, came to a little rustic house in England situated at the top of a hill. Nearby was a signpost that read: “Help yourself to a cool drink.” Not far away he found a spring of ice-cold water. Above the spring hung an old-fashioned gourd dipper, and on a bench nearby was a basket of summer apples and another sign inviting the passerby to help themselves. Curious about the people who showed such hospitality to strangers, Foss knocked at the door. An elderly couple answered, and Foss asked them about the well and the apples. They explained that they were childless. Their little plot of ground yielded a scant living, but because they had a well with an abundance of cold water, they just wanted to share it with anyone who happened by. “We’re too poor to give money to charity,” said the husband, “but we thought that in this way we could do something for the folks who pass our way.” (3)

That’s the kind of hospitality Christ had in mind. It’s a simple thing, “a cup of cold water,” but more rare than you might think.

Not long ago a couple visited a church, a large and prosperous church, for the first time. As they walked down a corridor they smiled at a number of people, but no one smiled back. In fact, no one greeted them. Everyone was preoccupied with something else herding the choir and the acolytes into place, getting business attended to about the upcoming bazaar, and depositing children into Sunday school.

When the couple entered the sanctuary, an usher in the back handed them a bulletin. All the time the usher was engaged in earnest conversation with someone else, his face turned away from the visiting strangers. Afterward, the couple agreed the congregation was simply too preoccupied with other matters to engage in the simple act of hospitality. (4)

What a way to treat visitors! Could such a thing happen in our congregation? Yes, it could happen anywhere, if we are not pro-active about welcoming the stranger. That’s the first thing we need to see from this text: Jesus taught us that we are to be hospitable to strangers.

In fact, showing kindness to strangers is what the Gospel is all about. We need to keep reminding ourselves of that. It’s not about us; it’s about them! Jesus is glad for the ninety and nine sheep that are gathered in the fold, but it is the one lost sheep that has wandered astray that causes heaven to rejoice when it is found. Jesus came into this world in behalf of strangers not home folks, but strangers. Not for the well, but for the sick. Not for the found, but for the lost.

“And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones . . .” When Jesus refers to the “little ones,” he is referring to those who are most needy, those who are most vulnerable, those who have no other advocate. This is not a country club, but a hospital. This is not a shrine, but a lighthouse beckoning to those whose lives are about to run onto the rocks, those who need to know that they are loved, accepted, forgiven.

The Russian author Leo Tolstoy once wrote a story about a shoemaker who was making his way home one night when he found a poor man shivering and poorly clad. Moved by pity, the shoemaker took the man home. His wife was not pleased. She complained about the cost of feeding another mouth. As she continued to complain, the stranger grew smaller and smaller, shriveled and wrinkled with every unkind word. But when she spoke kindly to the stranger and gave him food, he grew and became more beautiful. The reason was that the stranger was an angel from heaven in human form and could live only in an atmosphere of kindness and love. (5)

The writer of Hebrews tells us that we are to be hospitable to “strangers for thereby, some have entertained angels unawares” (Hebrews 13:2).

A man was being entertained by the president of a small college in the South. The school had limited guest facilities, so the head of the institution offered the man his apartment.

“I woke up early the next morning,” the visitor said, “when I heard someone tiptoe into my room. I lay there quietly with my eyes open just a slit to see who it was. To my surprise the president of the college walked in, picked up my dirty boots, and walked out. I got out of bed, opened the door a crack, and watched him take them to the adjoining hallway. Then he got down on the floor and began polishing them. I could have cried at the sight. His hospitality and thoughtfulness showed me what a great man he was. Some years after that, he rose to national prominence. Because of his complete humility, God elevated him to a higher position.” (6)

Jesus taught that we are to be hospitable to strangers. We are here to serve, not to be served. Showing kindness to strangers especially those who are in need, those who are hurting, those who are lost and without any other hope is what the gospel is all about.

The reason we are to do this is that we were once strangers ourselves. “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us . . .” (Romans 5:8) When we reach out to a stranger with the love of Christ, we are doing no more than what Christ once did in our behalf.

Pastor Ray Osborne tells about a woman named Pauline who attended a small inner‑city church in Dayton, Ohio. She was, according to Osborne, “damaged goods.”

Pauline lived in a sheltered community just down the street from the church. She became a real test of the Christian hospitality of that congregation. She smelled of urine and sweat, often slipping away on Sundays from her shelter before the caretakers could give her a bath. There were those in the church who wished she would have kept walking by their building. But she showed up for worship almost every Sunday.

You could tell by Pauline’s loud voice when she had entered the building. She sat near the front, so no one could miss her in her knit cap and grubby, heavy overcoat. Some made sure they did not sit near her, not wanting to catch the odor that emanated from her clothing and her body. But there were many in the church who were glad of Pauline’s presence. Fortunately, they were those serving on the governing body of the church. One of them, a wise old elder, often said, “Pauline is Christ’s gift to us.” He meant it, in the sense that Pauline was the kind of person to whom Christ reached out, and to whom he calls his church as his Body to reach out. With Pauline present they could never forget this call. This elder was always one of the first to greet Pauline with welcoming words and a handshake.

Pauline often tried the patience of the people of the little church, even that of the elder who was her friend. She stayed for the coffee hour which followed church, sometimes interrupting people’s conversations. Although she was a diabetic, she stuffed her coat pockets with cookies and cakes. One member, concerned for her health, often tried to guide her to the fruit which she had brought to church just for Pauline.

On many a Sunday Pauline would say, “I want to lead the singing. I want to sing a song in church.” She usually was put off with a “some day.” But “some day,” did come around, and a couple of times a year Pauline was allowed to sing in church. It was always the same hymn. “My Jesus, I Love Thee.” Her voice was not the greatest, but her sincerity could not be denied. The second verse took on new meaning for many who heard her: “I love Thee, because Thou hast first loved me . . . If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.” She was indeed Christ’s gift to a church, a church which had learned what “giving even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones” means through this humble woman. (7)

“I love Thee, because Thou hast first loved me . . . If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.” We were once strangers. That’s the Gospel. While we were yet sinners Christ died for us. And the way we show love for Christ is by reaching out to Christ’s little ones.

That’s who we are and what we’re about. Kindness to the visitor. Generosity to the down and out. “And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.”


1. Cited in John Ortberg, Everybody’s Normal Until You Get to Know Them (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2003).

2. “Second Thoughts,” by Carey Winfrey, Smithsonian, March 2005 p. 8.

3. Donald E. and Vesta W. Mansell, Sure As The Dawn (Review & Herald Publishing Association, 1993).

4. http://www.episcopalchurch.org/sermons_that_work_79570_ENG_HTM.htm

5. Fulton J. Sheen, The Power of Love (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1964).

6. Insights, 8-30-98, http://lincolnnet.net/users/lfhlc/http/sermon20040829.htm.

7. http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Ridge/3898/ord13A.html

ChristianGlobe Networks, Inc., Dynamic Preaching Second Quarter Sermons 2008, by King Duncan