The Community of Friends and Strangers

Table of Contents

01. Between the Now and the Not Yet
02. Clueless in Jerusalem
03. Strange Friends, Intimate Strangers
04. A Welcoming Prayer

And yet, there is this truth that some who have welcomed the stranger—to their table, into their homes, into their conversations, into their awareness—have entertained angels without knowing it. Indeed, sometimes in welcoming the stranger they have welcomed Christ himself. I am thinking, in particular, of the two disciples who met Christ on the Emmaus road and would have missed the whole encounter if they had refused to welcome the stranger into their companionable walk, into their no-holds-barred conversation, into their village and, eventually, to their table.

Now I know that there are a lot of ways to define “stranger.” Some can be along the lines of immigration, those who are forced by economic realities to leave their own countries in search of a sustainable life, and those who live as outcasts right here in our own country due to poverty and economic struggle. Grappling with what it means to welcome these “strangers” is a true spiritual discipline. But sometimes focusing on those broader and more faraway issues can distract us from grappling with the issue of the more intimate strangers—those who are right here in our midst. Without minimizing the significance of the broader issues for our country and our world, I would like to focus in this article on the “normal” strangers, those who cross our paths more routinely and give us a chance day-in and day-out to welcome the stranger and, in so doing, welcome Christ himself.

01. Between the Now and the Not Yet

The story that I am referring to here begins with two distraught and dazed disciples traveling along the road to Emmaus. It was Sunday—the third day of the most traumatic weekend of their lives—and they were on a roller coaster of emotion. On Friday, they had witnessed the painful, humiliating and violent death of their beloved leader, teacher, and friend. On Saturday they sat with each other in utter despair. And now, on this day, some hope had been introduced into the situation. Some of the women and men in their group had visited the tomb in which their leader had been buried and they had found it empty. There was talk of resurrection, but it was too soon to tell if that had really happened or it was just a hoax of some sort. So not knowing what else to do, Cleopas and an unnamed disciple were now wandering home, trying to make sense of it all.

On this day they were suspended somewhere between loss and possible gain, grief and possible joy, profound human suffering and perhaps some kind of redemption, dashed hopes and maybe, just maybe daring to hope again. And there was nothing they could do about any of it. These disciples were rung out—emotionally, spiritually, and physically—and the road they were on was the road between the now and the not yet. They were in that liminal space between the life they had known (which had been ripped from them) and whatever was supposed to come next (but had not yet been given). This was an in-between time, a time for waiting; it was a time of intimate emotions and dangerous questions. Thank God they had each other! This was no time for strangers and yet, while they were discussing all these things that had happened, a stranger approached them and asked a simple question: What are you talking about as you walk along the road?

How rude! we might think. How socially inappropriate to walk up to two people who are having an intimate conversation and right out ask them what they are talking about! This is definitely the kind of strangeness I don’t like. Especially when I am hurting, the last thing I want to do is open up to someone I don’t know. And when I am in the midst of a private conversation with a close friend, the last thing I want to do is include someone neither one of us knows. It makes things awkward at best. At worst, it feels downright intrusive.

But Jesus had no qualms about drawing near and offering them the gift of simple presence. He invited them to share with him what was going on even though he, of all people, knew. Like most of us, these two disciples found it hard to try to tell a stranger about something that had impacted them so deeply; all they could do was stand still, mute with grief, looking sad. And this gracious stranger didn’t try to rush them out of their grief, didn’t force them beyond what they were able, didn’t try to manage the moment. He stood right there with them in their sadness, leaving the space open for them to experience all that they were feeling, giving them time to try to find the words.

03. Strange Friends, Intimate Strangers

This story raises an interesting question: Who is the stranger, really? Is it always the immigrant or the foreigner or the poor person on the street? Sometimes it is, to be sure, and finding ways to offer meaningful welcome to these “strangers” is a life-changing practice. But more often the stranger is simply that—someone who is strange to you for one reason or another. Someone who interrupts your normal relating patterns or intrudes upon your normal circle of friends. Someone who doesn’t fit or who seems to come out of nowhere or even just rubs you the wrong way. How do we welcome the stranger that comes to us that way? How can we be as receptive to Christ in them as those two despairing disciples were receptive to Christ on the Emmaus road? Here are a few thoughts from someone who, admittedly, is not very good at it.

First of all, we can choose to walk with the people God has given us to walk with on our own journey from the now to the not yet. We can choose to walk that path honestly—sharing the joy, the pain, the questions, the disillusionment and the waiting. And then, we can choose to welcome the stranger when he or she joins us on that road. For the purposes of spiritual journeying, perhaps we shouldn’t make too much of a distinction between friends and strangers; at any moment, a stranger can become a friend, or a friend can all of a sudden become someone who seems far away. It is not ours to know who God will use to help make sense of that which seems so senseless in our lives.

When you think about it, the little community that developed on the road to Emmaus was made up of two friends and a stranger who eventually became a friend. Neither of the friends who started out together had the missing piece of insight and information that would make sense of it all. Only the stranger could bring that. One never knows which stranger will have the insight or the perspective or the loving gesture that will strengthen the community we already have and unlock the meaning we are looking for.

And when the stranger comes, we can practice openness and receptivity. We can listen rather than fix, practice presence rather than problem-solving. Everything that ended up having so much meaning in that encounter on the Emmaus road began with Jesus’s ability to ask questions, to listen, and to leave space for what really needed to take place. In the community of friends and strangers, we can remember that “at times the strength of spiritual community lies in the love of people who refrain from getting caught in the trap of trying to fix everything for us, people who pray for us and allow us the pain of our wilderness and our wants, so that we can become more deeply grounded in God.”Rose Mary Dougherty, Group Spiritual Direction (New York: Paulist Press, 1995). This is the kind of presence all of us need the most and sometimes it is the stranger who teaches us how. When it comes to friends and strangers, don’t assume that you always know which is which. Even when life is painful and you can’t imagine sharing it with anyone, don’t withdraw. Instead, stay on the path together. Christ is recognized, after all, in moments as routine as sharing an evening meal.

And above all, we can pay attention. We can pay attention to those unlikely moments when, in the presence of a stranger, our hearts burn within us. And we can welcome whatever that moment brings. I learned this lesson first in the context of the spiritual direction training program I participated in years ago. It was a very intense program that required real vulnerability to God and to others in community and it required openness to much that was new for me. Going into it, I knew that the program included a small group component and I was quite concerned about who I would be placed with. As I walked into our first residency, it didn’t take long for me to become aware of who “the stranger” was for me. In the very earliest moments of our time together, as we went around the circle and introduced ourselves initially, I saw immediately that one of the women was somewhat peculiar and that impression only got worse over time. For one thing, she was way too forward—pushy, even—and had a tendency to move too close into one’s personal space. I did not like that. She said things that were inappropriate and socially awkward. It made me feel uncomfortable and nervous. There were certain aspects of self-care that were obviously missing for her and that really bothered me. On top of all that, she had lived her whole life as a cloistered nun, so I was convinced she would not be able to relate to my life as a married person, mother of three, on staff at a very large and very busy Protestant church. I really did not want to be in her group so, of course, we were put in the same small group.

Being in a small group with this “stranger” was hard the whole way along. I never did enjoy it or get comfortable with it, and two years is a long time. But wouldn’t you know, the most important, insightful thing that was said to me in the entire two years of being in that group was said by the stranger—the person I never did really like, the person I never did get used to, the person I resisted most of the time. Again, I am not proud of this. I am not proud of my resistance to her, my prejudices against her, and my intolerance of her “differentness.” But I can tell you that that situation changed me. Now I have never been able to look at a “stranger” without wondering, “Is this the person that God is going to speak to me through? Is this the person that is going to reveal Christ to me today?”

On a purely human level, I still don’t always like welcoming the stranger and it still doesn’t come naturally. But I do it because it is a practice that makes me a better person. It is a practice that opens me to the presence of Christ in the most unexpected places and that is something I don’t want to miss.

04. A Welcoming Prayer

Stay with us lord,
since the day is far spent
and the night is coming:
kindle our hearts on the way,
that we may recognize you in
the scriptures,
in the breaking of the bread,
and in each other.
as the poor widow welcomed
Elijah, let us be open
to the richness and
miracle in meeting.
as Abraham and Sarah
welcomed passing strangers,
let us entertain the possibility
of angels in disguise.
let our eyes be opened,
that we may recognize
in our neighbor,
the divine presence
of Christ.

Amen.Iona Abbey Worship Book (Glasgow, UK: Wild Goose Publications, 2001). Used with permission.

Footnotes

Ruth Haley Barton is founding president of the Transforming Center (www.thetransformingcenter.org), a ministry dedicated to caring for the souls of pastors and Christian leaders. A trained spiritual director (Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation), teacher, and retreat leader, she is the author of numerous books and resources on the spiritual life including Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership, Sacred Rhythms, and Invitation to Solitude and Silence.

Conversatio Divina