Deuteronomy 10:17-19; Hebrews 13:1-2
The curtain had just barely opened, and there were already tears in my eyes. I was perplexed by my own response: the opening act was a bunch of people in a coffee shop. Why would such an ordinary scene provoke such an emotional reaction?
As the play progressed, I began to understand. It was the ordinariness of the scene that led to my tears. I knew the plot: it was about ordinary people, people like you and me, doing something extraordinary.
On our vacation, Fran and I took our nephew Dave and his fiancee Devon to see a play in London’s West End. Come from Away is based on events that took place in the small Newfoundland town of Gander on September 11, 2001. In the wake of the terror attacks that day, the United States closed its airspace. Thirty-eight planes were diverted to an old airport just outside the town. Almost 7000 passengers, including 9 cats, 11 dogs and 2 endangered apes, were stranded–on their airplanes for the first 30 hours and then in Gander.
With no advance notice, the population of the town doubled. The residents brought supplies to the airplanes. They mobilized school buses–in spite of an ongoing strike–to bring the stranded passengers to town. They converted the high school into a shelter. They invited strangers into their homes. They stayed up all night cooking. They built friendships that have lasted for 18 years.
No wonder I teared up before the action even started. In a time when the whole world bore witness to our human capacity for cruelty and hate, what happened in Gander revealed our potential for generosity and kindness.
“Come from Away” is a powerful play. I can’t begin to do justice to all the layers of the plot. Instead, I will describe three scenes from the play, and with each, invite you to reflect on a question or two.
The first of these scenes is embedded in a song, entitled “Prayer,” which will be our pastoral prayer this morning. Among the stranded passengers is a rabbi. When word gets out that he is there, an elderly gentleman seeks him out to tell a story he has told no one. The man was born into a Jewish family in Poland before the second world war. As the anti-Semitism in Europe intensified, his family sent him to live in Newfoundland. “Never tell anyone you are Jewish,” they said to him. He never did, until that moment. “After what happened on Tuesday, so many stories gone, just like that,” he said, “I needed to tell someone.”
Out of a horrible circumstance, this man found a connection with a stranger and the courage to claim his truth.
We all have stories. Some of them we tell over and over again–stories that shape our public identity. Others we hold deep inside us, stories that reflect hidden truths about who we are, stories that feel too risky to share. Do you have a story you hold inside, a story that reveals truth about who you are? Is it time to speak it aloud?
***
The second scene happens toward the end of the play. The stress of three days of uncertainty is taking its toll. Recognizing the distress of dislocation, wanting to acknowledge the powerful connections made between visitors and residents, the mayor of Gander creates an initiation ceremony and invites the stranded passengers to become honorary Newfie’s.
Everyone–residents and visitors alike–is surprised. They whisper to each other, “I thought the only way to be a Newfie is for your family to be here three or four generations.” These, though, are extraordinary circumstances, and the residents quickly warm to the idea. The people from the planes have different responses: a few just want to get out of there, get home and forget this happened. Others leap at the opportunity, yearning for some way to claim this place as home.
The ceremony involves kissing a fish, dancing a jig, and screeching like an owl. In spite of the silliness, it is a deeply moving moment, one that touches our human yearning to belong, our human need to feel a sense of home.
How does this scene touch your heart, your own yearning for a sense of home? What does it mean to you to belong?
***
The third scene reflects the struggle of passengers to make sense of the residents’ generosity. Some respond with suspicion: why are these strangers helping me? What do they want from me? Others are filled with gratitude. In this sort scene, a stranded passenger, perhaps out of some combination of suspicion and gratitude, tries to pay for what he has received. His host refuses. “You’d do the same for us,” she says.
Her words ring in my ears. They challenge me–challenge all of us– to ask ourselves the question: Would I? Would we? Would we turn our lives upside down to welcome strangers?
Our scriptures call us to take that question a step further. This play is about ordinary people acting with extraordinary generosity for three long, exhausting, days. Our faith challenges us to be ordinary people acting with extraordinary generosity not for three days but throughout our daily lives. Our reading from Deuteronomy urges us to remember the times we have been strangers, and to extend to others the hospitality we ourselves have needed. Our epistle promises that when we do, we will be blessed with angels who will enrich our lives. Jesus calls us to be part of a new kind of community, a kin-dom of God that turns strangers into siblings.
The question stirred by the play becomes even more challenging in the context of our faith. Would we–do we–turn our lives upside down to offer hospitality to strangers in need? The answer, for most of us, is a firm “it depends.” Sometimes we do. Other times, we are focused on our own very real needs and plans.
Our response depends on many factors: whether we feel the security that comes from being part of a community, whether we have cultivated habits of giving throughout our lives, whether we are aware of all the ways we have received from others, whether we experience life through a lens of scarcity or abundance.
The question I invite you to ask from this third scene is not, “Would I do as the people of Gander did?” Instead, I invite you to ponder what you need in your life so you are able to be an ordinary person who acts with extraordinary generosity.
***
Three scenes from a play. Three questions to ponder: Is it time to share the story you hold close to your heart? What does it mean for you to belong? What do you need in order to live the biblical call to extend hospitality to strangers?
May your pondering be rich and enlightening. Amen.