The Son of Man Came Eating and Drinking

Part 3 of the series “Hospitality & Revival.”

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This post is part of a series on Hospitality & Revival. Part one “Invisible Barriers and the Hospitality of God” traced the theme of God’s hospitality to us from creation to new creation, and the Western Church’s disadvantage in separating evangelism and hospitality. Part two of this series, “Hospitality and Resurrection,” followed the interwoven motifs of hospitality, covenant, and resurrection in the lives of Abraham, Lot, Elijah, and Elisha.

“I’m so sorry, I am going to have to cancel the next semester of Arabic classes. My organization has called me to join a team in Syria as soon as possible. I am actually leaving the country tomorrow if I can pack my house quickly enough,” I sheepishly explained in broken Arabic.

My beloved teacher’s face was a mixture of concern and sadness. She herself was Syrian, married to a Jordanian pastor, and lived in a small city in the west of Jordan. She didn’t speak a word of English, which made her one of the best language instructors I’ve ever had. She also treated me as a surrogate daughter, bringing me to church, teaching me to cook local dishes, and passing on the proprieties that a polite young lady ought to know. To leave her so suddenly broke my heart when I thought I would have years and years in her company.

Her brow knit slightly as if something had just occurred to her. “Will you be working with children?”

“I believe I will,” I answered, unsure why she asked me this.

She rose to her feet and walked to a bookshelf filled with her books used for teaching, many of them children’s books whose more straightforward vocabulary was at the reading level of the adults struggling to understand this complex language. Her eyes scanned the shelf, and then she decisively pulled out “الجار الصالح,” a picture book on the story of the Good Samaritan. She handed the gift to me, saying, “For the children in Syria.”

Days later, as I prepared to cross the border from Israel into Syria in the half-light of dawn, I saw soldiers glancing my way with raised eyebrows. I self-consciously realized that I had packed my backpack to the absolute limit. Still, I justified the impracticality because of my precious cargo: books, Bibles, and toys for the children I was about to meet.

“What have you got in there?” Asked an IDF officer as he tapped the bag bulging at the seams. He had just walked me through the security procedures involved in crossing that international border and was a bit gruff at my less-than-efficient choice to travel heavy.

“A lot of books,” I said with a half-smile, half-shrug.

“You’re bringing books into an active war zone?” He couldn’t hide his incredulity. How frivolous!

“One of the books is called ‘الجار الصالح،’” I added, trying to defend myself. “Do you know what it means?”

“No.”

“This project to bring Syrian civilians medical aid, what do you call it?” I asked, gesturing to the soldiers with their eyes fixed towards the east, lined up with guns peeking over the trench, to the massive metal gate separating Israel from Syria, and to the crates of aid accompanying me across the border.

“שכנות טובה. Operation Good Neighbor,” he answered.

“Jesus told this story in answer to a question, ‘Who is my neighbor?’ That is was this book is about: what true neighborliness is and the kind of compassion that pleases God.”

At this explanation, the man’s eyes softened as he nodded, and no one teased me about my massive backpack anymore.

While working in the Operation Good Neighbor clinic, I would often be asked to entertain the children who accompanied their mothers for checkups. Many of these children had never been to school, as the Syrian civil war was older than they were. Many were profoundly traumatized, having lived through near-constant bombardment and battles, losing family and friends. Despite all this, they would sit still and listen to the foreigner with an American accent read Bible stories in Arabic to them, especially the story of the Good Samaritan.

A particularly thoughtful boy once questioned me carefully on the story’s details. Who was the man beaten to the point of death? Was he Jewish?

“Yes,” I answered him slowly, unsure where his questions were leading.

“And the Samaritan—he was Palestinian?”

This set my mind whirling. Some modern-day Samaritans do live in the West Bank and speak Arabic. If you want to take the same route where the Jewish man of Jesus’ story was ambushed, you would be deep into the modern-day Palestinian Territory.¹The West Bank overlaps the regions of biblical Judea and Samaria. Other Samaritans, however, live in Israel and speak Hebrew. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel considers the Samaritans a Jewish sect, but not Halakhic Jews.²That is, not having legal status as Jewish. Calling the Samaritan man Palestinian would not be a perfect analogy, but it wasn’t completely far-fetched.

“He lived in the same place the Palestinians live today,” I ventured. “And his people and the Jewish people did not like each other.”

This answer was good enough for the curious boy. But his final question, in its simplicity, I continue to ponder in my heart. “Is what the Samaritan did, taking care of the Jewish man, the reason you are here?”

I stared at the young boy, startled by his connection. Behind him, boxes of supplies stamped with “Operation Good Neighbor” were piled high. Syria has been in perpetual war with Israel since Israel’s establishment in 1948, and the countries have zero diplomatic relations. From a young age, Syrian children are taught that two entities hate them more than any others: Israel and the Christian West. And yet, when these Syrians were at war with the Assad regime, they felt utterly abandoned by the broader Arab world. Shockingly, the people who showed up to their little village to bring food and medical relief were from the very people they believed were their greatest enemies. The story of the Good Samaritan hit closer to home than I ever could have imagined.

Perhaps the boy’s question wasn’t considering these local geopolitics, but its cutting clarity was no less profound. Jesus taught the parable of the Good Samaritan ultimately in reply to a question on how to obtain eternal life by unpacking the definition of a neighbor.³Luke 10:25 God holds hospitality to those in need higher priority than other worthy and pressing considerations, such as prayer or temple service.⁴Luke 10:31–32 As the apostle James so aptly puts it, “If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,’ you are doing right.”⁵James 2:8 Here we might add the word of Jesus in response to this commandment, “Do this, and you will live.”⁶Luke 10:28

I answered the boy’s question about whether Jesus’ story of the Good Neighbor was why I was in rebel-held Syria, in the middle of a brutal war, trying to serve a people completely unrelated to me. My answer was simple and quiet, partially because of my incompetence with the language, partly because I understood how far I fell short daily from loving my neighbor as myself.

“Yes.”

A Generous Genealogy

The parable of the Good Samaritan was just one of many teachings that Jesus gave on true neighborliness. But the prevalence of these sermons on hospitality shouldn’t surprise us, especially when considering Jesus’ heritage.

When the gospel writer Matthew begins his account of the life of Jesus, he builds the foundation of his narrative in the family line of Jesus, the son of David, the son of Abraham.⁷Matthew 1:1

Abraham entertained angels and believed in the covenant promises of God. David, in his zeal to build God a house, had his household given a prophetic word of everlasting kingship. So far, so hospitable. But other surprisingly familiar names jump out as the gospel writer elaborates with a more detailed genealogy.

Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute, is tucked in between the generations after Abraham and those before David. A Gentile citizen of Jericho⁸Yes, the same city that was the destination of the Jewish man in the Good Samaritan story. She wouldn’t be an obvious choice to mention, especially as few other mothers are even listed. However, a closer look at her story might shed some light on Matthew’s decision to include her especially.

When Joshua gathered information on the promised land the children of Israel were about to conquer, he sent two spies into the prosperous city of Jericho. These two men took a room in Rahab’s house. Their presence did not go unnoticed, and soon word reached the King of Jericho that there were spies in the city. The King sent word to Rahab, telling her to give her guests over to him so that justice could be meted out. But Rahab hid the two men and sent this message to the King, “True, the men came to me, but I did not know where they were from. And when the gate was about to be closed at dark, the men went out. I do not know where the men went. Pursue them quickly, for you will overtake them.”⁹Joshua 2:4–5 Acting on this false information, the King sent men to pursue the Hebrew men, but the spies remained hidden on Rahab’s roof, under stalks of flax.

It was not just the bonds of hospitality that caused Rahab to act this way. As the men were covering themselves under the flax, she gave them a full explanation as to why she was helping them.

“I know that the LORD has given you the land, and that the fear of you has fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land melt away before you. For we have heard how the LORD dried up the water of the Red Sea before you when you came out of Egypt, and what you did to the two kings of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan, to Sihon and Og, whom you devoted to destruction. And as soon as we heard it, our hearts melted, and there was no spirit left in any man because of you, for the LORD your God, he is God in the heavens above and on the earth beneath. Now then, please swear to me by the LORD that, as I have dealt kindly with you, you also will deal kindly with my father’s house, and give me a sure sign that you will save alive my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them, and deliver our lives from death.”

Joshua 2:9-13

Rahab fears the God of Israel, who she names the “God in the heavens above and the earth beneath.” She also asks the spies to swear to her household’s safety in the covenant name of the Lord, YHWH.¹⁰This name is distinguished in the English text by LORD in block capital letters. Rahab believes God’s covenant promises to his covenant people, and it is credited to her as righteousness. The outworking of this belief is her hospitality to the spies, who answer her startling declaration with, “Our life for yours even to death! If you do not tell this business of ours, then when the LORD gives us the land we will deal kindly and faithfully with you.”¹¹Joshua 2:14 They agree that the signal to mark out Rahab’s house as exempt from destruction will be to hang a scarlet cord in her window.

When the coast is clear, she lets down a rope from her roof on the city’s walls, and both men safely escape. They return later with Joshua leading the Israelite army and hem in Jericho on all sides. Instead of attacking the walled city directly, the Israelites marched around Jericho with processions of priests blowing shofars for six days. On the seventh day, they circled Jericho seven times. The trumpets blasted, the people of Israel shouted, and the walls came tumbling down.

With Jericho’s defenses routed, Joshua instructed the people of Israel to raze Jericho to the ground. Before the complete devastation was carried out, the two young men who had stayed with Rahab as they spied out the land ran to her house marked by the scarlet cord and brought out her father and mother and brothers, all who belonged to her, and settled them safely outside of the camp of Israel.

“And she has lived in Israel to this day,” summarized the writer of Joshua, “because she hid the messengers whom Joshua sent to spy out Jericho.”¹²Joshua 6:25 The writer of Hebrews gives a similar summation of Rahab’s righteousness but highlights the friendliness of her sheltering. “By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had given a friendly welcome to the spies.”¹³Hebrews 11:31 James gives a similar exhortation from the life of Rahab with his characteristic focus on works as the inevitable result of sincere faith, saying, “And in the same way was not also Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way?”¹⁴James 2:25

Rahab was indeed brought into the land of Israel, and she married a Judahite named Salmon. In due time, she had a son named Boaz.

Boaz must have inherited his mother’s generous heart because he showed kindness and protection to Ruth, a vulnerable young Moabite widow who started to glean in his fields outside of Bethlehem. Now, Moabites were treated with suspicion, not least because of their lack of hospitality to Israel. Indeed, the law of Moses states, “No Ammonite or Moabite may enter the assembly of the LORD. Even to the tenth generation, none of them may enter the assembly of the LORD forever, because they did not meet you with bread and with water on the way, when you came out of Egypt, and because they hired against you Balaam the son of Beor from Pethor of Mesopotamia, to curse you.”¹⁵Deuteronomy 23:3-4

Ruth, however, seemed to act in the opposite spirit of her ancestors. Rather than cursing Israel, she famously declares to her mother-in-law Naomi, “Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the LORD do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you.”¹⁶Ruth 1:16-17 Ruth works in Boaz’s fields to support Naomi, and Naomi realizes that Boaz is a kinsman redeemer, meaning he can marry Ruth and father a child in the name of Naomi’s dead son. Naomi strategizes to bring this match about and instructs Ruth to put Boaz in a somewhat compromising position, presumably to force him to a course of action.

Ruth is too kind-hearted and honest to go so far as to deceive or manipulate Boaz, however. When he asks her who she is when he meets her on the dark threshing floor, she answers simply, “I am Ruth.” She then adds, “Spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer.”¹⁷Ruth 3:9 Ruth came under the shelter and hospitality of the God of Israel and Boaz, her husband, despite her Moabite background.

Like his father Salmon, Boaz took a Gentile wife who had pledged her loyalty to the God of Israel and sheltered her under the shadow of his wings. The hospitality, friendship, obedience, and faithfulness were markers of Rahab’s, Boaz’s, and Ruth’s righteousness, and all were found worthy of being listed in the genealogy of Jesus himself.

Tabernacling Among Us: Hosting Jesus

Matthew is not alone among the gospel writers in introducing the theme of hospitality early. In the opening chapter of his gospel account, John describes the great irony of the creator, on whom the world’s existence depends, being unrecognized and rejected when he came to his very homeland.¹⁸John 1:10–12 However, those who did welcome him were then received into God’s household as beloved children and heirs.¹⁹John 1:12–13

Jesus is a host to us in creation. We are host to him while he tabernacles among us. Then he hosts us again by adopting and bringing us home.²⁰ See John 1:14.²¹ σκηνόω is often translated into “dwelt” rather than the more technical “tabernacled” in John 1:14. However, the Greek Septuagint version uses a noun form of the same word to translate the “Tabernacle,” the אהל מועד, ohel moed in Hebrew, for those following along with our moed thread in this series. This pattern of God interchanging the role of host and guest plays out many times in the gospels.

For a good example, let us return to the city of Jericho. Jesus is walking through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem, surrounded by a curious crowd. As Jesus passed a sycamore tree, he saw a short man sitting up in the branches, excitedly trying to catch a glimpse of Jesus as he walked by. As their eyes met, Jesus called out to the man by name, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.”²²Luke 19:5

Overjoyed and giddy with the honor of hosting Jesus, Zacchaeus scrambles down the tree to lead Jesus back to his home.

The crowds witnessing this interaction are less impressed. Despite Jesus’ miraculous knowledge of Zacchaeus’ name, they feel they can judge Zacchaeus’ worthiness as a host better than Jesus. Was not the man a notoriously corrupt tax collector who shamelessly lined his pockets while filling Rome’s coffers at his neighbors’ expense? “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner,” they grumbled.²³Luke 19:7

Zacchaeus is all too aware of his shortcomings and his lack of worthiness to host the Lord. But a profound transformation took place in his Lord’s acceptance of him. He says to Jesus in the hearing of the crowd, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.”²⁴Luke 19:8

Eyes shining with approval at the sincere and repentant man in front of him, Jesus says to Zacchaeus, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”²⁵Luke 19:9-10

The complaints of the crowd of Jericho were to echo many times across Galilee and Judea.²⁶ See Matthew 9:10–13; Luke 7:36–39. The repetition was summarized by Jesus in Matthew 11:19, “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds.”

Indeed, profound wisdom flowed out of Jesus in response to this accusation that he accepted the hospitality of sinners. In Luke 15, when yet again the grumbling that he was eating with sinners reached his ears, Jesus recounted three of his most famous parables: the parable of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. At the end of each story, there is a party when the missing beloved thing is found.

Take, Eat: Jesus as Host

While Jesus often played the part of guest among the generous hearts that received him, he sometimes subverted his role by switching to the position of host.

At a wedding in Cana, Jesus, his mother, and his disciples attended as guests. Early on in the festivities, the wine ran out. This disastrous news reached Jesus’ mother, Mary, who immediately sought out her son.

“They have no wine.”

“Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not come.” Jesus will one day host a wedding feast, but it is not this day.

Completely undeterred, Mary instructs the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

Six stone jars that each had a capacity of 20 to 30 gallons²⁷ These jars could cumulatively contain approximately 75-115 L. That is 600–900 bottles of wine. were to hand, and Jesus instructed that each jar be filled out the brim with water. He then asked the servants to draw some of the water and bring it to the master of the feast.

When the servants brought the cup to the master of the feast, he tasted the liquid and found it was a wine of a fine vintage. He delightedly called over the bridegroom, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.”²⁸See John 2:1–10.

Jesus, as the generous host, did not stop with jars filled with wine. A bit later, he and his disciples were in a town called Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee. Word got around that Jesus was there, and a crowd of over 5000 men and their families descended on the little village. Jesus welcomed them, taught them about the kingdom of God, and healed the sick. As the day wore on, his disciples suggested sending the people to nearby towns for food and lodging. But Jesus said to them, “Give them something to eat.”

Between the disciples, they could only scrounge together five loaves and two fish and had no idea pay for the enormous amount of food required to supply such a large group. But this small offering was enough when Jesus hosted dinner. Taking the bread, Jesus looked to the heavens, gave thanks, and broke the loaves. The broken pieces he then gave to his disciples, who distributed them among the people. Everyone ate as much as they wanted. When gathering up the leftover food, it filled twelve baskets.²⁹See Luke 9:10–17.

When Jesus came to the end of his earthly ministry and was preparing for suffering and death, he celebrated a Passover meal with his disciples. In an echo of the miracle of wine and bread, Jesus played host again by feeding the disciples his very self, a sacrifice soon-to-be cut for the new covenant.

Jesus lifted a cup of wine, saying to his disciples, “Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”

Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

After the disciples finished eating, Jesus lifted a cup of wine again, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.”³⁰See Luke 22:15–20

The son of Abraham, the son of David, the culmination and the confirmation of covenants, established the new covenant in the pouring out of his blood, an act modeled in a meal he hosts.³¹I’ve had a bit of fun with wordplay here, as the consecrated bread of the eucharist meal is called the “host,” from the Latin word hostia meaning “sacrificial victim.” The English word “host,” meaning someone receiving a guest, comes from a different Latin word hospitem. It is serendipitous that the two hosts meet in the person of Jesus. See this wiki dictionary entry for further etymological details.

Though this momentous dinner is often called the Last Supper, we have one more beautiful example of Jesus acting as guest and host. After his death and resurrection, Jesus walks along a road to Emmaus and meets two of his followers there. They do not recognize him but bring him into their conversation, mourning the death of Jesus, who they thought would be the deliverer of Israel, and wondering at the rumors of his resurrection. Jesus opened the scriptures to them, teaching them that Israel’s Messiah had to suffer before his glorification.

When the two travelers reached their house, they strongly urged the still unrecognized Jesus to come in, eat, and spend the night. As they gathered round the table, Jesus took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. The men’s eyes were opened in a flash, and they knew it was Jesus. As this realization hit, Jesus vanished before their eyes.

In the awe and wonder that followed, the men understood that the powerful conversation that opened the scriptures to them on the road to Emmaus could only have been expounded by the Messiah himself. That same hour, the two returned to Jerusalem, testifying that Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.³²See Luke 24:13–35.

Throughout his ministry, in his life, death, and resurrection, hospitality was a central feature of Jesus’ practice and preaching. When he was welcomed, it naturally followed that Jesus’ message of repentance and reconciliation with God was also received. When Jesus was the host, he poured out the extravagant provision of God, giving wine, bread, and his very body for the sustenance of his beloved guests. Jars brimming with fine wine and baskets overflowing with bread marked the Messiah’s first coming. In his separation from his people, Jesus fasts from bread and wine until the establishment of the kingdom of God. We, however, eat this bread and drink this cup to proclaim his death until he comes.³³1 Corinthians 11:26

This article is part of a series on “Hospitality & Revival.” Stay tuned for the next installment, “The End of All Things is at Hand,” about the apocalyptic connotations of hospitality, or subscribe to the Oleaster Substack to have it sent straight to your email inbox.

Recommended Resources: 

Articles

“Jesus’ Genealogies: Complementary or Contradictory?” by James Bejon

“Why Did Jesus Make So Much Wine?” by Erik Raymond

Books

Saved by Faith and Hospitality by Joshua W. Jipp

Footnotes

• 1
  The West Bank overlaps the regions of biblical Judea and Samaria.
• 2
  That is, not having legal status as Jewish.
• 3
  Luke 10:25
• 4
  Luke 10:31–32
• 5
  James 2:8
• 6
  Luke 10:28
• 7
  Matthew 1:1
• 8
  Yes, the same city that was the destination of the Jewish man in the Good Samaritan story.
• 9
  Joshua 2:4–5
• 10
  This name is distinguished in the English text by LORD in block capital letters.
• 11
  Joshua 2:14
• 12
  Joshua 6:25
• 13
  Hebrews 11:31
• 14
  James 2:25
• 15
  Deuteronomy 23:3-4
• 16
  Ruth 1:16-17
• 17
  Ruth 3:9
• 18
  John 1:10–12
• 19
  John 1:12–13
• 20
  See John 1:14.
• 21
  σκηνόω is often translated into “dwelt” rather than the more technical “tabernacled” in John 1:14. However, the Greek Septuagint version uses a noun form of the same word to translate the “Tabernacle,” the אהל מועד, ohel moed in Hebrew, for those following along with our moed thread in this series.
• 22
  Luke 19:5
• 23
  Luke 19:7
• 24
  Luke 19:8
• 25
  Luke 19:9-10
• 26
  See Matthew 9:10–13; Luke 7:36–39.
• 27
  These jars could cumulatively contain approximately 75-115 L. That is 600–900 bottles of wine.
• 28
  See John 2:1–10.
• 29
  See Luke 9:10–17.
• 30
  See Luke 22:15–20
• 31
  I’ve had a bit of fun with wordplay here, as the consecrated bread of the eucharist meal is called the “host,” from the Latin word hostia meaning “sacrificial victim.” The English word “host,” meaning someone receiving a guest, comes from a different Latin word hospitem. It is serendipitous that the two hosts meet in the person of Jesus. See this wiki dictionary entry for further etymological details.
• 32
  See Luke 24:13–35.
• 33
  1 Corinthians 11:26