All of chapter 10 in Matthew is a send-off speech Jesus gave to the twelve disciples. At the end of chapter 9, Matthew shows us Jesus as looking at the crowds, and having compassion for them because they were “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”
“The harvest is plentiful,” Jesus said to the disciples, and that they should “ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” And before they could ask, he sent them out — gave them “authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness,” and sent them out. “Proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.” He sent the disciples to act as his envoys — servants of the kingdom, traveling light — no money in their belts, no bag, no extra clothing, entirely dependent on the hospitality of others for shelter and food.
He also prepared them for rejection. They would not be welcomed everywhere, and they should be prepared to expect some hostility since he was sending them out “like sheep into the midst of wolves.” They would also have to face the possibility of painful division within their own families; that their closest and most important relationships might be ruptured because of their loyalty to Jesus and the kingdom of God.
Today’s three verses from Matthew are the final paragraph of Jesus’ send-off speech. Something is different in these closing lines. There’s a shift in focus from the trials of those who are sent to the rewards for those who receive them. There’s a shift from high demand to promise. “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” In these closing verses it becomes clear that Jesus is not just addressing the twelve who are about to go on the road. He’s talking to all disciples, the ones who venture out for the sake of the gospel, and the ones who welcome them.
By the time the gospel of Matthew was composed, congregations of Christians already existed in many cities and towns around the Mediterranean. Itinerant Christian apostles, prophets and teachers were not unusual at all; on the contrary, early Christian writings suggest that at times they may have become a burden to the small communities. Not only did they need a place to stay and something to eat, they also sometimes disagreed with each other. Paul wrote in his first letter to the Thessalonians, “We appeal to you, brothers and sisters, to respect those who labor among you, and have charge of you in the Lord and admonish you; esteem them very highly in love because of their work … Do not despise the words of prophets, but test everything; hold fast to what is good.”[1] Hear them out. Test everything. Keep the good stuff.
In a Christian teaching document from around the turn to the second century, churches are admonished to
welcome every apostle on arriving, as if he were the Lord. But he must not stay beyond one day. In case of necessity, however, the next day too. If he stays three days, he is a false prophet. On departing, an apostle must not accept anything save sufficient food to carry him till his next lodging. If he asks for money, he is a false prophet … If someone says in the Spirit, “Give me money, or something else,” you must not heed him. However, if he tells you to give for others in need, no one must condemn him.[2]
In his writing, Matthew not merely recalled Jesus’ instructions to the first disciples; he also addressed contemporary communities of disciples to whom he was connected, telling them that there was still need to send out prophets and teachers, and that those sent ones depended on communities of believers to welcome them. “Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward.”
Congregational life in Matthew’s day was very different from ours, we know that. But I imagine that life was also very similar. No community is too eager to welcome a prophet, either because things are going just fine or because things are unsettled already; and whether you’re comfortable with the way things are or quite uncomfortable, you don’t necessarily want some outsider coming in and stirring up trouble. I hear Jesus addressing both sides here. To the prophets he says, “Don’t be afraid. Speak without fear the word you have been given. Proclaim the gospel.” And to the settled disciples he says, “Welcome without fear anyone who speaks in my name, whether you agree with them or not. Receive the fullness of the gospel.”
There aren’t a lot of itinerant prophets around anymore, but there’s plenty of settled Christianity in our city and beyond. And there are Christian voices and accents among us that come to us like those of strangers who are passing through. Do we welcome them? “Whoever welcomes a prophet as a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward.” What’s a prophet’s reward? We won’t know unless we welcome the prophet.
We live far from the the early days of itinerant prophets and house churches, but to be sent and to receive are aspects of being church together that never become a thing of the past. You and I are no less part of Jesus’ mission than Simon, Andrew, James and the rest of the twelve were. In our proclamation and ministry, in our everyday witness to the reign of God, Jesus himself is present, and wherever our witness is received with welcome, the One who sent him is received.
Jesus calls us to be fearless when we venture out with the word we have been given, and equally fearless in receiving the word of life when it comes to us – to listen, to test, and to hold fast to what is good. Our situation as Christian witnesses is vastly different from the initial context for Matthew’s proclamation. What hasn’t changed is that we are sent to proclaim the gospel of Jesus in word and deed, and that we are also called to receive the proclamation of others – regardless of their accents, whether they be accents of speech, culture, or theology.
Both being sent in the name of Jesus and receiving others in the name of Jesus involve a level of vulnerability and fearlessness few of us are simply born with. And our growth in vulnerability and fearlessness is part of our formation as disciples. Few of us may venture out and go far without money or extra clothing or firm plans for lodging, but some of us do venture out far to explore and declare new dimensions of the gospel for our time, and they are as dependent on the hospitality of others as the first apostles were — and the hospitality of mind and imagination may be even more demanding than the hospitality of room and board.
I believe Jesus calls us to such vulnerability and fearlessness in our attempts to live and proclaim the good news of the kingdom. Not even the smallest gesture of welcoming another is too small. “Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because they are my disciples—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.” This word of promise points ahead to the final judgment where the heavenly judge says to the righteous, “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.” There is no act of welcome more basic and beautiful than giving somebody a cup of cold water, and in the story of the great judgment, Jesus tells us that he is the thirsty one.
And the reward? There’s the joy of being able to do what the Lord has taught us and to serve him in the stranger, the prophet, the littlest ones. And there’s the joy of being welcomed by Christ in our need, in our hunger and thirst for righteousness, and in our desire to know the will of God.
Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes a righteous person as a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward.” Who are the righteous and what is their reward? Again, the word points ahead to the final judgment when the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”[3] To welcome one another is to receive Jesus himself, and to welcome Jesus is to receive the one who sent him, and to become heirs to all that God has to give — life abundant, true justice, and love without end.
On Wednesday afternoon, I was out by the street, changing the name on the sign to Riah Milton. A man walked up to me, an itinerant you may say, and he didn’t carry any money in his belt, nor did he have a change of clothes, and the ones he was wearing hadn’t been washed in a long time. He didn’t have a second pair of sandals either, and the ones he had on his feet were not made for walking.
I don’t know if he was a prophet; he told me he was a little drunk.
Could I give him some money for food? I told him I couldn’t, that I didn’t have any cash on me and the church was closed.
Could I get him something to eat from the kitchen? I told him I couldn’t, that much of the building was under construction, including the kitchen and all offices.
Could he help, do some work? Not likely, I told him; it wouldn’t be safe.
Could he use the bathroom? They’re all gone, I told him with a big can-you-believe-it sigh, because I didn’t remember the lone toilet left in the entire building, over in the office wing.
“Here’s what I can do. I’ll take this stuff inside and then I meet you at my car and take you to get something to eat.”
He didn’t wear a mask; I doubt he had one, and I didn’t have a spare with me. Anyway, we got in the car and drove to Taco Bell, and after a long, slow trip down the drive-through lane during which he continued to tell me about his life and his demons, he ordered some tacos and a Sprite.
It wasn’t a cup of cold water, and I didn’t invite him to come home with me, take a shower, and spend the night in our guest room. But after I dropped him off at a bench in the shade, I knew that I had heard a true word about life in our community. And I was grateful.
[1] 1Thessalonians 5:12-13, 20-21
[2] Didache 11:4-5, 12
[3] Matthew 25:34