This idea meant so much to him that he painted it over a doorway in the bookshop, and then proceeded to fill the space, which had been a monastery, with books - so… many… books - comfy chairs, and couches people could read on during the day and even sleep on at night.

From the moment George opened his doors, writers and intellectuals flocked to the bookstore, and many a starving artist has found a place to stay there. George called his guests tumbleweeds and he asked 3 things of each one. They were welcome to stay and even sleep at the store if they would read a book a day, help out around the shop, and write a one page autobiography. How many of you would be willing to take George up on that deal? Me too!

Over the last 76 years, more than 30,000 people - including great writers like James Baldwin, Henry Miller, Allen Ginsburg, and Anaïs Nin, have stayed and worked there.

George liked to think of Shakespeare and Co as a “socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore.”

And he thought of himself as the last surviving monk in that old monastery turned book shop. He used to say that “In the Middle Ages, each monastery had a frère lampier, a brother whose duty it was to light the lamps at nightfall. I’m the frère lampier here now. It’s the modest role I play.”

George always left a light on so that day or night, all would know they were welcome to knock, come in, and stay.

(to learn more about George and his famous bookshop click here https://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/history ).

Well I couldn’t help but think of George and his book store when I read today’s Bible story, because his philosophy of welcoming the stranger goes all the way back to this story of Abraham and Sarah.

I don’t know how much you all remember about their story, so let me just say that Abraham and Sarah were immigrants to the land of Canaan. They had left their home in a place called Ur, because God promised Abraham and Sarah that if they would follow him to this new land, God would give it to them and to their descendants. God promised them that their descendants would be as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert and the number of stars in the sky. And God had promised to bless Abraham, Sarah, and their offspring, that they might be a blessing to the whole world.

But that was 30 years ago when Abraham was 70 and Sarah was 60. When we catch up with them in today’s story, Abraham is 100 and Sarah is 90 and they still haven’t had a child together. Not even one. So here they are. They are old They are tired. It’s hot and Abraham is resting in the shade of his tent when who should appear but the Lord. Or is it three men? Or is it three angels? Or is it the trinity - Father, Son and Holy Spirit - disguised as men?

No one really knows because the story itself is strange. It has this mirage like quality to it as the descriptions and pronouns weave between singular and plural. Here is a famous icon of these visitors. We don’t really know exactly who these guys were, and that’s part of the point because the truth is that Abraham didn’t know either.

Abraham was already a stranger in a strange land. Now here are even more strangers.

Which means that Abraham has a choice.

He can close the flap of his tent and let the strangers move on, or he can welcome them and show them hospitality.  Now remember, this is the desert; a place where hospitality can mean the difference between life and death. These visitors might be in dire need of food and water. But remember too that Abraham and Sarah are very old and vulnerable. What if these strangers mean them harm? What if they toss them out of their tents and take what Abraham and Sarah have built for themselves?

Hospitality is no small thing whether you are offering it or receiving it. Opening your doors, breaking bread, sharing what you have with people you don’t know, is always an act of great love and great courage. But because Abraham and Sarah had that level of love and courage, they chose welcome. They chose to share, not just what they had, but the very best of what they had. They treated these strangers as honored guests.

And because they did, Abraham and Sarah were finally blessed with a child so miraculous, the very idea that he might be born at all made Sarah laugh…laugh so hard that when her time came, she named her baby Isaac which means laughter.

Isaac grew up to become the father of Jacob and Jacob had 12 sons who became the fathers of the 12 tribes of Israel which gave rise to the religion of Judaism which eventually gave rise to Jesus and the religion of Christianity.

Just think about that for a moment. We are here today, living out our faith, opening our doors, breaking bread, and sharing what we have with people we don’t know, because all those many years ago, Abraham and Sarah showed hospitality to three strangers, not knowing they were angels in disguise.

In Greek the word for hospitality is philoxenia. It means “love of the stranger, the foreigner, the guest. Can anyone tell me what the opposite of hospitality is…the opposite of philoxenia? It is a greek word we still use.

(Slide) Xenophobia - that’s right - the fear or hatred of the stranger, the foreigner, the guest. And I can assure you that when we engage in xenophobia there is no blessing for anyone.

When we let the tent flap fall, when we turn away, when we leave the stranger out in the cold and the dark to fend for themselves, we choke off the blessing God means to bestow on us all through the love and welcome of one another.

George Whitman understood that. As the frère lampier of Shakespeare and Co, he kept the door open and the lights on until he was 98 years old. Almost as old as Abraham. And he taught his daughter to do the same. Before he died in 2006, he passed the torch to his only child, Sylvia Whitman, who carries on the work to this day.

First Churches, I tell you these stories about Abraham and Sarah and George and Sylvia because I see that same understanding, that same spirit of philoxenia, of hospitality, at work in you and today I celebrate all the ways we are passing the torch to our children.

I see how our youth are finding new ways to welcome and serve people they don’t know at Cathedral in the Night and all the ways we feed our neighbors (slide) from the Friday morning breakfast to WNNS to our collections for the survival center, to the teens gleaning (slide) to the kids hosting coffee hour with love and joy.

I see the way we love our neighbors and welcome all:

from our ecumenical Pride service,

to the way we stand in solidarity with our immigrants,

to the many and creative ways we have raised money for school children in Haiti and Palestine, to our faithful witness and attendance at rallies.

I see how we open our building to the community (slide) for forums & fundraisers, meditation & chanting, dance & song, fencing, funerals, weddings, events and occasions that simply wouldn’t fit anywhere else.

First Churches, I see your light and it reminds me of another quote you can find written, this time upon the stairs, at Shakespeare and Co:

“I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness,

the astonishing light of your own being” ~Hafiz

First Churches, from the youngest here to the oldest, you shine. You are not inhospitable to strangers and I pray you never will be.

Opening our doors, breaking bread, and sharing what we have with people we don’t know…this is what we are here for. This is why we are blessed and how we keep the blessing alive not just in us and in our children, but for us and for all God’s children. Amen? Amen.