Sermon for Trinity 5 - Sacred Hospitality

preached by the Vicar, Fr Christopher Woods on Sunday 20 July 2025Beneath the branches of the large oak tree of Mamre in the shimmering heat of the day, Abraham sees three unexpected strangers drawing near. Perhaps he was imagining it, perhaps it was like a mirage because it was so hot and he would have been dehydrated. It is hard to tell. The encounter in the book of Genesis is one of Scripture’s most tender moments. There is no thunder or fire, or parting of the sea—but God arriving quietly, disguised in the faces of travellers. And—remarkably, instinctively—Abraham runs to them, bows to the ground, and decides to offer a lavish banquet for them.

Here we see natural, sacred hospitality - in that heat-heavy moment, Abraham opens his heart to the divine. And we are told—almost as if it’s a casual footnote—that the Lord appeared to him.

This story at the oaks of Mamre is a turning point in salvation history, because after this encounter of hospitality, Abraham’s wife Sarah will conceive. A child will be born. A promise will be fulfilled. But it begins, not in a dramatic miracle, but in a meal shared with unexpected guests.

Hospitality is an ancient value in the religion of Israel. We understand the nature of this extraordinary visitation as one where hospitality is seen as a grace-filled action, almost sacramental, as opposed to elsewhere in Holy Scripture, where lack of hospitality was a catalyst for destruction and decay (cf. Sodom and Gomorrah in Ezekiel). In Scripture, divine interventions often occur with multiple intermediaries, like the three men in this passage. Such ambiguities introduce mystery into the scene, so it is hard for us to make full sense of the interaction. The mystery increases when Abraham, seeing three men, only addresses a single person, “Sir, if I may ask you this favour, please do not go on past your servant. Let some water be brought, that you may bathe your feet, and then rest yourselves under the tree” (Gn 18:3-4). Perhaps in the heat of the day, with haze and shadows, the three became one? We have to rely on our imaginations and our judgment to come to an interpretation.

Abraham responds to the importance of the encounter, even though he may not have grasped its full significance. He offers the ancient version of the lavish hospitality still seen today in Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cultures. In societies governed by codes of honour and shame, pouring out one’s wealth on a guest establishes one’s own place in society and also grants considerable social status to a guest. By hastening to prepare a rich meal (meat and milk products were rarely consumed and usually associated with religious feasting), Abraham lavishes real blessings on the strangers who appear at his door.

It is this scene which has inspired one of the greatest icons of the Christian faith, an icon so familiar to many that it has almost (at least to my mind) become clicheed. The icon by Andrei Rublev called The Hospitality of Abraham, or The Trinity. You may know it: three angelic figures seated around a table.

In Rublev’s vision, we are being invited to see the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—gathered at the table. There is no thunder and lightning. No grand declarations. Only stillness. Peace. An eternal communion of love.

But what is most striking is this: there is a space left at the table. A place where the viewer might sit. As if the icon is whispering: Come. Sit. Dwell in this holy fellowship. Be drawn into the divine life.

So our encounter with Abraham in Genesis is not just about Abraham. It is about us but ultimately it is about how God regards us. It is about how, on the long road of faith, we learn to recognise the presence of God—often hidden in the face of a stranger, in a quiet moment, in a meal offered in love. But it is about understanding that the inner life of the Trinity is not a closed circle, but a divine embrace that wants to include us. always offering us hospitality and welcome.

Last week, as some of you know, I was on a rather hardcore pilgrimage in Donegal in Ireland. Lough Derg. It is an ancient place of pilgrimage, rooted in the ministry of St Patrick. It is a rugged and penitential island, where pilgrims are barefoot, where prayer is through the night and food is very minimal. It is not comfortable. But it is real. It strips you back until only the essentials remain: prayer, presence, perseverance. But what struck me more than anything was the openness of fellow pilgrims, whom I had never met before and most likely will never meet again. There were no barriers or protections, and in their openness, my own awkwardnesses were quickly melted away. It was a sort of radical hospitality between pilgrims. When faced with it, we can open our hearts to what is often uncomfortable. We can make space for the unknown, for mystery, for God. Just as Abraham did. And indeed just as God does for us.

If we look closely at Rublev’s icon you’ll notice something subtle, and astonishing. There’s a little rectangle at the front of the table, like an open window. Art historians say it once held a mirror.

In other words, we—the ones who gaze—are meant to see ourselves drawn into this divine circle. This is not a Trinity closed off in celestial splendour. It is a Trinity that welcomes. The God who is always in eternal communion in Trinity invites us to draw near—to take our place at the table of love and salvation.