Jun 16, 2026 · 11 min · 9 segments
Listen in to Mtr. Holly's homily for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, preached at the Cathedral Church of St. Mark on June 14, 2026. To follow along with the lectionary readings that inspired this…
Under the oaks of Mamre, Abraham shows hospitality to the three strangers who show up at his tent door.
They're hungry, passing through in the heat of the day, and he's the only great American diner on Interstate 80 for 100 miles.
[laughs]
Abraham actually chases these strangers.
He flags them down, calls them in, lays out his fine china or the equivalent, feeds them with cakes and curds and milk and the fatted calf.
He bathes them with his love and attention.
And through the course of their strange conversation, it becomes clear that in welcoming these strangers, he has welcomed in something divine, welcomed in the God who likes to show up wearing our neighbor's face.
As Saint Benedict puts it in the rule of life his monks live by, "Let every guest be received as Christ himself." You've heard the old joke, of course, about the Benedictine porter.
What does the monk in charge of answering the gate say when the doorbell rings at 2:00 AM? "Oh, Christ, it's you again."
[laughs]
And it is every time.
Where two or three are gathered and where hospitality is offered and received, Christ the stranger shows up.
Christ is present in both the giving and receiving.
Abraham offers a fine spread to his visitors, but the strangers at Abraham's tent door, they feed him, too, with their presence and attention and with God's odd and impossible promises.
Like the Israelites who later find manna outside their tent doors each morning, Abraham is sustained by the daily bread that arrives on his doorstep in the form of these three inscrutable strangers.
Under the oaks of Mamre, Abraham shows hospitality to the three strangers who show up at his tent door.
They're hungry, passing through in the heat of the day, and he's the only great American diner on Interstate 80 for 100 miles.
[laughs]
Abraham actually chases these strangers.
He flags them down, calls them in, lays out his fine china or the equivalent, feeds them with cakes and curds and milk and the fatted calf.
He bathes them with his love and attention.
And through the course of their strange conversation, it becomes clear that in welcoming these strangers, he has welcomed in something divine, welcomed in the God who likes to show up wearing our neighbor's face.
As Saint Benedict puts it in the rule of life his monks live by, "Let every guest be received as Christ himself." You've heard the old joke, of course, about the Benedictine porter.
What does the monk in charge of answering the gate say when the doorbell rings at 2:00 AM? "Oh, Christ, it's you again."
[laughs]
And it is every time.
Where two or three are gathered and where hospitality is offered and received, Christ the stranger shows up.
Christ is present in both the giving and receiving.
Abraham offers a fine spread to his visitors, but the strangers at Abraham's tent door, they feed him, too, with their presence and attention and with God's odd and impossible promises.
Like the Israelites who later find manna outside their tent doors each morning, Abraham is sustained by the daily bread that arrives on his doorstep in the form of these three inscrutable strangers.
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