Over these past few weeks in worship, we have been talking about becoming people of invitation. Not simply people who hand out invitations to worship or invite someone to attend a class or an event here at church, (though those things are important), but people whose lives quietly and consistently say, “There is room for you here.” Because invitation…by itself…is never complete. Invitation is not complete until the welcome is real.

Most of us know this from experience. Think about a time when you were new somewhere. A new job. A new school. A new neighborhood. Or a new church. You might have received a warm invitation, but what mattered most was what happened after you arrived. Did someone notice you? Did anyone help you find your way? Did you feel like a guest who belonged, or like the awkward outsider who had wandered into someone else’s party?

That’s what Paul is getting at in Romans 12. I love Romans 12.  Romans 12 is where theology rolls up its sleeves and gets to work. Paul is not offering abstract ideas about love. He is describing what faith looks like when it is lived out among real people in real communities. “Let love be genuine,” he writes. Not polite. Not performative. Genuine. “Love one another with mutual affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Contribute to the needs of the saints. Extend hospitality to strangers.”

Notice how concrete that is. Paul does not just say, “Be nice to one another,” or “Feel good about one another.” He says, “Do something.” Faith becomes visible in action. Welcome…real welcome…is not an idea…it is a verb.

The Greek word that Paul uses for “welcome” in this text literally translates to “love of the stranger.”   And this word that Paul uses…as translated, this word makes some assumptions:

• It assumes that strangers will be present. 
• It assumes that newcomers will arrive. 
• And it assumes that the calling of the community is not just to greet them, but to receive them in a way that communicates belonging.

This distinction matters. You see, friendliness…and welcoming are two different things. Friendliness says hello. But welcoming says “you are seen, you matter, and your presence changes us.” A church can be very friendly and still be hard to enter. We smile. We shake hands. We are kind. And yet, without even realizing it, we can send subtle signals that say, “This is our place, and you are visiting.”

I once heard someone describe it this way. Friendly churches are good at saying, “We’re glad you’re here.” Welcoming churches are good at saying, “We are different now because you are here.” That is a deeper, richer, more powerful kind of invitation.  And we believe strongly that Trinity is called to be not just a friendly church…but a welcoming church.

Just in the last couple of weeks, I had the gift of experiencing that kind of welcome in a very powerful way. I traveled to Singida, Tanzania, to visit our partner congregation, Kimpungua Lutheran Church, and to be present for the dedication of the Bishop Regina Girls Secondary School in the village of Kittitimo, which our offerings helped to fund. Along with 12 others, I arrived halfway around the world, in a place where I did not speak the language, did not know the customs, and did not recognize the landscape. I was, in every sense, a stranger.  And it was a little…unnerving.

And from the moment I arrived, I was welcomed.

• There were smiles before there were words. 
• There were hands extended before there were explanations. 
• People made space for me in worship, in conversation, and at the table. 
• Children saw me, and hid behind their mothers at first, but then peeked out and smiled at me. 
• Elders greeted me with warmth and care. 
• I was not treated like a visitor just passing through. I was treated like a brother.

At the dedication of the school, there was singing, dancing, laughter, and prayer. There was deep gratitude for what God was doing in that community. And standing there, surrounded by people whose lives and stories were so different from my own, I felt something very simple and very profound. I belonged. Not because I understood everything, (I didn’t) and not because I fit in perfectly, (I didn’t) but because they made room for me.

That experience gave new depth to Paul’s words. “Extend hospitality to strangers.”  This isn’t just a catchphrase. To extend hospitality is to reveal the heart of God.

Jesus pushes this even further in Matthew 25. In that powerful and unsettling passage, Jesus describes the final judgment not in terms of what people believed or how religious they appeared, but in terms of how they treated the most vulnerable. “I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”

And when people ask when they did…or did not do these things, Jesus’ answer is simple and direct: “Just as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” Or just as you did not do it, you did not do it to me.

In other words, real welcome is not just about good manners. It is about Christ himself. When we welcome the stranger, we welcome Christ. When we fail to welcome the stranger, we fail to welcome Christ.

When I traveled to Tanzania, the Minnesota I left behind was very different from the Minnesota to which I returned. Lots happened while I was gone.  Lots.  In Tanzania, I found myself checking the news from home…often.  What was happening in Minneapolis was the headline news story…in Tanzania!  And I watched…watched with shock…and with horror…what was happening in my hometown…just 20 blocks north of the house where I grew up. As a kid, I rode my bike up and down those streets!  Seeing it all unravel was surreal… painful…and hard to believe.

I think the fact that our scripture readings for today, which were picked months ago, land in our lap right now…in the midst of everything that’s going on around us…cannot be a coincidence.  God has a Word for us today.

Right now, the world tells us to fear the stranger…to mistrust the stranger…to reject the stranger…but Jesus’ words…Jesus tells us something very different. Jesus tells us to welcome the stranger…to care for those in need…and he’s specific:  for the immigrant and the refugee.  Jesus tells us that our operating system is to be love, not suspicion…it is to be abundance, not scarcity…it is to be compassion, not anger.  Today, Jesus tells us to stand against what the world is telling us.

These are the words of Jesus. And he’s crystal clear.  When someone tries to challenge these teachings, all I can say is,  “You need to take it up with Jesus.”

Martin Luther deeply understood the connection between welcoming Christ and welcoming the stranger. He once wrote that Christ is “present in the neighbor who stands before you in need.” For Luther, faith was never meant to stay safely tucked inside the heart. Faith always moved outward in love. We are justified by grace, not so that we can sit back and feel secure, but so that we are freed to care for our neighbor without fear or calculation.

Real welcome means letting go of our perfect picture of what we think our community, or our church is supposed to look like, and paying attention to the real people God brings into our midst.

That is not always easy. Real people are complicated. They bring different expectations. They bring baggage. They ask unfamiliar questions. They do not always follow our unspoken rules. And yet, this is exactly how the church becomes a living sign of Christ. Not by protecting what is comfortable, but by embodying grace in ways that makes room for others.

And this is not only about what happens on Sunday morning, although Sunday morning matters. It is about who we are becoming together. A congregation shaped by the love of Christ becomes a place where people are not just invited in but drawn into relationship. Where newcomers are not expected to figure everything out on their own. Where belonging comes before believing, and connection comes before commitment.

When I think back to my time in Singida and Kittitimo, what stays with me most is not the beauty of the landscape or even the joy of the celebration. It is the way people made space for me. The way they treated me as part of the community, not as an observer. That is what welcome looks like. And that is what the church is called to be, not just there, but here. Not just for visitors from far away, but for the neighbor who walks in from down the street.

So, what might this look like for us, in simple, everyday ways? Well, let me tell you what I learned from our friends in Singida and Kittitimo:

• It looks like noticing who is new and learning their name. 
• It looks like paying attention to who is standing alone. 
• It looks like being willing to shift our routines, our preferences, and sometimes even our comfort, for the sake of someone else’s belonging. 
• It looks like remembering that the church does not exist for those who are already here, but for the sake of the world God loves.

And the good news is that we do not do this on our own. We are not manufacturing welcome through our own sheer effort. We are responding to the welcome we have already received. In Christ, God has made room you. Not because you earned it. Not because you fit perfectly. But because in the waters of baptism, the Holy Spirit opens the door for you.

May the Spirit shape us into people of genuine love. May our hospitality reflect the deep welcome of God. And may all who enter this place, whether from across the world or across the street, encounter not just friendliness, but the welcome…the welcome of the living Christ, made known through us.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.