As you’re driving along 85 East, leaving Atlanta, Georgia on your way to Greenville, South Carolina, you pass this small sign to this small town by the name of Welcome, South Carolina. This is different from that welcome to South Carolina sign that you see when you drive across the state line and pass the visitor center on the right. It’s the name of the town: Welcome, South Carolina. It’s located there in Greenville County. There’s about 7,000 residents and it is surrounded by other towns: Judson, Parker, and Powdersville. All of which, I am guessing, wish they thought of the name first.

And every time we pass that sign, I am tempted to take a detour because I wonder, how are the people of Welcome, South Carolina different from the normal welcome you find in any small town? Are you required to wear name tags every day so you can call out your neighbor’s name or stranger’s name at the gas station or grocery store? Is it an unwritten rule that you have to, under all circumstances, accept that friend request on the Facebook? And do restaurants serve family style so that no one eats alone and you always meet someone new?

But I’ve also wondered whether that name is a blessing or a burden. Because anytime anyone drives into Welcome, South Carolina, they all have the same question: is it true? There’s no room for error. It’s your name after all. And as charming and delightful as I am certain the people of Welcome, South Carolina are, they inevitably stub their toe on their name because quiet biases and limited patience gets the best of us all at times.

I still think though that the name is worthwhile to be known for welcome because it keeps that blessing, that calling out there in front of us because we hope that others experience the welcome of God through our welcome of them.

And we do find hospitality woven through all the pages of scripture, in part because back then it was absolutely essential that when people were walking from town to town and traveling from place to place, there was not a Courtyard Marriott with a continental breakfast. And they needed places to stay and food to eat. And we find these stories throughout scripture, where in Genesis, Abraham and Sarah welcomed those unknown travelers by the oaks of Mamre, only to discover more about God’s faithfulness, hearing that Sarah would have a child. Or in Exodus, where the people of God are wandering through the wilderness, wondering whether they are going to survive, even tempted to return to Egypt. But God shows them hospitality, providing manna in the morning. Or in the Gospel of John, where Jesus shows hospitality, saying, I am the bread of life. Those who come to me will never be hungry. Or even in the book of Revelation where Jesus stands there and knocks, promising to come in and to sit down and to eat with anyone who opens the door. That hospitality is woven into the steadfast love of God.

And we overhear it in the psalmist who is crying out and longing for God’s presence, afraid of ever being alone, saying, how long, O Lord, will you forget me forever? Longing for one’s home in God’s presence. And whereas this psalm begins with longing, it ends with singing, giving thanks for God’s faithful welcomes.

This hospitality is more than a pull-out couch or an available futon, but it is also as simple as a cup of cold water. That it is about making room in our lives for others. Where Jesus says, whoever welcomes you welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me, that even a cup of cold water can become the welcome of God. And he tells the disciples all of this as they are sent out to take the welcome of God to others, giving them instructions that if your welcome is ever unwelcome by others, just dust off your feet and keep going. That we are to make room in our lives for others even if they don’t make room for us.

That is why hospitality should never be taken for granted. It is a sacred gift because it opens the door to God’s steadfast love. Whether we are making room for the person sitting next to us in the pew or a family member around the kitchen table or the neighbor just a couple doors down or the co-worker in the office next to us, the stranger we meet or the friend that we cherish. We make room in our lives because it is a door to the welcome of God.

Anytime we stand in front of one of those doorways where you’ve got to take a big step because there’s an uneven threshold and you say to the person behind you, watch out, it’s like coming to one of those moments that challenges us to make room in our lives for others. And when we stand in front of that doorway with that uneven threshold, we pause because we don’t want to stumble. And a pause is more than a safety measure. It can be a sacred practice. As Karen Walrond writes, “The pause can get us from judgment to grace.” That we pause before we speak. We pause before we act. We pause before we make assumptions. We pause before we cast judgment to make more room because sometimes welcoming others requires courage.

One writer says, “Only the brave keep the door ajar.” I had a couple friends growing up where you never had to call ahead when you went to their house. You never had to be afraid just to knock on the door unannounced. That they always opened the door and invited you in. You were always welcome in that place. If it was dinnertime, they just set an extra plate at the table and they were interested in your life, the small details, the big dreams. And if they gave advice, it was always with a whole lot of encouragement. Those were the houses you always wanted to go back to. Those are the places that 30 years later you’re still thinking about because you were welcome.

But alongside the joy of hospitality is also the hard work that when we knocked on the door, they had to drop what they were doing. They had to set an extra place at the table. But it’s why our welcome of others can offer the welcome of God.

And this makes me think about our welcome differently in this place. Whether it’s the welcome to worship, or whether it’s that sign over the double doors at the courtyard that says, Welcome to Auburn First Baptist Church, that we receive and experience the welcome of God in this and we’re never the same because of it. Because God is here. We anticipate meeting God’s presence as we gather for worship or ask questions in Sunday school or gather in the fellowship hall. That it’s a gift that we receive, but it’s also a gift that we can share by making room in our lives wherever we are for others. Because God is not only here, God is also out there.

There’s a prayer by Jevon Caldwell-Gross that invites us to keep the door ajar, to make room in our lives for others wherever we are because God is always with us in this place and in every place. So let us close with that prayer. O God of every moment. God of mornings and Monday. God of laundry rooms and lunch breaks. God of school drop-offs, hard conversations, and unexpected laughter. You are not confined to one day or one place. You walk with us in sanctuaries and on sidewalks, in coffee shops and in kitchens, in joy and in the quiet struggles we rarely name. We confess, O God, that we’ve sometimes waited until Sunday to expect you, to seek you, to hear from you. But you’ve been speaking in sunrises and in silence, in small acts of kindness, in the messy middle of our weeks, and so today. We open ourselves again to the sacred truth that you are already here. Amen.