“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.”
~Rumi

We began our worship with these words this morning. They are powerful ones, challenging ones. Yet also words filled with such grace. Though I thought I may have used this poem of Rumi before, clearly, people today heard them in new ways, ways that connected with them right where they are living now. I knew this to be true because so many asked for copies so they can spend time with them.

What might it mean to be a guest house? I have reflected on this question all week. Normally we think of guest houses as structures made of wood or brick. Rarely do we think of our very being as a guest house, a place where the welcome of our life resides. And yet here we are traveling the world in this flesh and bone, blood fueled body that houses our thoughts, our experiences, our loves, our dreams, our possibilities, our failures, our deep pain and our immense joy. Sometimes all at once!

Being a guest house means putting out the welcome mat for whatever and whoever shows up at our door. This past week we have had the blessing of having house guests in our home. Family from states away have spent time with us gracing our home with their presence. We planned for them and prepared for them. We looked forward to their arrival and said our goodbyes with a mixture of melancholy at their departure.

But we all know there are guests that show up at our guest house, in our lives, that we did not plan for, did not invite, guests for whom there was no way to prepare. I am thinking now of one of our dear ones in our church who was visited by an illness that took her life more quickly than any of us imagined possible. This guest brought with it grief and sadness and a loss that will never be filled. It also brought with it a knowledge of the wisdom carried in her body and spirit that has left us all better for having known her and for that there is a deep, deep gratitude. As I think on the ways in which her gifts for justice and mercy and joy washed the world with her smile and presence, there is no doubt in my mind that God is in both the loss and the thanksgiving.

As the poet says, ‘each morning is a new arrival’, an arrival that may surprise us or frighten us, fill us with happiness or break our heart. It seems to me the real gift is in remaining open to what possibilities might arise from the ‘guests’ that arrive at the door of our lives. In that openness the Spirit has room to dance and create more than we might ever imagine.

And so my prayer is this: May the One who breathed us each into being grant grace to this body, yours and mine, and make of us a humble, rich guest house.