“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” –Hebrews 13:2
I was trying hard not to cry. An hour before, I had joined the crowd of people lining up against the wall; someone had spread the rumor that the airplane had arrived and we would be boarding soon. After an hour in line, we learned the rumor was only a rumor. The plane was nowhere near, and no one would tell us when it was coming.
I went back to one of the molded plastic chairs and put my backpack on the seat beside me. I slumped down. I’d spent three days in transit, trying to get from Bangalore, India, to Dharamsala, to visit Jurme, the Tibetan student our church sponsors. After a long frustrating fog delay in Delhi, Fran had gotten so sick she’d had to go home to Framingham. I couldn’t reach anyone at the Tibetan Children’s Village to tell them I was delayed. Now I sat waiting for another indefinitely delayed flight. It felt like the last straw.
The rows of plastic chairs began to fill up, as more travelers gave up waiting in the non-existent boarding line. An older woman in a gorgeous sari walked by, looking for a place to sit. I moved my backpack onto my lap and nodded at her, smiling slightly.
She sat down beside me. I pretended to be reading, but she interpreted my politeness as friendliness, or even as hospitality. She leaned over toward me.
“Are you a Christian?” she asked. Uh oh, I thought, this could be trouble.
“Yes, I am,” I answered warily.
“Oh good.” She put a hand on my arm. “Then maybe you can help me.” I was intrigued, even reluctantly grateful for the distraction.
“I went to school with the nuns,” she explained. “They had all these beautiful prayers. There was one I loved to much. It made me feel so peaceful……Now I really need it, but I can’t remember how it goes.”
She paused for a moment to breathe. “You see, my daughter died last year….” Her voice trailed off. When she began again, it was barely a whisper. “I keep thinking, if I could say that prayer, I might feel a little peace.” She squeezed my arm again. “Do you know it?”
I was guessing. “Do you think it was the Prayer of St. Francis? ‘Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…”
She interrupted. “Yes, that’s the one!” Her face brightened. I’m sure mine did too. It’s also my favorite prayer, and in that moment I needed it as much as she did.
“Do you know how it goes?” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a tattered journal. “Would you write it down for me?”
I took the journal and started writing. I’m not sure I got all the phrases in the right order, but I think they were all there.
The author of Hebrews exhorts us to show hospitality to strangers. I’m not sure which one of us was showing hospitality to the other that day. I’m sure we were both angels for each other.