12th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 17C – Mark Winward
“But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed…” – Luke 13:13-14a
I didn’t appreciate what a big deal Jeep Fest is around here until this weekend! My family and I have been amazed to see the whole town practically shut down for this annual event. Now, it’s not the largest Jeep gathering—Jeep Beach in Daytona draws over 200,000 people each year while Jeep Fest brings in about 20,000—but the Sheriff’s JeepFest sets itself apart with mud runs, trails, and concerts, all to raise money for children’s charities. Of course, to fully participate, you really need a Jeep—and we do. But, just as a “dude ranch” isn’t a real ranch, our Jeep Grand Cherokee might best be described as a “dude Jeep.” It’s got the Trail-Ready package, but at over 200,000 miles, it won’t be doing much mudding anytime soon!
JeepFest draws crowds not only because of the events but also because of the camaraderie among Jeep owners. The best example of that is the little rubber ducks you often see on dashboards. The tradition began in 2020 in Ontario, when a Jeep owner named Allison Parliament left a small rubber duck on someone’s Jeep with a cheerful note to spread kindness during a difficult time. She called it “ducking.” Others loved the idea, and soon it went viral under the name Duck Duck Jeep. The way it works is simple: Jeep owners carry small rubber ducks with them, and when they see another Jeep they admire—or when they just want to brighten someone’s day—they leave a duck on the handle, hood, or windshield, often with a tag that says, “You’ve been ducked!” Sadly, with our plain white Jeep Grand Cherokee, my wife and I have never been ducked.
Jeep drivers have always shared a strong sense of camaraderie—there’s even such a thing as the “Jeep wave”—and ducking became a way to make connections. It’s a bit like a secret handshake, but a secret club with rubber ducks. This insider’s club comes out in the JeepFest FAQs. One of the questions asks “Can I bring my Toyota to JeepFest?” The official response is, “Sure, if you want to park and be a spectator. JeepFest is a Jeep-only event.” In other words: bring your Toyota Land Cruiser if you want—but leave it in the parking lot!
That makes me think about how churches can sometimes feel like JeepFest. They may not outright ban outsiders, but they don’t always embrace them either. The message is often: you can watch, but don’t expect to fully participate unless you’re one of us. Yet hospitality is central to Christian identity and practice. It is what distinguishes a true Christian community from just a community of Christians. At its best, the Church has always been known for welcoming the needy and offering transformation through Christ.
Today’s Gospel reading touches on that vision of hospitality. Jesus tells us that if we want to be truly hospitable, we shouldn’t just invite our usual friends and neighbors to dinner. Instead, we should invite those who could never repay us—the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. In other words, everyone is worthy of hospitality. On the surface, this sounds like a simple lesson in kindness. But beneath it lies a deeper truth: we are called to extend genuine hospitality to those different from us because, in the end, we are all in the same boat. God’s hospitality through Christ reaches each of us—broken as we are, equally in need of grace.
There’s an important distinction here between entertaining and hospitality. Entertaining says, “Come to my place, admire my possessions, see how perfect everything looks.” And entertaining is stressful because it pushes us to present an image of perfection. Hospitality, on the other hand, says, “Come as you are. Relax. Be at home with us.” The very word “hospitality” shares its root with “hospice,” meaning shelter, and “hospital,” a place of healing. That raises a challenge for me personally: Do my words and actions provide shelter for others? Do they promote healing in those around me?
When we look at people in our community, we need to remember many are struggling. Some feel broken inside. Some are desperate to feel connected, to be affirmed, or to experience a spiritual touch. These people need the “hospice care” of Christian hospitality. There’s an old preacher’s saying: the Church isn’t meant to be a hotel for saints but a hospital for sinners. God calls us here not to impress one another but to minister to each other in our weakness and our shared need for grace. That’s what Jesus was pointing out when he said: “Don’t invite your friends or your rich neighbors. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”
When we experience generous hospitality in Christian community, we are naturally drawn deeper into a relationship with Christ. And the deeper we go into God’s grace, the more we realize how much we need it. True faith builds humility, and humility puts us on equal ground with others.
That matters because we live in a bitterly divided time, retreating into cultural, political, and religious silos. But when we come before God with the common need for grace, our identity shifts. We begin to see ourselves not as tribes or factions but as fellow sinners redeemed by Christ. Christian community becomes one of the few places left where we can gather, despite what the world says divides us, and celebrate our shared gratitude to God.
And so the difference is this: while a mere community of Christians might leave outsiders watching from the parking lot, a true Christian community welcomes everyone inside—whether you drive a tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, a Toyota Land Cruiser, or a beat-up Grand Cherokee. And once we embrace that transformed identity in Christ, we will be equipped to transform our wider community and serve a wounded world so deeply in need of God’s love and grace.