A letter from the Vicar

Last month, many of us gathered for a wonderful community event, sharing food, conversation, and the joy of being together. I spent several hours standing in front of a roaring wood‑fired oven, cooking pizza after pizza for a great crowd. To keep an operation like that going, you need an intense, rolling flame. But as the hours go on, something else begins to accumulate on the floor of the oven: ash, burnt flour, and debris. If you are not careful, that buildup will choke the heat and ruin whatever comes next. You have to stop, take the brush, and clear the stone so the centre stays hot and clean.

Our life together as a church is not so different. When we open our doors, stretch the table wide, and live closely with one another, human nature leaves behind “ash”: disagreements, misunderstandings, different opinions, and the small frictions that come with community life. True hospitality is not just about setting a beautiful table; it is about what we do with the ash.

This is exactly the issue Paul addresses in Romans 14:1–12. The Christians in Rome were arguing over what Paul calls “disputable matters”: dietary rules, sacred days, and practices that some saw as essential and others saw as unnecessary. Some ate everything; others only ate vegetables. Some kept certain holy days; others did not. And the result was predictable: some looked down on others, and others judged those who did not do things “the right way.”

Paul’s instruction is simple and radical: “Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarrelling over opinions.” (Romans 14:1)

He reminds them that they do not sit in the judge’s seat, God does (Romans 14:4, 10). True spiritual hospitality means widening the table to welcome people whose “tastes” or opinions differ from our own, remembering that we are all accountable to the same Master (Romans 14:12).

When we invite people into our homes, we naturally want to control the environment. We want the lighting just right, the music low, and guests who agree with our tastes and laugh at our jokes. We want a table that is comfortable. But the table God sets in Romans 14 is radically uncomfortable. He invites the meat‑eaters and the vegetarians, the traditionalists and the radicals, the weak and the strong. He looks at us the hosts who think we run the room and says, “You do not get to check their invitations at the door. I invited them.”

The Gospel reading from last month, Matthew 18:21–35, takes this even further. Peter asks Jesus how many times he must forgive someone, suggesting a generous seven times. Jesus responds with seventy‑seven times, blasting past any mathematical limit. He then tells the parable of the unmerciful servant: a man forgiven an impossible, unpayable debt by the King, who immediately turns around and chokes a fellow servant over a tiny sum.

The connection to hospitality is clear. True hospitality is not just about providing space; it is about providing grace.

The King extended ultimate hospitality to the servant by wiping the slate clean. When we refuse to forgive, we are hoarding the grace we have been given. We are inviting people to the table but demanding they pay for their mistakes. We are keeping the ash and wondering why the fire has grown cold.

God has set a table that is beautifully, radically uncomfortable. He has invited people who do not think like us, vote like us, or act like us and he looks at us and says, “You do not get to check their invitations at the door. I invited them, and I have forgiven them.”

So let us stop micro‑managing God’s guest list, let us drop our judgments and let us brush away the ash of yesterday’s grievances.

When we do, we keep the centre of our community warm, clean, and ready. We keep the fire of grace burning. And we leave ourselves free to do what we were actually called to do: pull up another chair, pass the bread, and share the radical welcome of the Gospel.

Rev Scott