When the World Comes to Our Door

What follows is a transcript of our guest speaker's message from our Sunday morning gathering. We share these messages on our blog for those who appreciate the opportunity to read the sermon again—whether for deeper reflection, personal study, or a quieter moment of prayer and introspection. As you read, we invite you to linger with the words, notice what resonates, and remain open to how God may be speaking to you through them.

by Pat Immel

So, today I just wanted to do just a bit of education before I start.

The vehicle of the message is based on 9-11 and a musical that was written about this event called Come From Away. And I just wanted to give you just a bit of information. Everybody knows about 9-11, but maybe you didn't know that when they shut down the American airspace, there were anywhere from 200 to 500 planes coming from Europe that they couldn't let land in the United States.

And so they were diverted to Canada, but they didn't want them to go to Toronto, any of the big cities, because they would just as likely want to fly a plane into the CNN tower in Toronto as the World Trade Center. So, they had all these small airports up and down the eastern seaboard of Canada. And this particular story that the musical is based on is a town called Gander in Newfoundland.

And that is the vehicle, so to speak, for this message. Come From Away is my favorite musical, and there is a lot of good messages. Again, this is sort of the backbone of the message.

So, on the morning of September 11th, 25 years ago, thousands of people boarded airplanes expecting to arrive somewhere else. They had meetings to attend, vacations to begin, families waiting for them, and homes they expected to sleep in that night.

But when American airspace was closed, 38 planes carrying nearly 7,000 people were diverted to Gander in Newfoundland. And Gander, Newfoundland, the airport there, was at one time the biggest airport in the world. They built it for World War II for the planes going across to Europe.

And now it's 120th the size of Atlanta-Hartsfield. So things change. So 7,000 people were about to show up in a town of roughly 10,000 people, and they learned that the world was coming to their door.

The musical Come From Away tells us what happens next. It is set in the shadow of a terrible act, but it is not finally a story about terror. It is a story about the choice ordinary people made in response to terror.

When fear and confusion came to their community, they answered with beds, with meals, with bus rides, with friendship, and they made a room at the table. Today I want us to consider one question, if you would. When the world comes to our door, what will it find? This isn't really an abstract question for First Christian Church.

We live in Maryville, alongside Northwest Missouri State University. Students arrive here from nearby towns from across the country and cities all over the globe. They come carrying suitcases, ambitions, family expectations, different traditions, and sometimes loneliness or fear that we can't see.

We are also a church in transition. We are honest about the fact that we would like to see new faces, new energy, growing participation, but Scripture calls us to something deeper than filling empty seats. It calls us to become the kind of community that knows what to do when a stranger arrives.

Paul writes in Romans 12: 13, contribute to the needs of saints and extend hospitality to strangers. Biblical hospitality is more than friendliness.

It is not simply smiling at someone once they've found their own way through our doors. Hospitality anticipates another person's needs and prepares a place for them. And we're going to watch a couple scenes from Come From Away.

In this first scene from Come From Away, the people of Gander learn that thousands of unexpected guests are coming. They do not yet know their names. They do not know their nationalities, their religions or how long they're actually going to stay. But they know that people will need blankets and bedding and food and medicine and diapers and toothbrushes and toilet paper so they get to work. We're going to watch the first bit here.

All right, Janice Moser, here's your news. Gander Town Council declares a state of emergency.

11:53 a.m. Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Any available community buildings will be converted into shelters. With thousands of passengers arriving at any minute, the town is asking for help with well, anything you can do.

Crystallize on the news that they're looking for blankets and bedding and maybe some food. Do you know what they need and how much? I need something to do because I can't watch the news anymore. Can I help? Is there something I need to do, something to keep me from thinking of all of those scenes on the tube? I need something to do because I can't watch the news.

No, I can't watch the news anymore. If a stranger ends up at your door, you get on the horn. Hello, this is Beulah Davis down at the Academy.

I heard we might be getting some guests and I thought I'd see if I could help. Who's ever in charge of getting to school or how many passengers can we take? We've got about 400 students. Yes, we could probably do 600 or sure, 700 if we really pack them in.

When are they coming? Could be any time now. I'm glad I phoned. I get a call from Beulah looking for anything 700 people from around the world might need.

So, I go down to shoppers and the manager says, they just take what I want off the shelves. Toothbrushes, floss, mouthwash, deodorant and I'm back at the school when Beulah says, you know those planes probably got some babies on them. So, I'm back to shoppers for diapers and we're unpacking them when Annette says, you know those babies are probably going to be hungry.

So, I'm back to shoppers for formula and baby food and when I get back, Beulah says, you know those planes are probably filled with women of childbearing age. So... So, I'm back to shoppers. Pick up as many pads and tampons as they have.

The Baptist Church needs a hand moving their pews. Dr. O'Brien down at the pharmacy is ready to fill any prescriptions. Oh, and the Lions Club is looking for some toilet paper if you have any extra.

Medicine, toothpaste, underwear, aspirin, jackets our kids grew out of last summer. And down at the station we're taking donations out by the door. Oh, thank Jesus there's more.

It's better than being at home alone wondering what's really happening. Everyone's phoning. We're setting up rooms in the schools.

We'll cry in our afternoon wondering what can be done. What do we need? I made a tray of sandwiches. We need 50 more.

Sandwiches? Trays. What do we need? 200 gym mats. Is that enough? You tell me, we'll both know.

What do we need? For the love of God, stop bringing toilet paper to the Lions Club. How do you know what you need when you don't know how many you're needing to feed? When you don't know how many are staying, how long they are staying. We better start praying the weather stays nice.

In the winter from the water. In the winter from the water. In the winter from the water.

In the winter from the water. In the stranger ends of sent by fate. Are we gonna be ready? Well, we have to be, don't we?

What I love about that scene is that the welcome begins before the visitors even enter the room, the people of Gander do not wait to be asked. They imagine what frightened and exhausted travelers might need and they keep going back for more. There's something almost holy in those ordinary supplies.

A blanket says, you may rest here. A meal says, your hunger matters to us. A toothbrush says, we have thought about what it feels like to be you tonight. Churches sometimes say everyone is welcome and they sincerely mean it, but the harder question is whether we have prepared for everyone.

Is it easy for someone who has never attended this church to know where to go? Do we explain the things insiders take for granted? Do we learn unfamiliar names instead of shortening them for our convenience? Are we curious about another person's culture and story? Are we willing to make room not only for the new people, but also for the new ideas and gifts that they bring? Hospitality is love as it done its homework. The passengers eventually leave their airplanes, but they still do not know where they are going. In the next scene, an African family is riding a bus towards a shelter.

They cannot understand the driver. They see people wearing uniforms and become afraid. When they’re asked to leave the bus, they hesitate to step off.

The bus driver wants to reassure them, but good intentions are not enough when people do not share language. Then he sees that one passenger is carrying a Bible. He realizes the chapter and verse numbers can cross the language barrier.

He turns to Philippians 4:6— Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Jesus Christ.

Some translations of this of this verse begin with, be afraid for nothing. And that's the phrase that is used in this scene.

Every school bus we got is going back and forth all night.

Out to the Salvation Army camp, we've delivered passengers from Germany, England, and France. On around 3 in the morning, my bus is designated to take all these African people out there. My family and I try to see out the bus windows.

No one tells us where we are going. Silence comes on the bus. We get outside a gander, and you can hear a pin drop.

My wife and daughter are scared. They ask me what is happening, and I do not know. Behind me, this big man comes up to me, and he says in his low voice.

What did you call up? What? Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry. I'll help you find a phone as soon as we get wherever we're going. Finally, out of the darkness, my bus arrives at the Salvation Army camp.

We pass through a large gate, and the bus pulls to a stop. And through the windows, out there in the darkness, we see all these people coming out of the building. Now, we rarely use them, but everyone's dusted off their Salvation Army uniforms to welcome these people.

There are soldiers everywhere. The man at the front opens the door. I say, here you are.

Out you go. But he's not moving. None of them are.

But then I notice his wife. Well, she's clutching a Bible. Now, obviously, I can't read it, but their Bible, it'll have the same number system ours does.

So I ask to see it, and I'm searching for something here. And then, in Philippians 4:6, I give them their Bible, and I'm pointing, saying, look, Philippians 4:6, be anxious for nothing. Be anxious for nothing.

And that's how we started speaking the same language.

The driver and the passengers still do not share a spoken language, but now they found a language of trust. The uniform that looked threatening belongs to someone preparing to care for them.

The unknown destination is a shelter. The strangers on the other side of the bus are friends. The scene reminds us that people may have good reasons to be cautious.

A person from another country may not understand our customs. A young adult may be entering church for the first time. Someone else may carry painful memories of a church that judged or rejected them.

We cannot simply announce that we are welcoming and then blame other people if they remain hesitant. Welcome requires patience. It requires us to cross the distance, listen carefully, and find a language another person can receive.

And notice that the driver does not do, he does not begin with an argument, he begins with reassurance. You are safe, you're among friends, and there's a place for you here. Later in the story, passengers and townspeople gather to pray.

They do not suddenly become identical. They come from different nations and religious traditions. They use different words and melodies, but each brings a prayer for peace.

Jesus says in Matthew 5:9, blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God. Notice Jesus does not say only blessed are those who like peace or blessed are those who wish the conflict would go away. He blesses the peacemakers, people who become the instruments through which peace enters a frightened and divided world.

The song you're about to hear is called prayer. It begins with make me a channel of your peace based on the prayer of St. Francis. Then a Jewish prayer for peace, Osa Shalom, joins it along with prayers voiced from other traditions.

The scene does not require us to pretend that every religion is the same. It shows us the difference does not have to become distant or suspicion or hatred. Beulah walks me to church.

When we get there, I light a candle for my son. And I do too. I suddenly realized what that music was from my dream.

It was an old hymn from when I was a kid. Well, I haven't been to church in years. But for some reason, that song was in my head.

Make me a channel of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring your love. Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord.

And where there's doubt, true faith in you. Make me a channel of your peace. Where there's despair in life, let me bring hope.

Where there is darkness, only light. And where there's sadness, ever sure. Hei Shalom Im Romav, Hu Ya Sey Shalom Aleinu V'al Kol Yisrael, V'imru, V'imru Amen.

There's a man here in town. He's lived here nearly his entire life. He heard that there was a rabbi I diverted here and he came to find me and tell me his story.

I was born in Poland, I think, and my parents, they were Jews, they sent me here before the war started. I still remember some of the prayers they taught me. As a boy, I was told I should never tell anyone I was Jewish, even my wife.

But after what happened on Tuesday, so many stories gone just like that, I needed to tell someone. During Al-Fager, when most people are asleep, it is easier to pray. But at Duhur, I can feel them watching me.

Sometimes I catch them when they think I'm not looking, and I can see the fear in their eyes. Excuse me, Buehler wanted me to check on you. The library's open for anyone looking for some peace and a quiet place to pray.

Yahaseh shalom, yahaseh shalom, shalom aleinu v'al kol Yisra'el. Yahaseh shalom, yahaseh shalom, shalom aleinu v'al kol Yisra'el. O Master, grant that I may never seek so much to be consoled as to console.

So you'll be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love your soul. Make me a channel of your peace, where there's despair in life, let me bring hope, where there is darkness, only light, and where there's sadness, ever joy.

They do not sing the same words, yet together they create harmony. That may be one of the most important images for a church and a university community. Harmony.

Harmony does not happen when every voice sings the same note. Harmony happens when distinct voices listen to another and contribute to something larger than any one voice could create alone. As disciples of Christ, we return again and again to an open table.

At Christ's table, we do not first prove that we deserve a place. We receive grace, and then we make room for others. The table is not ours to protect from strangers.

It is Christ's table, and we ourselves, guests, who have been welcomed. Yes, we want this church to grow. We want life in these rooms, new relationships, new voices, new generations carrying the ministry forward.

There is nothing wrong with hoping for that. And this is the wrong word. This is the wrong word that I'm going to use, but I noticed it, and I didn't have time to change.

But fear cannot be the foundation of our welcome. If we are welcoming people because we need numbers, then they'll feel like numbers. If we welcome them because Christ has taught us to love our neighbors, they may discover community, and we may rediscover the church we have been called to be.

The people who arrive are not merely empty seats waiting to be filled. They bring stories we have not heard, questions we have not considered, gifts we do not possess, and experiences of God that may enlarge our own understanding. So perhaps the first question is not, how can we get more people to come here? Perhaps it is, what must we prepare so that the people who come here can truly belong? Who in Maryville has thought they have come from away? Who is spending a first semester far from home? Who is eating alone? Who remains in town over a holiday break when everyone else goes home? Who is navigating an unfamiliar language, or an unfamiliar culture, or an unfamiliar season of life? Who has been waiting for someone to learn their name and become curious about their story? We may not be able to open our homes to 7,000 stranded travelers, but we can open one seat at a table.

We can learn one name. We can share one meal. We can offer one ride.

We can ask one student to tell us about home. That is how a church begins to grow, and not merely larger, but deeper, wider, and more faithful. When the world came to Gander's door, the people prepared a place.

When language and fear separated them, they found a way to speak peace. When religion might have divided them, they raised different prayers and created harmony. Love prepared, love crossed the distance, love made peace.

And now the world is at our door. It arrives every semester. It moves into our neighborhoods.

It passes us in the grocery store. Sometimes it even sits in our sanctuary quietly, wondering if anybody will notice. May First Christian Church be known not simply as a church that wants new members, but as a people who make room.

And I truly believe we are that. May we prepare before the stranger arrives. May we speak peace across every barrier.

May we become channels of Christ's peace in Maryville. And when someone comes from away, whether from another country, another tradition, another generation, or simply from a season of loneliness, may they discover among us a message they can understand. You are safe here.

You are among friends. And there is room for you at the table. Amen.