Entertaining Angels
Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers,
for by so doing some people
have shown hospitality to angels
without knowing it.
--Hebrews 13:2
It was a stupid mistake—a scenario for which I should have prepared in advance. But then again, one assumes that the one-hour flight between Dublin and London should be hassle free. Consequently, packing one’s single allotted ‘personal item’ (aka my overstuffed ‘personal’ backpack) for an airline known for its stringent baggage policies should require relatively little preparation or forethought. I had the essentials: my water bottle, a genre-spanning collection of books, some mixed nuts, makeup, the pink hearts-and-rosebuds 50’s era robe I had purchased that day, and a cheery cowboy mug that says “too big for your boots.”
My family and I had just spent several days in Ireland visiting my younger sister before flying to England for a family wedding. On the day of the flight, we were running a bit behind schedule. At the airport we rushed together en masse to one of the many self-check-in kiosks around which groups of anxious passengers clustered like bees—novices trying to do the work of a check-in agent because this particular airline charges you money to speak to a live person. As we attempted to print my boarding pass and luggage tag, the tag wouldn’t print; we assumed it got stuck in the printer. Drew then opened the kiosk door and pulled the crumpled tag from the printer’s clutches before I affixed it to my suitcase handle without bothering to check the tag’s 3 letter airport code (because who does that?! I ask you.” You press print and you take it from the printer and you slap it on your bag.
Except when we arrived in London, there was no bag. Like a forlorn puppy I watched the luggage circle around and around on the carousel until there was only one bag left. It was not my suitcase, and my missing bag contained the dress I was wearing to my cousin’s wedding the next day along with my medication. This was an especially big deal to me as I had just recovered from getting off-schedule with my medication, and there I was again. I felt profoundly embarrassed. Shuffling towards the airline desk with the barely flickering hope that they’d magically produce my bag from behind the counter, I soon realized that the best they could do was hand me a missing luggage report to fill out: the sentence of doom. In that moment, I knew I would never see my bag again.
When an airline professional’s single solution is to hand you a form to fill out while saying “We’ll call you” in a way that sounds more like a question than a promise, you know you’re in trouble. With an abundance of teamwork and a positive attitude, the airline representative concluded that I must have printed a luggage tag to not-England. “It could be anywhere,” she said with what I suspected was a note of grim satisfaction. Drew, bless his heart, looked even more distressed than I felt which was not hard to do because all I felt was numb resignation. Armed with my water bottle, books, robe, and mug (you know—the essentials) I wearily stepped into the unknown of the days ahead. As I feel asleep that night in the pajamas my kind sister hand lent me, I let God know that I did not think that this was a good idea and I probably wasn’t going to learn a spiritual lesson so please return my suitcase to me ASAP amen. Also please give me strength or something. Amen again.
The next morning, Drew and I ventured out in a foreign land to find a pharmacy that could perhaps grant me an emergency supply of my medication for the duration of the trip. We assumed my baggage would not be found in time for my cousin’s wedding that afternoon, so we also planned to purchase the actual human people essentials like toiletries and underwear along with a dress and shoes. The pharmacist told us that we would need to call NHS (England’s National Health Service) to receive emergency medication; the only problem was, we were unable to make local calls via our cell phones. Seeing the worry on my face, the pharmacist said, “One moment,” as she turned to ask her supervisor, “Is it alright if I let them use my cell phone? They need medication but cannot call for it.” After running upstairs to the staff room to grab her phone, she handed it to me with a bit of breathless shyness, saying, “My phone is having a bit of trouble with the earpiece, so you might just need to put it on speaker phone.” I received the cellphone of this stranger gratefully and placed a call to NHS, explaining my situation via speakerphone to the entire pharmacy along with an NHS agent who sounded as if she genuinely wanted to help me—like this was more than a job for her. She even obtained special secret-agenty permission from various supervisors to ensure that a local doctor would contact me with a prescription soon, even though I did not have a local phone number.
While on hold for a lengthy bit of time, I watched as numerous texts came in from family and friends, popping up against the pharmacist’s background image of an adorable ginger cat. As our conversation ended and a medication plan was in place, I felt genuinely loved by the two women who had inconvenienced themselves to help a bewildered American girl. What’s more, my mom had sneakily sent me a generous monetary gift to cover my losses, and I felt her love for me, too. Shortly thereafter I found a dress and shoes and was able to enjoy my cousin’s wedding relatively care-free. That night I prayed a second prayer: I still really want my bag back, but I guess I don’t actually need as much as I thought I did to be okay. Thank You for showing me that. But just know that I don’t want to write about this later because I’m a bit exhausted of this situation. Amen.
The next morning, I received word that my bag had been found partying in Spain—yes, Spain—but had wisely trotted back to England and was available for me to pick up at my earliest convenience. Though a bit dustier and worse for wear, my bag was indeed waiting for me at the airport and I retrieved it with gratitude and keen relief. I wouldn’t need the NHS services after all. I had all that I needed—but then, I already knew that. There was a bit of twine tied to the handle that hadn’t been there before Spain, and I decided to leave it attached as a souvenir.
Although I highly doubt that God plotted to have my bag take a brief pleasure cruise to Spain just to teach me some spiritual lesson, it occurs to me that only those who are needy get to see their needs being met in beautiful, surprising ways. Only those who know loss are able to experience the joy of finding and being found. I would never have met the kind pharmacist or spoken with the gracious NHS agent or experienced the genuine sympathy and hugs of each person who heard my story if my bag had arrived safely in England. (And, might I add, British people aren’t just handing out hugs to anyone). Had the correct luggage tag been printed, I would have missed experiencing the kindness of strangers.
The book of Hebrews says we are meant to show hospitality to strangers because we could be entertaining angels unaware (cue 1998 Newsboys song “entertaining angels by the light of my t.v. screen”). It is a different thing altogether to be on the receiving end of a stranger’s hospitality—the one with genuine need. Maybe, even, a holy thing. Whether I show hospitality to strangers or not, I cannot help but think that impractical, right-brained me wandering around trying to get through things successfully like airport kiosks and scheduling timely doctor visits is highly entertaining to any and all angels who happen to be watching. So don’t you worry, unidentified author of Hebrews. I’m entertaining angels.
I love the Message translation of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, particularly the beatitudes section. Although losing a bag is certainly not the worst thing to have happen, these words take on a different meaning for me because in losing my bag, I experienced them as truer than true:
You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.
(Matthew 5:3-5, MSG)
So here’s to losing ourselves and finding God—to giving our neediness and receiving kindness, to learning the secret of contentment and becoming the proud owners of everything that can’t be bought. Here’s to entertaining angels.
Amen.
Entertaining angels by the time I fall to my knees—
Host of heaven, sing over me.
--The Newsboys