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I’ve spent the last couple days at St. Meinrad’s Archabbey in southern Indiana. Although it was not my first time to visit the campus, I think it was my first time to lollygag here. I spoke for a couple hours on Wednesday, but decided to hang around an extra day since the drive to and fro is rather long and my sciatica….okay, I’m sure none of you are interested in hearing about my sciatica.
Instead, I’ll tell you how lovely it was to hear the monks chant the Liturgy of the Hours. And how beautiful Sr. Jeana Visel and Br. Martin Erspamer’s artwork is. And what the moonrise behind the church looks like. And then the gracious hospitality of the whole community there, including the students. Of course, this was not surprising. I often associate Benedictines with hospitality. But only during this visit did I finally learn the story of St. Meinrad himself who is known as the “Martyr of Hospitality.”
Meinrad was a 9th Benedictine monk from Germany, who spent much of his life as a hermit but who nevertheless welcomed guests. In 861 CE, he had a vision that two of his guests would soon wish him harm. Shortly thereafter, two men arrived. Although Meinrad had been forewarned that they were up to no good, he still chose to celebrate Mass with them, fix them a meal, and give them a place to rest. They beat him and left him for dead. Meinrad’s two crows then set off after the robbers and… well, I’m sure you would be no more edified by that part of the tale than the tale of my sciatica. So, we’ll just stop there and instead sit with the question of whether being a “martyr of hospitality” is something we can even imagine in our time.
Many of us currently live in cultures that teach us to meet each and every stranger who comes our way with suspicion and fear. To always assume that the worst will happen if we make space in our city for an immigrant family; if we say hello to someone else on public transit; if we eat lunch with someone who is homeless. And it is possible that the worst could happen. There are always people who, as St. Meinrad recognized, could do us harm. But in the Benedictine tradition, the face of the stranger is also potentially the face of Christ. If we refuse to enter into relationship with those who are different than us, we might feel safer in the moment, but we also miss out on opportunities to meet Christ throughout our daily lives. We miss out on amazing adventures and beautiful friendships and glorious meals and life-changing encounters.
I will always be grateful in my own life for the holy men and women I’ve met who, like St. Meinrad, have been bold in their hospitality and fearless in meeting strangers needs, and who have nudged me to take more risks as well. Their sense of anticipation that everyone they meet might be Christ in disguise, has made them become more Christ-like themselves—more joyous, more daring, freer, happier, more outspoken. Their stories are the most edifying stories I get to listen to.
Any number of you reading today fall into that category in my mind, but I’ll attach links here to two fellow preachers who have certainly impressed me in that way. Fr. Brendan Curran is a former classmate who has dedicated his life to serving the migrant community in Chicago. He’s the one who reminded me that Pope Leo has declared Oct 5, 2025 the World Day of Migrants and Refugees and was willing to boldly preach on what it means today to stand with the migrant. Sr. Megan McElroy is the prioress of the Grand Rapid Dominicans. Megan is regularly outspoken on behalf of the needs of the outcast, while possessing a great laugh and free spirit. Just this past week, she shared her prophetic preaching with me. I think you will find their words on our new ReclaimingTruth.org website powerful.
Wishing you a week of beauty, truth, and courage.
(PS If you'd like to see Br. Martin's icon of St. Meinrad, check out his three minute video here. If you really DO want to know what the crows did after Meinrad's death, well, you can check out this podcast, especially a minute 10.)