The Welcome of Strangers in the Land of Canaan

In the ancient epoch, when the promises of the Almighty were still echoing across the barren plains and fertile valleys, and the descendants of Abraham began to take root in the land of Canaan, the welcoming of strangers was not merely a societal custom, but a sacred covenant, woven into the very fabric of their identity. For they, too, had once been strangers, sojourners in a foreign land.

Consider the very origins of their patriarch. Abraham, called from Ur of the Chaldees, was himself a sojourner, a tent-dweller in the land promised to his descendants. His life, and that of Isaac and Jacob, was one of constant movement, relying on the hospitality of others and, in turn, extending it with open hands. It was at the door of his tent by the oaks of Mamre that Abraham famously rushed to greet three unknown travelers, bowing low to the ground and insisting they partake of his provisions and rest beneath his shade (Genesis 18:1-8). This spontaneous, lavish welcome, offered to figures he later discovered to be divine messengers, set a profound precedent.

As the generations unfolded and the Israelites eventually entered Canaan, they carried with them the indelible memory of their own sojourn in Egypt, a land where they had been strangers and, at times, oppressed. This lived experience formed the bedrock of a divine mandate concerning the treatment of the alien, the sojourner, and the stranger among them. The Law, given at Sinai, reiterated this command with solemn weight:

"You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt." (Exodus 22:21)

And again: "When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong. You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God." (Leviticus 19:33-34)

This was not a mere suggestion for politeness; it was a foundational ethical principle rooted in their very history and in the character of their God. To welcome the stranger was to remember their own past, to acknowledge their dependence on divine grace, and to participate in God's compassionate heart.

Throughout the era of the Judges and into the time of the Kings, instances of this vital practice abound. When the Levite from Ephraim sought lodging for the night, an old man in Gibeah, recognizing the sacred duty, brought him into his home, saying, "Peace be with you. Only let all your needs fall on me; just do not spend the night in the open square." (Judges 19:20). Though the narrative that follows is dark, the initial act of welcome underscores the established custom.

Even the story of Ruth, the Moabitess, a stranger in the land of Judah, highlights this principle. Her acceptance by Boaz, who commanded his young men to allow her to glean among the sheaves and even provided her with extra grain, exemplified the spirit of kindness towards the alien (Ruth 2:8-16). From her lineage, a stranger welcomed into the community, would come King David, and ultimately, the Messiah.

The welcome of strangers in the land of Canaan was thus a testament to a people whose identity was forged in exodus and guided by divine instruction. It was a practice born of memory, sustained by commandment, and perfected in the lives of those who understood that in extending hospitality to the unknown, they were, in a profound sense, extending it to the very God who had welcomed them into His promised land. This ancient wisdom continues to echo, reminding us that every stranger bears the potential for blessing, and every act of welcome resonates with the divine.