How Much More
If you happen to be out on the sea floor, you might discover a snapping (pistol) shrimp and a goby fish spending their lives together. When I taught biology, symbiosis always intrigued my high school students, and the relationship between these two animals was a favorite topic.
The shrimp is a tireless builder. It spends its days digging and repairing a burrow in the shifting sand. Because the sand is always in motion, the shrimp’s work is never really finished. The shrimp has one significant problem, though. Its eyesight is poor, and it may not realize when danger is approaching. The goby has a different problem. The fish has excellent vision but no home to protect it from predators. So these two creatures live together. The shrimp provides shelter, and the goby lends its sight. But there’s a bonus detail that my students always loved. As the shrimp continues its almost endless digging, it keeps one antenna lightly pressed against the goby’s tail. The touch provides an early warning system. If the goby flicks its tail and breaks contact, the shrimp darts into its burrow, and the goby follows. Together they remain tucked safely inside until the danger has passed.
If two ocean creatures, with no obvious awareness of God, can instinctively share sight and shelter, then how much more might people build relationships soaked in the love that God has called us to share? That question borrows from a teaching method called qal va-homer, which essentially means “light and heavy.” Common in Jesus’ day, it calls for reasoning from a “light” idea to a “heavy” one; if something is true in a small way, how much more will it be true in a greater one? If God clothes the lilies of the field, how much more will he clothe you? If earthly parents know how to give good gifts, how much more does God know how to give such gifts? … If mutual care can be found in a shrimp and a fish, how much more should it be found among people who bear God’s image?
At the close of Matthew 10, Jesus reverses the usual qal va-homer pattern, but the logic is evident. Jesus begins with the heavy statement first: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” Then he narrows the focus and speaks of welcoming prophets and righteous people. Finally, he concludes with a small and tender statement. Jesus says that even offering a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who comes in the name of a disciple is seen by God and rewarded.
The disciples of Jesus are sent carrying good news, but that good news must be welcomed if it is to take root in the heart of others. The disciples need to be received, and that’s why I thought of the shrimp and the fish. When the goby takes up residence in the shrimp’s burrow, both creatures become more than either could have been alone. So, how much more extraordinary is the simple act of one person welcoming another? We rarely know what God is beginning when we offer a seat at the table, a listening ear, or even a glass of cold water. An ordinary act of hospitality may become the place where Christ is welcomed. But remember the shrimp and the goby. Neither one only gives, and neither only receives. We were made in much the same way. We offer what we have, and we accept what we lack. So perhaps this week’s invitation is to do both: extend the cup of cold water, and be humble enough to receive it when it is offered to you.
