The Joy of Being
Hospitable
In today's harried world hospitality is almost a lost art. And an art it is! A beautiful, enriching art that demonstrates that giving is better than receiving. The idea is as old as the creation of mankind and comes from the heart of God. God created a hospitable world, but the disorder of selfishness increasingly makes most people feel like strangers in it. One of the saddest verses in the Bible describes the coming of Jesus Christ into the world. "He came to his own home, and his own people received him not" (John 1:11 RSV). God is hospitable; He expects His children to follow His example. "Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become the children of God."
Hospitality is more than a virtuous deed to be checked off a list; it is a mind-set toward life. The word hospitable means receiving guests or strangers warmly and generously; being favorably receptive and open to others. It is letting people into your home and into your life, and its ministry fits our human needs.
Anyone who has experienced this kind of warm reception into a family or a home knows the refreshment it brings the spirit, especially if one is traveling, lonely, or unacquainted in an area.
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But quite apart from being a stranger or away from home, everyone needs to be wanted and hospitality does that for a person. It says, "You are important to us." No one is too secure or too important not to need these simple gestures of love. Offering hospitality is loving your neighbor as yourself. Many people gladly receive it, but some are reluctant to offer it to others. The very sound of the word may produce the mental image of work, inconvenience, and stress in your mind, but if it does, you are not thinking of hospitality — you are thinking of you.
The Jews had laws defining hospitality, "When an alien lives with you in your land, do not mistreat him. The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. I am the Lord your God" (Leviticus 19:33-34). Strangers living with the Israelites the night of the passover in Egypt feasted with the families, according to the rules of circumcision, and were redeemed with Israel.
Think of the rich experience of Abraham entertaining "angels unaware" when the Lord was on His way to destroy Sodom and Gommorah. He saw three men passing by and ran out in oriental fashion and begged them to stay, calling the abundant feast he prepared "a morsel of bread," standing while they ate to show his honor. Such hospitality still exists among nomadic peoples, and many non-Christian cultures have elaborate rituals for the entertainment of guests. In some tribal groups everything the host possesses is given for the use of the guest, including the honor of his wife or daughters. I question that latter generosity! But in such cultures the woman is in the same category as other possessions.
The availability of motels, hotels, and restaurants does not cancel out the need of hospitality as some assume. Rather it places hospitality on a different level and makes its practice
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less routine and more creative. I think of a friend who, upon meeting a visiting professor from South Africa, immediately arranged for him to come to dinner, inviting others to widen his circle of friendships. After a rented room and cafeteria food, the professor had a whole new feel for our city and our country. What a different kind of entertaining this is than the social obligation routine of going to dinner and then "owing" a dinner in return. The Bible talks about doing good to those who cannot return the favor.
But hospitality is like casting a pebble into a lake. The ripples go to the far shore. We were in Malaysia, attempting to visit the beautiful new air-conditioned government buildings in Kuala Lumpur. Because it was hot outside, the men in our party had neither suit coats nor ties, and both are required for entrance. As we were turning to leave, a tall turbaned Sikh approached us in the friendliest manner and asked if he could help us. He observed we were Americans and said that in his student days in America he had been so cordially received that he determined that whenever he could help an American in his country he would do it. He turned out to be a member of Parliament, and hustled about to borrow ties and suitcoats from clerks working in private rooms. They were ludicrous in fit — size 32 short on a 44 long! But nevertheless, he proceeded to give us a personal tour of the chambers of government. That remains a special memory.
I have often since thought of international students we have entertained who have gone back to similar posts of government, some of them immigration officials who may now determine policies regarding missionary visas. Hospitality is never just the meal or the bed; it is the message you give a person about his value and your own personal values in the gracious giving of what is yours.
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In a rural village near our home there was an ill-kempt shoe repair shop run by a strange man whose whole demeanor betrayed the cruel circumstances of his life. He lived with his cats in the back of his shop; his fingernails and the creases in his hands and face were grimy from boot black, coal soot and no hot water; the heavy underwear at the open neck of his shirt showed the neglect of his personal hygiene. He was almost wordless, grunting out replies to his customers. Sometimes he crawled on the floor because he was not wearing the wooden legs he usually hobbled on. I was curious about him and, being new in the village, I asked old-timers about his story. No one I talked with seemed to know. He was just a peculiar man, they said.
But one of our friends, a single man who worked for my husband, moved to this village soon after and, because he possessed a quiet, hospitable spirit, he invited this man into his life. He brought him to his apartment for Thanksgiving dinner, along with a couple of friends who helped him cook his first holiday meal. They ate good food, they talked, they played games, and as the day wore on, our shoemaker began to relax. He could hardly comprehend a place where there was so much love, simple joy, and goodness.
Eventually he told his story. He was an orphan, taken in by a farm family in Canada. He worked hard as a farmhand and more than earned his keep. One bitter cold winter day after he had done the chores, his feet wet and his body numb with cold, he returned to the house only to find the door barred. He had displeased the family and they punished him by locking him out in the cold. He pounded and pleaded to be let in from thirty below zero temperatures. His feet froze; he did not get proper care, and eventually lost his legs.
He had never known love in all his life, until our friend
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took him into his life and tried to tell him that God loved him — an almost meaningless concept if you had never experienced human love. A miracle took place because one single man dared to let a needy person into his life.
I mention this example because single people may feel that hospitality means having a family, a house, or proper furnishings. No, it means welcoming the stranger. You can be hospitable in a dormitory room, simply by caring enough to invite someone in so that you can know her and be known by her. The generous use of your car can be creative hospitality; its facets are many.
One of the most beautiful illustrations of hospitality in the Bible is the story of the Good Samaritan. He gave himself to a wounded man who was a stranger. Unable to take him to his own home, he took him to a nearby inn and paid for his care. He was in the middle of the country when he found him, but he did what he could.
The single women I know who have the richest lives are the ones who practice hospitality. They are sensitive to the needs and joys of others and make room in their lives. Given all the varieties in temperament, each woman still has to take inventory: whom have I welcomed into my life? For whom is my leisure time spent? Who are my friends?
The example of hospitality that deeply touches me as I read the Scriptures is the picture of Jesus cooking breakfast for the disciples on the shore of Lake Galilee after His resurrection. Broiled fish on a charcoal fire, and bread. The Lord of glory cooking a meal. He cared about people's needs. I have often thought of Him as I have cooked meals for others.
The book of Acts describes the fellowship of the early church as they broke break in their homes, partook of food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor
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with all the people. Imagine what it meant for a new convert to be invited into such a hospitable home — the sharing, the joy, the thanksgiving to God.
The missionary outreach of the church prospered under this kind of hospitality in the first century. In a hostile world, travelers carrying the Good News received the care of other believers. Paul wrote of "Gaius, whose hospitality I . . . enjoy." As the church grew this may have become burdensome at times, for Peter admonishes believers to "offer hospitality to one another without grumbling." Perhaps he needed to say that because a few were doing more than their share.
Hospitality has been part of Christian witness from the beginning. A qualification for the office of bishop is that he must be hospitable (1 Timothy 3:2). Widows who qualify for special ministry in the church must have proven their good works; they must have show hospitality (1 Timothy 5:10). Hebrew Christians were exhorted, "do not forget to entertain strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels without knowing it" (Hebrews 13:2). In Romans 12:13, "practicing hospitality" is one of the traits of the person who has presented his body as a living sacrifice to God. Later in Romans 16:1, Paul asks the Roman Christians to receive Phoebe, a helpful minister from the church at Cenchrea who was coming to Rome. Why is hospitality so important? Because people are so important to God.
Food is an important part of hospitality, and has a way of binding people together. Seated together around the table, the barriers disappear and satisfaction radiates a warm glow. Elaborate or simple, sharing the work of your hands and what you possess refreshes others.
Preparing good tasting food is a way to show people my love, but I have learned not to make the preparation so complicated that I can't enjoy the people. I have a supply of
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simple, tasty recipes that are neither costly nor laborious. They give me the freedom to say, "Come home for dinner." What is pleasant to look on and good to taste does not so much require labor as developed taste buds, a creative touch — and love. One does not have to be a French chef to know that colors and texture are part of the delight of eating. And a table made pretty with a small bouquet or a candle says, "Come and be with us!"
On a gourmet-cooking program on television the host interviewed a famous personality who commented that she thought it worthwhile to cook well only for a few choice friends because the effort was an expression of love. If she did not care about the people, they went out to a restaurant. She had one thing straight. Good food says, "I care about you," but she was selfish about who she cared for. Some of the people who most need the gracious touch of carefully prepared food are the neglected, unloved ones of this world — the lonely ones who find it hard to feel at home anywhere. My heart has been warmed often by a comment or a note, sometimes received years later, that tells me this kind of hospitality is valuable. I think of one note that read, "You have taught me a lot about the love of God by serving us from your best tea cups and making the table and the food seem so inviting."
But such a ministry is not just for outsiders. Personally I feel I communicate hospitality and love to my own family by the effort of tasty food. In my mind it is the inalienable right of every child to come into the house and smell fresh-baked cookies or bread or something that says, "Yum-m-m. Someone here loves me!" Husbands included, of course. Along with neighbor children, and anyone else who comes in. Homes should have a loving smell.
I am no gourmet cook, but people are welcome at our table
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whether they are expected or not. In hospitable homes, the joy of receiving others is catching and becomes a family project. We keep extra cans of food to be opened for unexpected callers. My husband and son both cook a specialty omelet that is hard to beat. Our bean-bacon-cheese sandwiches are winners. And homemade soup from the freezer saves the day on many occasions. Hospitality doesn't mean fancy; it means I'm glad you are here. And anyone can help set the table or carry out the dishes!
We know what it means to travel and stay in the homes of others, so we have room "in our inn" for those who need it. I learned long ago to make having guests as easy as possible. Good pillows, enough blankets, a box of tissues, a private drinking glass, and a good light to read by are items I try to provide. When the garden is in bloom I may add flowers on a bedside stand. But we've also let students sleep on the floor wall to wall, and wait in long lines for use of the bathroom. And those have been some of the merriest times.
But hospitality needs to be practiced within the family and within the home as well. It's folly to talk of receiving the stranger when little sensitivity exists within the home to the needs of family members or the apartment mate. Increasingly, families do not eat together, or if they do, their meals are hurried times where everyone is free to gulp down his food and leave the table to watch television. The larger the family, the more difficult it is to make it work, but some time should be sacred in family life when we talk together as a family and get to know what has made up the day of each member. The fellowship of food can also provide the fellowship of sharing. Jimmy does not leave the table as soon as he has finished his food because to do so would be saying that he didn't care about what happened in John's life that day. We stay together and talk. It's a habit, not a punishment.
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A question was asked in a small sharing group, "What was the favorite room in your house when you were growing up, and why?" I could immediately answer, "The dinette where we ate our family meals." It was actually an old-fashioned breakfast nook — benches alongside the table with a stool on each end. We had to take our places in the right order and be there on time! But around that table our family members recounted their day, and sometimes my father or mother would have to grant permission to speak in turn because everyone wanted to talk at once. But we grew up knowing each other and caring.
The same principle is true for a single person living with roommates. Mealtimes can be solitary, selfish events, or they can be hospitable times of sharing of food, of getting to know each other, and of demonstrating concern for the other's life.
The pace of life has quickened to the point where our humanity is endangered. We are not pigs at a trough. If we have a quality life, it is because we decided to make it so. Time is not measured so much by quantity as by quality. You can pack much quality into a small amount of time if you determine to do so.
Dr. Graham Blaine, a noted psychiatrist, complains about the use of television in our lives. He says that the most serious problem of TV is not poor programming, but that it has destroyed the average family's conversation at the evening meal. When people are anxious to see a favorite program, they hurry through the meal. He says that what happened during the day, the little things, and bigger matters are never discussed.
Hospitality begins at home.
We have alluded to variety in temperament. There are many variables that affect people's lives: physical stamina, the number of children, ease of motherhood, nature of responsibility, or personality.
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Some people are gregarious and like people around; others are shy, introverted and prefer privacy. Any one of these factors can be used as an excuse to live a selfish life. Women often paralyze themselves from creativity by comparing themselves with other people. I can't entertain like she does so I won't be hospitable to her. Nonsense. We go to God to find out what He has in mind for our style of showing hospitality, and we do that. When we face our selfishness, our insecurities and our hangups realistically we can act as we should. Hospitality is valuable, not because of style, but because it shows genuine love for others.
One summer years ago we ministered in a small church in a poverty-stricken area where drought ruined the only salable crop almost annually. An older daughter and her father invited us to their home for dinner. They didn't often have company for dinner because the area was sparsely populated and people saved their gas to go to the store and to church. But these people had a warm love for God and they wanted us to come for dinner and talk about Jesus.
I have never felt such an overflow of joy at another's hospitality. Bessie had taken one of her chickens — an egg-layer, thus depleting her source of cash income — and butchered it for our dinner. With those precious eggs she had baked desserts on her wood stove. It was a hot day; the house had no screens and flies swarmed on the food. That hospitality cost Bessie and her dad something, and we have never felt more welcomed. Their happiness in sharing what they had — and the Lord Jesus — will be among our warmest memories forever.
In contrast we have been invited to homes where the obvious effort to have us there had made the whole family uptight. They did not so much want to share themselves as
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impress us with joyless perfection. I feel that way about fireplaces that are never used to invite someone to sit near them. Joyless cleanliness. And the tragedy often is that the people whose homes are most beautifully appointed often use them the least for others. On what basis do they justify such elaborate possessions?
I have called this chapter The Joy of Being Hospitable. Is it really joy? Yes, because hospitality reflects the character of Jesus Christ. It is implicit in the outworkings of the fruit of the Spirit in our lives — love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22).
Welcome one another, therefore, as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. (Romans 15:7 RSV)
