I haven't inherited the gift they way one might inherit certain genes. I'm more like the kid that needs to struggle to get B's in school, relying on work, grit, and repetition when it comes to hospitality. Nevertheless, welcoming people has become a very important part of our family's spiritual DNA, and so we make conscious choices to practice this hospitality every opportunity we get.
I've written about our friends Dan and Missy and how they exemplify this kind of virtue. We have learned just by being around them and being on the receiving end of what "open hands, open hearts, and open doors" looks like.
In the spiritual economy, the corporal works of mercy are like the one, five, and ten dollar bills that seem insignificant but over time accumulate and build wealth. It takes time, effort, and resources to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, visit the sick, visit those in prison, and bury the dead. It is the meat and potatoes, the nuts and bolts, of authentic Christian life. For Christ says, "I was a stranger and you welcomed me" (Mt 25:35) and this is how we will be judged.
We practice the works of mercy because we often do it imperfectly; seeking recognition, losing our tempers, cursing the poor under our breath, complaining or making excuses. As our old pastor used to say, practice doesn't make perfect; practice makes permanent. And living a permanent, embedded life of Christian virtue doesn't just happen--it takes a lot of starts and stops sometimes before it becomes habit, and, hopefully, second nature.
But why hospitality specifically, and what does it look like in practice? We try to take a Benedictine approach, not explicitly, but just loosely based on the 53rd chapter of the Rule that says:
"All guests who present themselves are to be received as Christ."
God blessed us with a house, and in thanksgiving we desire to use it for His glory. Our home is our kind of "domestic monastery" where we serve as porters and cooks, guest masters and sacristans. It's where we can welcome strangers and feed hungry people, fill their spirits with water, wine, and iced tea; offer a bed for the weary and those in transition and traveling.
It's also where we can practice the spiritual work of mercy of Comforting the Afflicted and Counseling the Doubtful at our kitchen table, when a friend who was struggling in life and her faith rang us up late at night for help and came over. Deb also had an idea of how to Instruct the Ignorant and Pray for the Living and the Dead by having all our nieces and nephews over for a night of food and games, giving each of them a rosary and Miraculous Medal on the way home. We hosted young out of town couples unable to afford lodging while getting medical treatments for their babies at area hospitals and were blessed by their presence in our home.
Hospitality is a powerful witness, because it shows in deeds genuine love and concern for a brother or sister, mimicking the servant Christ who washed his disciples feet (Jn 13:1-7). It doesn't seek repayment but offers rest; it is slow to speak, yet eager and willing to listen; it subverts temptations we have towards self-seeking, and puts Christ in the stranger/friend/guest at the seat of honor. It is apologetic, since it is not without rhyme or reason why we love and serve, but gives witness instead only because He first loved us and showed us what love is and looks like (1 Jn 4:19). We are only passing on what we have received.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it." (Heb 13:2). If you want to show the love of Christ to someone, don't underestimate the practice of Christian hospitality. Open your home to the stranger and those who can't repay you; offer your tea and table to those who need an ear to listen; cook for more than you have, and always keep a place setting reserved for unexpected guests. Remember, practice makes permanent. By this practice, you are able to offer room at the inn for the Christ child, who comes by night in disguise.
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