I set the folded piece of cardstock on the nightstand and stood back to survey the scene. Pale blue walls, a soft new blanket, a blue and white patchwork quilt, meaningful art on the walls, and framed pictures of my adult children when they were children — this was the room of my imagination.
When my boys were little, I’d occasionally think of the far-off day when they’d come home with their wives and kids. Within the week, that day would be a reality. And the previous night, I’d initiated the final step of my preparations. I’d spent the night in our new guest room.
Long ago, I’d read that the best way to prepare for guests was to sleep in the room set aside for them so that any comfort issues would quickly become apparent. It’s a brilliant strategy really — one that is born of the truth that extending hospitality and building community is at its heart a matter of empathy. When you spend the night from a guest’s perspective, you can think to provide a little table tent with the wi-fi password on the nightstand. You can remember to put a blanket on the end of the bed in case of the evening chill.
All the little touches are lovely. They are not hospitality, though. Hospitality is the overflow of joy. Genuine hospitality happens when the hostess opens the doors to a place where the joy of Jesus has freed her to love other people. When joy overflows, it manifests itself in genuine charity. From where does the joy come?
From the cross.
When we want to live a Christian life of joy that overflows into an abundance of Christian love, we look “to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Heb. 12:2) The woman who chooses to travel this road, chooses to suffer with Christ. The road is a rocky one, and she is guaranteed to cry on the journey. Along that road, she becomes aware of those who suffer. She learns to empathize. She recognizes need. And her joy in the ways the Lord meets her in her life compels her to meet others in their need with love and mercy.
The table setting, the tasty treat, the decorative touches — those aren’t what make us hospitable. Joy is. And it’s joy in the life of Christ that propels us to use our time and our talents and our money and our energy to pump love into other people. Does that table tent matter? Yes. Is it good that it’s beautifully lettered? Of course. But it matters because someone empathized. A person in love with Jesus stopped to consider what would bring her neighbor joy. She stopped to wonder in what tangible way she could share her own joy. Sometimes, it looks like a table tent. Sometimes, it’s a covered dish and a bunch of flowers left on a doorstep. Sometimes, it’s just sitting quietly and saying nothing so that someone doesn’t have to grieve alone. Hospitality is a soul in love who leans into the heart of another.
The hard road, the suffering, the grief known and the tears shed — they are all worth it because that share in the cross yields a woman whose arms are stretched out wide to envelop someone else in the love of Christ.
The summer is still young; it stretches before us with possibility. Who will you invite into the warmth of your welcome?
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
