Room at the Table
On our way to Hebron, the land through which we drove was blistering hot and arid. As we drove, our guide pointed out what is generally considered to be the site of Abraham’s encounter with three strangers at the oak of Mamre. As I remembered that story from Genesis 18, I imagined three travelers without the aid of an air conditioned automobile making their way through this inhospitable landscape.
It puts a new perspective on Abraham’s reception of those strangers. He ran from the tent to greet them. He offered them water, bid someone come and wash their feet and invited them to rest themselves in the shade of the tree. This was not the end of Abraham’s offer of hospitality. He went himself to his herd of cattle, chose a calf “tender and good” and bade the servants prepare a meal.
The Bible is full of images of hospitality — and commands to practice hospitality: “extend hospitality to strangers,” “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,” “Be hospitable to one another without complaining,”
When Jesus was out trying to find respite in the wilderness but was followed by the crowds, he didn’t tell them “Go away! Don’t bother me now.” He bade them to sit down and miraculously fed them all until each was satisfied — and there were leftovers.
The vision of hospitality the Bible offers us is not of entertaining family and friends. Nor is it inviting the boss and clients into our home because there is a potential payoff in the end. Hospitality is welcoming the stranger, offering them food, shelter, protection. It is a spiritual obligation, an imperative of the life of a follower of Jesus.
Twice in my life I have experienced a radical hospitality that left me humbled at its extravagance:
The first was on that same trip to Israel/Palestine where the oak of Mamre was pointed out to us. We were invited to tea at the home of a Palestinian farmer whose home was, quite literally, in a cave. It was clear that they had little to nothing but they offered us their best. They had so little that I felt guilty at taking what they offered. I knew, however, that would be an unpardonable insult to our hosts.
The second was while interning in a ministry to homeless and near homeless individuals on the south side of Atlanta. Each morning before beginning our work, my colleague and I would stop for coffee in a nearby coffee shop. One morning we entered to find three of our parishioners sharing a cup of coffee. Between them they’d had only a couple of dollars but a generous barista had prepared a massive cup of coffee for them to share among themselves. When they saw us enter the shop, they offered us the first drink from the cup.
Philip Hallie suggests that “The opposite of cruelty is not simply freedom from the cruel relationship, it is hospitality.”
There’s room at the table for all of us. There’s enough food for everyone — with leftovers at the end of the meal.