Enriched by hospitality
Seeing God over decades of welcome hands
Seeing God over decades of welcome hands. By Darlene Pinter
My childhood home had a long dirt lane running in from the street. It edged along the enormous green lawn my brothers mowed, past the purple plum tree and the big-leaf maple with its smooth branch where I often swung upside down by my spindly legs. Whenever a car appeared on the lane, my attention shifted from tree climbing or the cat in the doll carriage to those mysterious, unexpected visitors.
I’d run to the house, pull open the door and shout, “Mom! It’s the ___!” It’s the family friends from the far north, parents and four kids. An aunt and uncle. Old friends. Church friends.
We welcomed them with joy. “So good to see you! Come in, come in. We’ll put the coffee pot on.” How happy we were they had made the effort to see us, and how happy they were to arrive at our home after a long journey. Food was found. Beds were found. How deeply satisfying.
Years later, as a young adult serving in overseas missions, I began to recognize my understanding of hospitality was rooted in my own culture. In Pakistan I learned new rules.
When someone arrives at your door, they should immediately be offered a glass of water, followed by tea. The tea will be politely declined at least once or twice, but persevere and you will soon be on your way into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Guests will of course remove their shoes. At the conclusion of our time together the guest will ask permission to leave (which I found was more than a formality – occasionally my own requests when visiting were denied).
But, oh, Pakistani hospitality is a beautiful thing.
Whether caught or taught, at its best hospitality is a deeply human experience which touches all of us, often daily. Both host and guest have, quite literally, a reciprocal role to play. And in this time of COVID-19 we bring fresh intentionality to seeking how we might care for and connect with one another, perhaps by spacing lawn chairs six feet apart for a BBQ or sharing a virtual meal.
My own understanding, a fairly common one I suppose, places the culture of hospitality primarily within the home. When I look back on our communal history, this makes sense to me. Most of someone’s work happened at or near someone’s house, and meeting in a neutral location like a coffee shop wasn’t an option. Then as now, roadside accommodations for travellers were risky, even dangerous.
For early Christians, whose philosophy of hospitality was upended by the teaching of Christ founded in Scripture, hospitality became not only a cultural exchange, but a sign of the inbreaking of God’s Kingdom.
Their inspiration was rooted in the true story of a God who in creation itself
extended an invitation to eat and drink in a life-giving space, and was rooted in the example of an incarnate Saviour who used the daily exchanges at table to offer blessing to men and women of all classes.
And as Lord of creation Jesus extended His actions as host beyond the house to Galilean hillsides, Samaritan wells, to the temple itself. For believers committed to an imitation of Christ, hospitality became an icon, a metaphor and means of grace both extended and received, since the guest may be recognized, somehow, and mysteriously, as Christ Himself.
In the context of our faith and family heritage, with its mix of the obligatory and the a-little-more-special, we aspire to offer to another the gifts of welcome and a safe space. God helping us, as we are able, our guest is seen, recognized, invited in, celebrated for just being present – graces we ourselves long for.
We are both with them and for them. Our pleasure at the anticipation of their company is seen in simple ways – a clean, tidy room; a sparkling bathroom; fresh, fluffy towels; sunflowers. There is a special Bordeaux for dinner, their favourite mint tea in the cupboard, the Saskatoon berry pie we all love.
Beyond the food and drink, what is most needed? We have room for laughter and fun, and we have room to sit quietly and listen. I love the overlap here with what it means to be a community of faith. Whether meeting in person or via Zoom, our worship spaces must also be safe spaces.
God extends a welcome. We are privileged to participate.
Are the demands of hospitality costly? Yes, and in more ways than one. The meals, the vacuuming, the disinfected doorknobs, the laundry (before and after) don’t just happen. Our regular routines are laid aside or amped up so we can give time and attention to this person we are hosting. There is also the risk that what is asked of us may extend past our comfort levels.
Even as a child idling on the edges of hospitable responsibility, I could tell some circumstances asked more than the commonplace from my parents. My uncle from Alberta with mental health problems, whose wife ran off with an aunt’s husband, sat brooding all day for weeks in the living room while my dad was on the job, making my mother anxious at her housework. A January boat fire at sea killed my cousin’s three-yearold daughter and left badly injured family members in hospital. Our home became the base of operations as each person was discharged until they could find a place of their own.
I don’t recall a sense of resentment from my parents. Probably this is naïve of me. They were willing to extend to another precious human simple acts of love, and to bear the inconvenient costs associated with the holy offer of sanctuary. And I’m so grateful my parents are not alone.
My life is made richer through the precious souls who’ve gifted me with their hospitality. The list of welcoming hosts near and far runs from family and neighbours to complete strangers. Hungarian Roma gypsies provided an invitation to a generous meal. For two weeks the Portuguese family of my friend Cristina welcomed me into their Oporto home. Newly befriended Welsh farmers offered table and lodging to me and my parents (the beginning of a 30-year exchange of Christmas cards between my mother and rose-cheeked Joy). Cousins housed me, my husband and our fourmonth-old son for days until the reopening of the snowed-in Coquihalla highway. An elderly couple invited their new priest and his wife for tea and cookies, then sent us home with a Safeway bag bursting with fresh zucchini and potatoes. A school friend’s mom planned a movie night and sleepover for our two daughters while I was in hospital with our son. This January, after our eldest slept over yet again at his grandparents’ home, he carried a Folgers container full of homemade Oreos onto his return flight to university.
Looking back on my 57 years, the memory of the multitude of hands extended in welcome to me and my family fills me with amazement and gratitude, for in their actions I see an ordinary, extraordinary reflection of the life of God. I can’t imagine who I’d be without them.
For my recent birthday a dear couple offered to host a party for me, close friends and family. There were cheeses and fresh bread, coconut chicken curry, a German Riesling and a French red, a rose-topped three-layer carrot cake (my favourite) and champagne. When I approached my beloved friend, sweeping her kitchen floor, to thank her for all the time and effort of a beautiful evening, she smiled joyfully into my eyes and exclaimed, “You’re worth it!”
Amen.