Hospitality is a word that has confused me most of my life. Growing up in the church, I remember hearing some adults being referred to as having “the gift of hospitality.” So with that very little context, I assumed that hospitality was either something you were good at or something you just weren’t. And I quickly concluded early into my adult life that hospitality was NOT a gift I possessed.
There were certain household tasks I was not particularly good at (really I’m still not good at them even though I am trying to improve.) If I invited anyone over to my house, it would take me a good several hours to pick it up and clean it first. The art of keeping a house clean on a regular basis mystifies me.
I can also tell you that it has taken me a long time to feel comfortable around my kitchen. I do not have any meals that I cook particularly well. I do not enjoy cooking, and preparing dinner for other people actually causes me stress a good amount of the time. When we lived in Vegas, our church community used to have a meal train sign up for people who needed a little extra help after a surgery, move, new baby, or other circumstance. I NEVER signed up. Wait. I take that back. I think I signed up once and picked up a pizza for the family. And I just chalked all this up to not having the gift of hospitality.
Well truth be told, I believed I did not have the gift of hospitality because I was raised by the world’s worst housewife.
In all honesty, she is NOT the world’s worst housewife. (I have seen episodes of Hoarders – she isn’t even close). But keeping a house clean was not her specialty. Our family was really good at the last-minute company clean marathon. For a few hours before any houseguests arrived, we ran around the house like maniacs shoving everything from counter A into Box B and everything from counter C into desk drawer D. You know, we had a system, so when our guests departed, Mom could find that permission slip she was supposed to sign because she knew just where she put it on counter A. I am not sure we really fooled anyone because by the time anyone arrived at our house, we all looked like we had stuck our fingers in light sockets with a mix of panic and exhaustion on our faces.
That is how I grew up taking care of our house. Everyone pitched in, but it was never a regularly clean place. It was lived in – well lived in.
And it was this way because my mom believed there were more important things than cleaning a house. She was busy reading stories to us, playing games, making cookies for a friend in need, creating, laughing, and being a great mom. In fact she was such a great mom that most of my friends would come to hang out with her even when I was not there. She is beloved by many, and no one ever seemed to mind the untidiness of our home.
This is how I grew up, and today this is still grounded into my beliefs. My house is well-lived in. I would love for it to be clean all the time, but that isn’t where my priorities lie. Because like my mom, I am busy reading stories, creating art, making muffins, and playing games. When it needs to be cleaned, everyone pitches in. But my house also has that well-lived-in feel when you walk through the doors.
It wasn’t until I set foot in the Dominican Republic in my mid-thirties that I began to understand hospitality in a whole new light. Living in a missionary culture that was greatly influenced by the Dominican culture helped me understand Biblical hospitality. Yes, the Dominicans do a great job of cleaning their house, their tile-yard, and even the street in front of their house, but hospitality runs far deeper than the status of their home.
If you were welcomed into a home, you were offered a beverage and something to eat. It did not matter how little they had. You were their guest, and they were showing you honor and neighborly love by feeding you. Some of my girls’ favorite memories include when they would go over to the casa de nos vecinos (neighbor’s house), and she would give them a little cup of Fruit Loops. But more important than feeding your body, you also had their undivided attention. They wanted to sit and talk with you. It wasn’t a quick “how are you doing?” with the expected answer of “fine.” It was a real and honest talk about life’s ups and downs.
The visit was also not on a scheduled time limit. You had as much time with your host as you wanted. It would not matter if they had somewhere to go. It was ok; they could be late. In fact, this has a lot to do with why many Latin American cultures often do not run on the same time-based schedule as we are used to in the United States. Time and schedule are not the priority.
Shortly after we moved into our house in the Dominican Republic, I realized how often I would be having people into my home. Often, they were other missionaries and sometimes they were travelers. I quickly had to adapt either my housekeeping skills or my standards of clean-enough-for-company. With the mix of dust in the air and living in an extremely warm and humid climate (that makes household cleaning tasks that much more exhausting), I can assure you that my housekeeping skills did not improve. (Well, I would like to think that over six years they did improve some but not well enough or fast enough to make a difference those first months).
So I adapted my expectations of myself and my home. If you set foot in my Dominican casa, you could attest that my floors were rarely sparkling, my counters had clutter, my walls had children’s art, schedules, and random words taped up on them. There were probably toys you would have to step over and perhaps a stack of homeschool papers you would have to push aside to sit at our table when you would come by for a visit.
The house may not have been up to Martha-Stewart standards, but at our home you were always welcome, you could stay as long as you wanted, and there was always something for you to eat (even if all I had at the time was goldfish crackers).
Do you know what surprised me? People still came over. It didn’t seem to matter much that my floors hadn’t recently been mopped or there was a pile of dishes in my sink. People came over, sat at my table among the watercolor paints, drank some coffee, and stayed awhile. They came over without notice. They came over at all different times. Sometimes they would stay for a few minutes to discuss some sort of finances with my husband, and sometimes I could convince them to stay for dinner.
You see, I learned something those first few months when we were in the Dominican Republic. When we would go to other’s houses, whether it was planned or we happened to be walking by and invited in, we were shown hospitality. We were given a place to rest, a place to sit down, or often a bed to sleep in if we were tired. It did not matter if we were spending the night. If we needed a nap, there was a place to nap. We were given something to eat and drink, water, coffee, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, cheese, and crackers. There was always a plate of something on the table and drink in my hand. I learned quickly how much a snack can gently lift the spirits of a wearied traveler.
But more than taking care of our bodies, it was the check in on our mental and emotional well-being that really made the difference. When we had sat down, eaten a bite, taken a breath, and relaxed, then someone would ask, “How are you doing?” “Really?” That is hospitality. It is caring for the whole of a person who enters your home, caring for them both physically and emotionally. It is loving one another as Christ has loved us.
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.”
1 Peter 4:8-11
Once I figured out that hospitality had nothing to do with the cleanliness of my house or the quality of my home-made meals, I realized that God had given me the best example of hospitality growing up.
Our house was seldom clean if you dropped by unannounced during my childhood, but that never stopped many people from dropping by on their way to and from church or school without any warning. Our pastors would frequently come by after church if they had a voter’s meeting Sunday afternoon just to grab some food and kill some time. It didn’t matter if there was a prepared meal. It was common for anyone to walk in the kitchen, get a plate from the cupboard, and serve themselves something they found in our fridge. In fact, my mom always said, “You are a guest only once in this house. After that you are family, and you can help yourself.”
My seventh-grade teacher would stop by after school on Back-to-School nights and take naps on our couch before she would have to return to school for the evenings. We would often have different friends drop by during dinner, and someone would just set them another place and pull up a chair. Our house was always a revolving door of different people coming by because they had free time, or they just wanted to catch up on life. And as far as I could tell, no one seemed to care that the house was a mess. They still came over. My mom made sure everyone was always welcome. And without me ever realizing it, she was overflowing with the gift of hospitality.
Whether or not I have inherited her gift of hospitality, I understand the importance of caring for one another in the body of Christ just as we are called to do in 1 Peter.
We are no longer in the Dominican Republic, but I will always remember what it was like to be a sojourner, to travel from place to place, to be welcomed into someone’s home, and to be cared for, valued, and loved.
If you let me know you are coming over and plan to stay awhile, my family will run around like maniacs cleaning up all the odds and ends, scrubbing the sinks, sweeping the floors, and shoving counter A into box B to prepare for your visit. You will have clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. We will prepare a meal or nice snack for you and sit with you, pretending that our house usually looks like this.
But if you happen to be in my neighborhood and just drop by, you will be welcome to sit at our table. And just go ahead and push aside that pile of math papers and chalk drawings. We will offer you a drink and some form of nourishment for your body. It may be a wonderfully grilled steak (if you happen to come on the right evening) or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If you are tired, you may take a nap in our bed (coming from the mission field, it is not weird to offer someone a nap in your bed). If you need to wash your clothes, you may use our washer and dryer. If you come in the afternoon, you will be welcome to stay for dinner.
After you have sat, eaten, and rested a bit, we will ask how you are doing, really doing. Because, dear friend, you are cared for, you are loved, you are a child of God, and you are important to us.
