Radical Hospitality

 I was about 15 when I first read the small tract-pamphlet, "My Heart, Christ's Home" and I'm not quite sure how I felt about the message it brought. I think I cringed a little. It felt like I was tempted to hide parts of myself from God, for fear or shame of what He must think of me. It evoked something contrary in me...something...amiss? I can't quite place words to describe my misgivings. Even so, it left a seed - a thought-seed - in me, to germinate, ponder, and dialogue in prayer, asking, "Lord, are You welcome in every crevice of my heart?" And I lay that before God and we explore together, even the darkest corners of my soul. I believe in the exploring there is grace. And discovery - not so much for God - surely, He knows what's there before I do. 

Many years later, I discovered Theresa of Avila's Interior Castle. It harkened back to that germinating seed - is my heart Christ's home? Her writing drew me in differently somehow. I suppose it was the quickening desire, the call of love, the Voice of Welcome, Nurture, and Grace, that flowed through her writing. I read it and yearned that my interior castle be an inner oasis for the Holy Spirit and Me to discover communion. That place where loneliness cannot be, because God is there, in the most intimate way, in the depths of my soul. Surely He abides in our hearts through faith, so say the Scriptures, and so in the depths of my heart I meet and commune with Him. 

These writings seem to focus on the internal. On the inner life with God. The heart, the secrets, the hidden places. These are well worth exploring. But nothing that goes on inside is meant to simply sit and marinate. It's meant to work itself out into real life - life with others, life in our homes, families, marriages, communities. I wouldn't mind so much going deep with God, if only it could just remain at that level. I think my spiritual life has been like that in the past. And it was needed. Nothing outside of God seemed safe enough to open. I didn't know we could reverse the damage of betrayal, trauma, harm, and come into a place of being with others that included the dark, shadow-side of my self. For a time, God allowed me to incubate in safety with Him. And slowly, as I read Scripture, fed on Christ in communion with others of His children, yearned for transformation, and went deep into prayer, God began to nudge me out of my cocoon. Oh, how I love my cocoon. I could stay in my inner self forever, like a hermit, and never emerge. Yet this is not God's call to me. 

In thinking of myself as a vessel, a temple, a habitation of the Holy, I started to think about the word, 'hospitality.' Mostly we think of this in terms of serving tea to guests. Or making a place for travelers to sleep, or a hearty meal, or a service - such as rides to and from an airport. These are all appropriate ways to think of hospitality. Hospitality means welcome, comfort, belonging, acceptance, nurture, provision. Theresa helped me envision my being as a hospitable dwelling for the Divine. And God began to bring me to a new place of extending that hospitality beyond my soul, to my home, my presence, my activities, my time, in essence: all my life.

This means the discovery does not remain in the theoretical. It does not get to germinate in my soul forever. This kind of growth will form buds, spring open, and responding to the light of Grace, yield its fruit in its season. Yet so often I look at the leaves of my soul and wonder if they aren't shriveling in the drought. I must push deeper roots into the soil and reach the deep wells of water - those living streams that never run dry. 

Last year, God invited me to explore what radical hospitality might mean. I have been memorizing Psalm 119 (I'll likely never finish, but it's a good exercise). I noticed numerous times the Psalmist referring to himself as the Lord's servant. It made me think of Mary, of Apostle Paul, of so many servants in Scripture. And I wondered if I might have missed something. If I am the Lord's servant, then surely, all my life is His, and He might have things for me to do (like it says in Ephesians 2:10). This, of course, is plainly obvious, and pretty basic Christian teaching. Any Sunday school kid would know this. I'm guessing we all hope to live as servants of Christ - not out of droll duty or drudgery, but from a place of devoted love: My life is yours - do with it as you will! And some of us are called to go far away to serve in some foreign land (but where the Spirit of the Lord is, surely it is home in some sense!). What would it look like if each of us gave God the 'OK, ask me what you will, and I'll do it!'?

When I think thoughts like this, my mind goes nutso: Yeah, well right now, maybe God is calling you to sweep the floor, go through the mess in your room and walk away from the computer? What if God is calling you to diet and live on monastic rations to develop your soul just a bit? I hear these things in my head and plead for mercy. And I remember the verse: "His yoke is easy and His burden is light."

So last year God did call me to step up in the realm of radical hospitality.

You see, I live with depression and it can be paralyzing at times. I sometimes can barely function. I know myself, I know my struggle, and it is work simply to manage. And last fall, someone sent us an email and said, 'There's this girl who needs a home and family to live with, and we think your family would be a great fit!' And I saw that email and said to myself (and to God), "There is no way I can add one other thing to my life." A month before that I had heard of another family who needed more volunteers. The Mom had had a stroke a year before, and needed hands-on assistance with her young children. I did not jump at the chance. I thought, 'Young children exhaust me.' I had heard of their need and did not volunteer, but prayed others would step up. And then I was chatting with one of their family members, and she expressed how much they were needing someone to come on Wednesdays. I thought for a moment, "You don't have anything scheduled on Wednesdays." And I hesitated. But this Mom had served my daughter as her 5th grade teacher - she gave a year of herself to build into my daughter - could I not spare a morning a week to serve her in her need? It was a risk to commit. I might be flattened by it. I might not have stamina. I would rather curl up in a ball most Wednesdays and shut the world out. Or I could give of myself to be the hands and feet this family needed for a few hours. 

I began to go each Wednesday, and at first found it challenging. I had forgotten how hard it is to chase around little kids, to be 'on' all the time, to be constantly in motion, moving, directing, feeding, changing, tidying, sweeping up crumbs, wiping grubby hands and faces. I had been there, done that. But maybe I needed to revisit this scene. So I did. And slowly God opened my eyes to why I was there. I was learning to see things afresh, yet again. Watching children think, wonder, play, reason, emote - these are gifts they give to me each week. A new baby was born, and I hold her. I watch her brain develop, her eyes light up. I see in her a picture of me with God. I am held, dependent, needy, helpless. God brought me to serve, but I am in His schoolhouse in the process. Radical hospitality isn't so much about what we bring to others; its the openness, the welcome, the acceptance that God offers me when I open my door to serving others. It's a two-way street. I'm not saying we should all jump up and start volunteering (though don't let me hold you back!). I'm trying to point out that offering ourselves as servants isn't so much about we do for others, but about opening our hands to the blessings God wants to pour into us. If we are to gather the crumbs from His table, surely our hands must be open to receiving them. And sometimes the crumbs come in the form of willing service.

I let that email about the girl who needed a home sit. I was not in the least interested. I didn't reply. A week went by. And then I mentioned it to Sam. He let it sit for a week. 

We both felt compassion for this girl. She was 24, had lost her Dad in a motorcycle accident 2 months before. Her sister had drowned 2 years before. She now had no resources to keep her home. She was facing another loss - her situation was heartbreaking. We decided to pray for her and about her.

And long story short, after I told God, "My heart is absolutely closed to this. So if You want to have her live with us, You'll have to open my heart." God did just that. (I can say how in another post).

In December, Kathryn moved in with us. We have now had her 6 months and I'm continuing to learn what radical hospitality means. 

(Kathryn also came with 2 dogs...stretching our understanding of hospitality to new levels :D)***see addendum below for update***

You may have noticed I've slowed down in writing. Some of that is writer's block. Some of that is life in general, depressiveness, family struggles -what-have-you. Some of it is simply living the life I'll write about at some point. 

This inner work of yielding and opening my soul to God has implications for how I live life. God has radically yielded the life of His Son to welcome me into His family. If I am to be a little Christ (a Christian) it might mean the opening of the doors of not only my heart, but my home as well, to one in need.

Radical hospitality is not only of heart, of presence, of service, but also of car, of tools, of lawn mower, of a cup of sugar or 2 eggs, of home, of laundry, of listening, of silence, of tears. Hospitality makes room because God has made room in His kingdom for me. 

Oh Lord, make me a vessel overflowing with Your grace. Amen.

****I'm adding this a few months after I posted this: Kathryn's dogs needed greater care than we or she could give them - they both had health conditions that were urgent. It was yet another loss and difficulty when she had to give them to a shelter that found them a new home and covered their medical needs. We are grateful the dogs are healing and in a new home, but the parting has been difficult for her.