Hospitality: Helping the Least of These

Hospitality: Helping the Least of These Scott Lyons 1/22/2013 Some people are wired for hospitality. I am not. Like some satisfied old bachelor, I am perfectly content in the solitude of my home. Some people have others in and out of their homes with such terrifying frequency that it makes me break out in cold sweats. I am a creature of routine. I do not like change, and I do not like others in my space. I like to read books and watch movies. I like playing with my children. I become too aware of myself around others. Hospitality is a discipline I am trying to make more prominent in my life. In the Scriptures and throughout the history of Christianity, hospitality is an important imperative. In spite of this, it seems to be waning among us. What are the reasons? They are varied and complex, certainly. While I do not want to place the blame of hospitality’s decline on technology, the way it has infiltrated our lives—from air conditioning to TV to smart phones—has enabled us to connect with the world while disconnecting from our neighbors. Of course, this is only one piece in the complex puzzle that is the human heart. Consider Abraham’s hospitality to the Lord: The Lord appeared again to Abraham near the oak grove belonging to Mamre. One day Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent during the hottest part of the day. He looked up and noticed three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he ran to meet them and welcomed them, bowing low to the ground. “My lord,” he said, “if it pleases you, stop here for a while. Rest in the shade of this tree while water is brought to wash your feet. And since you’ve honored your servant with this visit, let me prepare some food to refresh you before you continue on your journey.” (Genesis 18:1-5) Abraham’s hospitality is beautiful. Of course, we might say that if we knew we were entertaining the Lord, we would have no problems with hospitality. But Christ, knowing our hearts, gives a rather damning judgment of this kind of thinking when he speaks of the final judgment: “They will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and not help you?’ . . . I tell you the truth, when you refused to help the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were refusing to help me.” (Matthew 25:44-45, NLT). It follows that we are supposed to serve all those in need as if they were the Lord. The moral weight of hospitality in the Scriptures rests on the Golden Rule, which we find in various forms throughout our Lord’s teachings: “Love each other in the same way I have loved you” (John 15:12, NLT; see also Matthew 6:14-15; 18:32-35). The people of God have been strangers and aliens before, and spiritually speaking we are strangers and aliens even yet. We have been shown hospitality and mercy. How can we not show the same love through hospitality to others? So what do you do? Hospitality is a specific kind of service. Instead of going outside of your home to meet the needs of others, you invite others into your own home to meet their needs. And these people are often strangers. They are not people who have earned something from you or who deserve anything for some special reason. The stranger is not someone who has given you anything. Likewise, the stranger is not someone who is likely to repay you. Hospitality is motivated simply by graciousness, kindness, and mercy: love. Hospitality is seeing the man before you as Christ. It means abandoning your trust issues to the Lord and welcoming the man in. This is a difficult teaching. Consider the story of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. He is an escaped convict. A saintly bishop shows him hospitality, opens his home to him. In the middle of the night, Jean Valjean steals away, taking the bishop’s silver with him. Some police find him, and Valjean lies, saying that the silver was a gift from the bishop. When they take him back to the home to verify his story, the bishop does an extraordinary thing: “‘Ah! here you are!’ he exclaimed, looking at Jean Valjean. ‘I am glad to see you. Well, but how is this? I gave you the candlesticks too, which are of silver like the rest, and for which you can certainly get two hundred francs. Why did you not carry them away with your forks and spoons?’” This selfless compassion leads Jean Valjean to repentance. The bishop has purchased his life, redeemed it, with a pair of silver candlesticks. This is the meaning and power of hospitality.