Hospitality's Gifts

Shortly after moving, my husband made an offhand comment, and I was immediately offended. He said, “I think this is a house for extroverts.” Making me wonder (out loud) what exactly he was implying. Are you saying I shouldn’t live here? Are you suggesting I need to re-invent myself?! 

My offense was rooted. Tangled, you might say, in the complex nature of personality, history, and current circumstance. It was also solidly rooted in flesh. “The flesh is easily offended, but the Spirit loves”—to quote myself. 

Alas. Stress is an amazing litmus test, and when the heat is turned up you just can’t keep the junk from rising straight to the surface. Rats. So yes, those endless months of selling, packing, and moving houses, did indeed take their toll, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. Offense. Fear. Self-preservation. Impurities rising like so much yuck. 

In hindsight, I realize Kyle’s comment was both inclusive and ironic. He could have said, “I think this a house for GARDENERS” and meant the exact same thing. I would’ve chuckled in agreement. No kidding!! Neither of us a gardener, and yet look where we’ve landed. lol. 

Implied: Neither of us an extrovert, but look…!! 

Looking back, I think my overly sensitive reaction had to do with an area of insecurity I was already processing. That being my relationship with the whole idea of hospitality. 

My mom likes to remind me of something I said years ago, which for some reason has stuck with her. “Gina has the gift of hospitality, but you do not.” (Gina is my sister.) Mom’s quote is usually accompanied by a bit of a smirk, along with a nod toward the ruckus of extended family filling my home. As firstborn daughter, I’ve been hosting holidays and reunions for many years. Like it or not. 

Recently my own tribe has morphed into something of a hullabaloo, adding babies at a pace which makes each family photo promptly obsolete. Additionally we find ourselves in this unexpected but delightful season of rather communal living; all seven of our grandchildren living a hop-skip-and-jump from Papi’s and Nana’s. Our door is revolving; the fridge is a free-for-all; and bathroom-ing is at your own risk. 

Now. It is true the spiritual gift of Hospitality is typically quite low on my personal assessments. Teaching and Faith top my list. But it is also true that as a follower of Jesus I am no more exempt from being hospitable than another believer would be absolved from having faith.

Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. (1 Peter 4:9)

See what I mean? 

Actually, this particular text has been convicting me on repeat, since our church has been studying 1 Peter for several weeks. For context—Peter’s letter was addressed to believers in a time of intense persecution, when opening one’s doors in hospitable gathering was to take a rather significant risk. Making my own situation seem all the more lame by comparison. 

That said. Peter actually describes a way of being hospitable that even an introverted follower of Jesus can readily appreciate. To expand the passage… 

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. (1 Peter 4:8-10) 

Love. Grace. And whatever gifts.

Hospitality is not one-size-fits-all, but is quite simply welcoming others with whatever gifts you have received.

What I mean (I think) when I say I don’t have the gift of hospitality is that I don’t possess the art of making fancy food. I get overwhelmed by the mess. And potlucks are no better—worse maybe, because of the chaos of everyone showing up needing a spoon and a bowl and a missing ingredient and (oops) you asked for ketchup and I handed you the maple syrup. What I also mean is that I don’t do well with too many people needing my attention. My introverted brain tends to detach from overstimulation, fooling you into thinking I am present, when actually my mind has left the room. 

But hospitality is not all of that, and I’m finally embracing it for the gift it can be. Since moving to the river house, God has been lavishing me with beautiful opportunities to truly cherish my people. He’s given me a home that’s warm and welcoming, where people can relax and take a deep breath. Hospitality happens on a piano bench, out on the water, or scrunched into a miniature playroom hidden under the steps. Hospitality is charcuterie and sparkling water, or Nana’s cookie jars stocked with fruit snacks and soft peppermints. Hospitality is string lights on the patio, listening to the stories of our newest friends. Hospitality is the tangible presence of Jesus in an earthly space. 

Whether we’ve moved to a house for extroverts remains to be seen. But certainly it’s a place where Kyle and I will get to love people deeply, and experience God’s miracle grace in it’s various forms. Grace, after all, doesn’t care about human limitations. Grace is Jesus coming alongside, doing with and for us what wouldn’t be possible otherwise. Grace only needs an open door. And we have plenty of those.