My friend whipped up afternoon tea for us this week. She’s a star.
My heart warmed when I saw that today’s prompt for Five-Minute Friday was “hospitality.” I’ve written a few posts on the topic in the past, which you can find here.
Being an American in London, I’ve been able to host many a traveler passing through our wonderful capital city. Until some things happened in my family, and we had to pull up the drawbridge for a time. I felt bad when I could tell people were gently inquiring – without asking formally – if they could come and stay, and I didn’t respond with an invitation. And a couple of times I had to flat-out say “no” to the request.
But that was the right answer for that season, and after the
tough thing of saying no, I felt relief. After all, exercising boundaries is
healthy and good, even if hard. And when I intimated some of the challenges we
faced, the people understood.
That season reinforced the notion of loving oneself as well as one’s neighbor, in Jesus’ great commandment. We often focus so much on the latter part of that command that we forget we need to extend hospitality to ourselves too. And, if we have them, to our children – a point that Leslie Verner makes in her lovely book Invited. After all, parents are only really hosting their children for a couple of decades before launching them out into the world.
What’s your approach to hospitality? Have you experienced seasons of openness and seasons of huddling together?
I am taking part in the #fiveminutefriday community. To write your own and link up with the other writers, you can do so here.
A recurring theme in Finding Myself in Britain is the longing for home. What is home? How do we find or create it? What do we define as home?
When Nicholas and I first married, we agreed to call the place where we were living “home.” Not only did this help us in the biblical injunction of “leaving and cleaving,” (leaving one’s family of origin as a new family is created) but it aided us emotionally. If someone asked me, a newcomer to the UK, when I was “going home,” I’d say, “I am home! But I have a trip to the States planned in…” The words we use can help us define our emotions – we sometimes have to educate our feelings.
Home is a lovely concept – I think of my parents’ home in Minnesota, which although isn’t my home any longer does feel like home, with its lack of clutter and ultra clean space to feel comfortable in while chatting to my family, or the screened-in porch in which to sit and watch the passing deer and wild turkeys (yes in the suburbs of St. Paul!). Or I think of the top floor of a house in Philadelphia where dear friends lived while studying at Westminster Theological Seminary, where I spent many a Thanksgiving. It was only two rooms – and the dishes were washed in the bathtub – but the rafters reverberated with refrains of songs and laughter. Or I remember the historic (for America) house I worked out of for many years and the lovely family who dwelled there, complete with my favorite black lab/golden retriever. On this side of the Atlantic, I picture the homes of dear friends and the meals shared around their tables.
I could continue in my list, but these places are personal and won’t evoke the feelings of home in you that they do in me. But a common theme of these places where I’ve felt at home lies in the people who make them homey – their welcome, love, grace, and open hearts. They who follow the Master Homemaker bring his kingdom to earth in the homes they create here.
My very first guest post! I’m thrilled to host the lovely writer and editor Evelyn Bence today, whom I know through the Christian publishing world. She lives in Virginia, where I used to live, though we didn’t know each other well when I lived there. Yet I can picture her in my former stomping grounds, the suburbs of Washington, DC, which makes me smile. Snarled traffic but warm hearts.
Photo: Jason Baker, flickr
Late spring: over coffee I was catching up with a former colleague named David. My news: “I’m just finishing a book manuscript. Fifty-two devotionals or meditations, about table hospitality. The setups are very anecdotal, from early planning and shopping to cooking, conversation, and cleanup. I’ve got forty-two. I’m not sure where I’m going to ‘find’ ten more stories, say nothing of insightful spiritual applications.”
“Fresh herbs,” he said, taking his conversational turn and describing his nightly foray before dinner, out into the yard to snip parsley, basil, rosemary, thyme for the vegetable or salad served up to his family. “The boys”—high school and college-aged—“roll their eyes at me. But I know they appreciate the taste, and, besides, I’m having fun.”
When he dropped me, back home, he recognized and pointed to the greenery in my porch boxes. “Remember the herbs. Parsley. Right there. Write about it.”
I knocked the idea around but couldn’t make it work. The final meditations jelled by other means, other themes.
Fast forward to a cold-weather Wednesday, late morning. An editorial job due on my desktop on Monday hadn’t yet arrived, but surely it would come in any moment now . . . or maybe not. Restless and unfocused, I flitted around the house, not able to settle on a new project or pick up an old, until my eyes rested on a bunch of thyme stems, grown out front, pruned way back, dried in a closet, and now pushed aside on a tabletop. David came to mind and his “remember the herbs.”
“Just sit,” an inner voice said. “Strip the leaves from a few stems.”
The hands-on—tactile—sensation focused me physically. Then the aroma! My spirit settled down. My restless thoughts turned to prayers, including thanks for David and the memory of our herbal conversation. I stayed with fragrant manual task until I had only two piles: barren stems for discard and tiny pointy leaves for my thyme tin.
I calmly checked my computer inbox. The job hadn’t arrived. But I felt as if I’d been graced—by choosing to redeem the time with thyme.
Evelyn Bence is author of Room at My Table: Preparing Heart and Home for Christian Hospitality.
Photo captured on a sunset-hunting expedition with an artistic visitor.
Sometimes, hospitality hurts. We extend ourselves and welcome people into our homes, anticipating times of engaging conversation and laughter. But afterwards, we find ourselves drained in body, mind, and spirit. We become tempted to pull up the drawbridge and keep our castle for ourselves for a time.
The PyesAreUs have just come through a time of intense hospitality. Each weekend through the spring and summer, we hosted various groups of friends and family. As we’ve been gifted with the use of such a large and wonderful vicarage, we’ve always had the policy of saying “yes” when people want to stay. So this spring we said yes, and yes. And yes and yes and yes some more. Until we weren’t sure how we would cope. In fact, NicTheVic and I had just agreed that we’d not have anymore visitors when I opened up a social-networking site and glimpsed a request from one of my favorite people – someone I hadn’t seen in years. How could we pass up the opportunity of hosting them? “The speech bubble is still over my head,” I thought, musing over the decision NicTheVic and I had agreed. “I hope he sees the irony…”
Don’t get me wrong, we loved hosting (especially if you’re one of our guests as you read this!); what we struggled with was the timing of the many visits. Mainly: Why did they bunch themselves up together in an unrelenting cluster?
We were given an out at the end of the summer, and though hesitant, I took it. The friends who were to arrive just days after the kids and I dragged our jetlagged bodies home from two weeks in the States got in touch to say that the family they were visiting were all struck with the flu. The violent vomiting and diarrhea kind. Our friends had been exposed, so they said they’d understand if we wanted them to find an alternative place to stay.
Normally I would shrug off fears of sickness, but knowing how tired we were, and not being able to face tidying up the house again while so foggy in mind and body, and contemplating packing up PyelotBoy for his camp the day they’d arrive, and with the thought of body fluids being expelled so unpleasantly, I accepted their offer not to stay. Yes, I felt guilty. And yes, I labored over the decision. But it was right to say no, not least because they were able to extend their stay where they were, avoiding a huge hotel bill.
Sparklers and panache.
I’m learning we don’t always have to say yes.
But the joys of serving and welcoming weary visitors outweighs the challenges. Reflecting on our summer of hospitality, I’ve jotted down a few things to celebrate.
Serving shapes our character. I’m selfish. I like doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. But hosting guests gives us an opportunity to put the needs of others before ourselves. We seek to make them comfortable; we give them the big piece of dessert; we seek to make stimulating conversation. We’re reminded that it’s not all about us.
We receive, even when we give. Providing hospitality isn’t something we do to gain in return, but without fail, we will receive from our guests. The gift might be intangible: a particular insight about a problem we face; the love expressed in ways individual to them; affirming words; acts of service (is a night of babysitting tangible or intangible?). Or they might give us things: items from our home country that we can’t source locally; a family heirloom; a work of art; a beautiful scarf.
Children learn by watching. NicTheVic and I hope that our modeling of welcome will rub off on our kids. CutiePyeGirl is positively energized by the prospect of guests, asking what they are like when she hears they are coming and counting down the days if we’re welcoming someone really special, like grandparents. PyelotBoy, being an introvert, is more reticent, but when the guests arrive he realizes that it’s pretty great to chat and talk and get to know them – especially if they like sport.
Memories last forever. When I think back over the season of hospitality, what stand out are the memories. Like singing the Star Spangled Banner on the Fourth of July with sparklers. Drinking Pimms and watching ArtistMan create a painting within minutes while laughing with his wife. The glories of a British BBQ without rain. Walks and talks and catching up on life and love and hopes and dreams and fears.
Have you ever hosted until you hurt? How did you respond afterwards? What joys and challenges do you find with hospitality?
Last year right about now, I was frantically getting the vicarage ready for a house swap. The four of us were headed to Minnesota, to the land of my people – yes, where “all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average” in Garrison Keillor’s memorable words. A British family, who have settled in Minnesota, were coming here to London, and we were taking over their home, which is (amazingly) only a couple of miles from my parents’ house.
Entering someone else’s setting for a week or two can feel surreal. The friend whom I swapped with and I chatted back and forth on a social-media site during the early days, comparing US versus UK ways of doing things, and both of us, I think, having a sense of, “This could be my life.” In fact, I so hadn’t emotionally disengaged from life in London that at first it felt difficult to stop the conversation. Then one morning I realized in prayer that I needed to be present where I was – and why wouldn’t I want to be? I had longed for this space to see family and friends again, and to experience the joys of things like amazing plumbing and Target. And I needed to bless my friend and let her get on with her time in the UK.
The kids loved so much about living in someone else’s home for two weeks. CutiePyeGirl was thrilled that they had two girls; PyelotBoy not fussed, understandably. One of the kids’ favorite things each day was running across the (not busy) street to get the mail out of the mailbox. A novelty, to be sure.
Can you imagine what your life might look like if you changed places with someone living a similar sort of life (similar job; similar ministry), but in a different country? Not an exercise to get hung up on, for the reminder to me is to give thanks for the life I do have. Especially as today in London the sun is shining.
We’re in a season of hospitality. When people ask us if they can come and stay, we say “Yes” as much as we can. Our vicarage is massive – and not technically ours – so we like to share this oasis in north London. Yes, in the winter it’s cold and the hot water runs out quickly, but we have the space to give our guests their own room, complete with sink and treadmill.
Just yesterday, a friend said to me, “I don’t know how you do it.” But how do we do anything, really? We say yes, not knowing what challenges or joys may face us. We press through, perhaps with some groaning and complaining. We might even gossip, and then have to draw a line under the murmuring. We may offer hospitality with mixed motives or unclean hearts. Whenever do we offer God a completely pure offering? But he delights to receive our gifts.
This morning I looked at an upcoming Bible reading notes assignment: Genesis 18:1-15. Unlike my husband, I don’t have one of those brains that retains info – so it was only when I turned to the text that I said, “Ah, Abraham and the angels!” How delightful to write some devotionals on this text, in which Abraham welcomes three visitors, eagerly choosing a choice goat for their meal and asking Sarah to find the best flour for the bread. Many theologians believe the three men are angels who represent God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.
During this visit, one of the men says that Sarah will give birth to a son. So unlikely that statement seems to her that she laughs (behind the man’s back, which she later denies). I’m not saying that they are given a son because they are hospitable and welcoming, but I find it interesting that this aged couple receive the promise of their heart’s desire when they open their hearts and lives, hosting strangers. And though Sarah isn’t the perfect host – laughing behind her guests back, after all – yet the guest blesses her.
How might you open your heart and home today?
Note 1: This passage inspired Andrei Rublev to paint his Holy Trinity icon around 1410. That’s another blog post or two – so many rich levels of meaning we find in a simple two-dimensional visual image.
Note 2: Check out the riches on the topic of hospitality at Godspace.
Hospitality is one of those sometimes messy Christian practices. When we welcome people into our lives, the smells from bodily functions might hang around in the air. Muddy footprints might mar our floors. We might drop our masks, revealing times of irritation or stress.
Original watercolor by Leo Boucher.
But we’re saying come, we welcome you. We want to provide you a haven of rest; a place to close the room to your door when you need to; a space to converse and share.
My husband and I are not perfect hosts by any means, but throughout our ten years in our vicarage, we’ve tried to be open and say yes when asked. It’s only in the last year or so that we have not had either a family member or an au pair living with us; that was a particular season of sharing and molding and learning. This summer seems a unique time of welcoming traveling Americans – every weekend, a new set, each with their own gifts and riches.
A few practical tips:
Create a guide to your house. I got this idea from a throwaway line in Packing Light, a wonderful memoir about a woman who travels around the 50 states. In our guide we tell our guests about things like the wonky shower curtain (yes, it will fall on you if you’re not careful) and give them the wifi code. This also can be a repository of tourist information (especially if you live in a world-class city like London).
Have in mind a few go-to meals. Our crock pot (slow cooker) has transformed our cooking, helping us to make easy and healthy meals. Cooking a whole chicken, for example, is now painless.
Treasure your guest book. Our only requirement when people come to stay with us is that they sign our guest book. We love looking back over the entries, which evoke memories of the gourmet meal cooked for us by one or the Pimms we shared with another.
Remember that they’ve come to see you (or your city), and that your house doesn’t have to be perfect. Having been raised in a very tidy home, I find this a struggle. But the visitors this summer will see by our various clutter-spots my “progress” in being able to welcome people even when there is some mess.
Evelyn Bence is author of 
