Last December, I was in the running for an imaginary award for “Exemplary Entertainer of the Year.” We hosted five Christmas gatherings in one month. I made enough dessert to be held personally responsible for a surge in Bangalore’s blood sugar levels that season.
But if you peeked behind the scenes, you would have witnessed copious tears and terrible tantrums that would give a fussy three-year-old stiff competition.
More recently, my entertaining escapades found me falling asleep at the dinner table for about twenty seconds. Yes, I nodded off while our guests were talking to us. Essentially, I’d turned into a stodgy old uncle whose bedtime was 8:30 p.m.
Clearly, on both occasions, I had spread myself too thin. Sure, I had “hosted” parties—but I hadn’t demonstrated true hospitality.
After over two decades of hosting breakfasts, brunches, lunches, teas, dinners, and dessert nights, here’s what I’m unlearning and re-learning about Biblical hospitality.
In the story of the two sisters from Bethany, we know that while Mary rested at the feet of Jesus, Martha slaved away in the kitchen (Luke 10:38-42). One can almost hear the clanging of pots and pans in the background as Martha prepares the meal for her guests. She then storms up to Jesus and asks, “Lord, don’t you care…?”
Jesus did care. He just cared more about her heart than the work of her hands. And that’s why He commends Mary as having chosen what was better. Not because Martha’s hard work was wrong—but because she was basing her worth on it.
Taking a page from Mary’s book doesn’t mean we put our feet up when guests arrive. It means we don’t inadvertently use them to fuel our own sense of self-worth. When we find our rest in God, we are able to work from a place of being already approved by Him. Like Mary, we are freed to be present because we're not bound by our performance.
We often rightly see our churches as places of healing for broken people. But what about our homes? Do we only invite people who are like us—those who think like us, speak like us, dress like us, or vote like us?
In the story of Abraham inviting three strangers into his home (Genesis 18), he didn’t wait to see if their political ideologies lined up with his. He saw them near his tent and followed the Middle Eastern customs of the time by humbling himself before them and inviting these strangers in for a sumptuous meal.
In the New Testament, the Greek word translated “hospitality” means “love of strangers.” This is a significant challenge for me. Am I sticking with my Christian clique? Or am I extending myself outside my own comfortable circle?
The Bible doesn’t advocate that we check wisdom at the door and invite potentially dangerous people into our homes. But we are called to step out of what is convenient. Hebrews 13:2 reminds us: "Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it."
Do we see our homes as sanctuaries for broken people to find a safe place? Do we see our living rooms as missional spaces to engage those who are seeking?
I love what Christian author Rosaria Butterfield says about hosting: "Counterfeit hospitality comes with strings; Christian hospitality comes with strangers becoming neighbours becoming family of God."
I love that Jesus often reclined at tables in His friends’ homes. He chatted with his disciples over simple meals. He even invited himself over to the home of a tax collector (Luke 19). Perhaps He was showing us that it’s a good thing to receive hospitality. Perhaps it’s a reminder of our own neediness.
We have been invited to the grandest banqueting table of all—by grace alone. None of us could ever earn a place at that table.
And because we have so freely received, we now freely give. Our hospitality is an extension of God’s grace to us.
The gospel begins with an invitation because God so loved the world. Every time we open our front door, we have the opportunity to echo that invitation.
May we be ambassadors of Christ in the world, inviting people into our homes but, ultimately, into the family of God.
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