Thoughts on Hospitality

Photo by Aaron Burden

As Raúl and I have been traveling some and as I’ve been reading Shannan Martin’s The Ministry of Ordinary Places, I’ve been pondering the concepts of hospitality and community. In her book, Shannan talks about how her lofty goals in hospitality often actually become a stumbling block in developing real, vulnerable community. And, I have to say, I somewhat relate. How often, like Shannan, have I broken out a brand new recipe with fancy ingredients for a guest rather than going for a tried and true staple just with underlying goals to both impress and make the person feel special? How often have I wanted my house to be spotless for a visitor when, more often than not, people in Honduras drop by when I haven’t washed my hair, am in workout clothes, have zero prepared food in the house, and have a floor that needs mopping? Which is actually more conducive to real community? Which is better hospitality? I usually feel like hospitality is tricky and sometimes is a skill that feels elusive to me across cultures. Something that would be textbook common sense when welcoming a guest into your home in one country isn’t necessarily so for another country. What makes me comfortable as a host can’t necessarily be expected of a guest in another culture. What makes my guest from another culture feel comfortable can’t always be expected of me either. There is a learning curve, and there is also a negotiation of how much of myself needs to be lost in assimilation to the culture and how much of myself do I need to adamantly preserve in this realm? I don’t really have easy answers. So, instead, I thought I’d share some specific experiences of hospitality throughout my life that have made me feel at home, loved, and welcomed:


In Jamaica:

 I was there for a short period of time for a college trip. Our purpose was to get a feel for the educational and health care systems of another country. Part of that experience was teaching some classes in Jamaica. The teachers who facilitated my classes graciously lent me their classrooms and loaned me their students with a generous willingness to interrupt their agendas They only saw me for a couple days, so connection was limited at best. But they had their students make a homemade gift to send home with me. I still have it. Throughout all of my time in Jamaica, I was blessed by the desire and willingness of nearly everyone we met to share of themselves and their country. They were so eager for us to try everything and see everything and partake in their national and cultural pride. I realize that this isn’t exclusive to Jamaica. And, having worked with short-term mission teams in Honduras, I am also acquainted with the complex feelings that can go on behind the scenes when receiving North American visitors. But, for what it was worth, I came away from that experience of hospitality with the question of—what would it look like for me to be eager and enthusiastic about sharing who I am and what I have rather than being so apologetic for who I am not and what I don’t have?

In Mexico:

Last month, I got together with my friend who studied abroad in Mexico with me, and she rehashed a memory that I hadn’t remembered well. We both had been staying with the same Mexican host mother and had been enjoying her cooking and her quirky nightly rituals complete with some of the most bizarre telenovelas we’d ever seen. Apart from those ongoing interactions, there was one time when she invited my friend and I to go with her to some kind of a family barbecue. Honestly, my memory is foggy on this one, but my friend remembered cramming ourselves into a very small car with our host mother and her grandson and I can’t remember who else. We went to someone’s house where they were grilling and had a pool. I honestly think I can’t remember much of this event simply because since living in Honduras I’ve had numerous occasions just like this one (so they all run together). But, we didn’t know anyone. Half the time we had no idea what was going on, and we were just along for the ride. While I wouldn’t recommend being the passenger on this kind of a ride with just anyone, what strikes me is this: Sometimes, the best hospitality is just an invitation. This seems too obvious, I know. But I perpetually live in my own head way too much, worrying over whether people are already hungry and is that person going to get sunburnt if we’re out in the sun too long and will that person be bored since they don’t know anyone else and all of the things. I can get so overwhelmed with wanting to cover all of my bases for everyone that I can get paralyzed to the point of feeling like it’s not worth it to extend an invite at all. Sometimes, you just need to present an honest invitation and let that person take whatever as it comes, trusting that if they’re there, it’s for a reason. My husband is an absolute champ at this. We can be putting gas in the car to go on a day trip with a couple people, he’ll see a random guy he knows at the gas station, and he’ll say, “Hey! You interested in going with us? Hop in the car!” Maybe we’re going swimming, and the person has no bathing suit. No big deal. Maybe everyone in the car is expecting everything to be on our dime, and we know that between us what we have isn’t much. No big deal. We’ll figure it out. And, you know what? We do. And it’s not a big deal. And people are generally very happy to have been invited.

In Honduras:

I have twelve years of experiences in Honduras, so it’s impossible for me to cover them all, but here is a sampling--

One of the places I most feel at home is at Alvin and Nelly’s house. Granted, I lived with them for a couple years, so that helps. But, in general, no one is better at zoning in on someone’s hunger like Mami Nelly. If you’re a newbie guest, she’ll make you a plate, but if you’re like family, you help yourself to whatever is on the stove. I have seen this woman dish out rice and beans and eggs—the last of what is on her stove—when she knows fully that the rest of her cupboards are bare and money isn’t necessarily coming in soon. Her food isn’t fussy, but it is good. (She makes the best oatmeal and the best Nicaraguan tortillas and gallo pinto.) And, she is unapologetic in who she is. She plays her music at full volume and sings. She laughs and jokes, and we’ve had many a heart-to-heart at her kitchen table. From her, I’ve learned fearless generosity (with the faith that God will provide) and that sometimes the best thing you have to offer is your authentic self.

From three special ladies, I learned to be prepared and eager to serve at all times as well as to do the best you can with what you have. In my early years in Honduras, I would go many Sundays with some friends to Yuscarán, a town a ways out of the city. We’d go all day in order to hold a church service in an area where there was no church building, and many of the homes were made of tarps and scrap wood. Before we’d go up to the mountainous areas, we’d stop in Yuscarán at the house of Iris. We’d cram ourselves into her kitchen where she’d bring out her best chairs and offer us whatever she had on hand while she continued to make tortillas, pressing them with a plate. The action didn’t stop because we were there. She talked while she flipped tortillas over the fire. I always marvel at how quickly many people in Honduras will pull out their best for their guests even when they may not know them well.

Another lady who impressed me with her ingenuity was Madre Dorita, a cook from the government-run home where I used to volunteer. One day, on a whim, I went to visit her at her house. I wasn’t expecting to eat lunch by any means. But we arrived, and she quickly opened her refrigerator and her cupboards to take stock of what she could whip up. She pulled chairs out by her stovetop, so we could chat while she fried up some impromptu bologna tacos. A planner by nature, this immediate invention with what’s on hand is not my strong point. But, I’ve compromised by meal planning in such a way that more often than used to be the case (but still not always) I at least have some leftovers on hand that only need re-heated.

Lastly, a neighborhood friend of ours who embodies service and hospitality is Juli. This woman drops everything to attend to whomever just drops by her house without even a moment’s notice. In the time I’d still be mulling over how I wish the person would’ve called first and how my whole schedule for the day is going to have to shift, she’d already have plates with heaps of food and have sent a kid to buy a bottle of pop. Honduran hospitality is excellent in the area of spontaneity.

Years ago, the first time that Josuan returned to the streets after he’d been under my care for over a year, I was a mess. I was fielding too many complicated situations and emotions to be able to focus in my own environment enough to hear God’s restoring voice. But, living in Honduras often means a lack of refuge especially since at the time I didn’t have many missionary friends. I had, however, heard of a Honduran pastor couple who readily let people stay in their home. While it was out of character for me, since I didn’t know them well, I called ahead to see if it’d be possible to stay with them, outside of the city, for a few days because I was desperate. They kindly agreed. Throughout the duration of my time with them, not only were they so generous in providing a place of refuge with their best, they also were sensitive enough to let me rest. Sometimes, the best hospitality is actually just facilitating a refuge and giving someone the space to heal and recuperate.

One of the most special people I’ve met in Honduras is Sister Sonia. She has been like a spiritual mother to Raúl since he became a Christian. And, in many ways, I feel like her methods of hospitality are what every Christian should aspire to. Every time we’ve ever visited her house, she has been prepared with spiritual food. It doesn’t matter who is with us or what time we get there, she is eager to pray with us and is always pulling out her Bible to share an encouraging or directional word that speaks to our season of life. I have never met anyone else like that, and I believe that it brings Father God great joy. May we all learn to be an oasis in tune to others’ emotional and spiritual needs just as much as we are in tune to the physical needs of others.

In the USA:

Since we’ve been here in the US, we’ve experienced many different styles of hospitality, and I’ve been fascinated to see what I internally respond to and what Raúl internally responds to. I believe the heart behind it all is the same—love and acceptance, kindness and generosity. But I am also blessed by just how much we humans can communicate who we are by how we receive others into our homes or our environments.

At the Lutheran church we visited, we felt blessed by their cooking and their thoughtfulness. Months before we even got to Honduras, they were asking us what our favorite pies were, so they could have them prepared. Being invited into their church kitchen and into their conversations about what it’s like to get older and what kind of lives they led when they were our age made us feel at home. And, the time that they took to bake so many different pies for us communicated their desire to make us feel special.

When Raúl and I went to have dinner with my college friend, Leigh Ann, we both felt comfort. Part of that was in the way that she has her home decorated, but part of it was also because she has always been the kind of friend for me with whom I can just pick up where we left off. Her being able to speak Spanish and pick up on what kinds of TV shows Raúl likes also made him feel comfortable as well.

Our friend, Anna Marie, showed us the same kind of thoughtfulness—calling my Mom ahead of time to ask what our favorite kinds of food and beverages were. What really made both Raúl and I feel at home was her authenticity. We loved partaking in her everyday life—playing with her kids, chatting on her porch, watching soccer with her, and seeing her animals. Raúl is a pretty straightforward kind of guy, and he felt right at ease to be himself because Anna Marie and her family freely were themselves with us.

My facilitating teacher from student teaching, who I affectionately call Mama Ryan, hosted a lunch for us. I’ve always been so impressed by her attention to detail and dedication to excellency. Her way of communicating love and care is through the effort she puts forth. Her home is filled with antiques and heirlooms that are special within her family, and her hosting style reflects her eye for beauty and her appreciation for legacy and tradition. Raúl was impacted by her preservation of her family history, and he still raves about her broccoli salad!

When Raúl and I went to Indiana, we stayed with the family of my missionary friend, Lindsey. I always associate Lindsey with authenticity and thoughtfulness when we spend time together in Honduras, and her family echoes those virtues as well. But what really made their home somewhere that Raúl felt especially welcome was how personable and fun they were. They let us participate in their everyday lives by taking us to Lindsey’s dad’s softball game. Sherry, Lindsey’s mom, took the time to explain the rules to Raúl and made sure that he was understanding what was going on. And, after dinner, they decided to play a game—which is normal for their family. But, they were intentional in picking a game that Raúl would be able to play and understand regardless of the language barrier. They joked with Raúl, and in general, bridged the gap so well in the differences of culture and language in such a way that he felt like he could fit in.

Another couple who has always so uniquely embodied both hospitality and ministry as a whole are Dale and Diane. I’ve known them since I’d gone to church with them back when I was in sixth grade or so. They are down-to-earth and have a great sense of humor. But, more than anything, they are amazing at adoption. The whole reason my family and I got close to them back in the day was because they had a habit of just adopting families within the church. They’d focus on a few families and invite them for dinner, babysit their kids, and facilitate community that felt like family rather than something programmed or contrived. They know exactly who they are, and who they are ministers to others so well. Their gift of being intentional has been and continues to be of such impact.

It goes without saying but is worth saying anyway that we’ve also been so impacted this time by the hospitality of my family members. My parents have a whole houseful again and are just rolling with it—even when that means buying milk a couple times a week and the Wifi being so slow that we have to take turns using it. They are generous beyond measure. My grandmothers have also pulled out the stops in making Raúl feel welcomed and cared for.

I feel like I still have a lot to learn when it comes to hospitality and facilitating meaningful community, but I can say that I have grown over the years. I think that the Body of Christ often best communicates itself in homes and at kitchen tables rather than in church buildings or at conferences. We serve such a personal God that there is something beautiful about how personal it can be to share Jesus’ love through a cup of tea, a plate of impromptu spaghetti, a well-timed Bible verse, a heartfelt prayer, or a listening ear. While I tend to agonize over the details, more often than not, it’s the subtle things that I don’t think about that make the lasting impact. It’s not the temperature of the food as much as it’s the sensitivity of my heart to the leading of the Holy Spirit as I comfort someone. It’s not the times that I should have mopped the floor; it’s the time that I do take to give eye contact and provide advice in a tough situation. Hospitality in the Bible took many forms—from the most extravagant feasts to the humblest use of the last of the oil to make bread. But, at the heart of each example is a willingness to obediently communicate the heart of the Father, to give an outward manifestation of the love and provision we receive through His grace, and to be ministers of reconciliation, restoration, and resurrection power.