Chips, Salsa, and Radical Hospitality
I opened the door one Monday evening to find two strangers on my couch: a young woman in tight fishnet leggings and a middle-aged man in the widest brimmed Baltimore Orioles baseball cap I have ever seen. I have always been notorious for wearing my thoughts all over my face. I did my best to stifle my surprise and to act cool. Real cool. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE IN MY HOUSE AND WHERE DID THEY COME FROM? Praise the Lord for my dog Buddy. He acted as if he had known them his whole life, and the Holy Spirit prompted me to follow suit. Still reeling inside from the surprise and grouchiness I feel as an introvert whose space has been invaded by strangers, the Holy Spirit reminded me that everyone loves chips and salsa. They’re basically spiritual food, kind of like manna, just drier and crispier. Anyways, I pulled out the Tostitos and prayed a desperate version of “Jesus, Take the Wheel” (if you don’t appreciate country music from the early 2000s, you will not understand). I would love to tell you that a deeply spiritual prayer popped into my head, but I would be lying. Definitely just panic and Carrie Underwood.
Let me explain before you accuse me of forgetting to lock my front door. My husband and I moved to Tennessee this past summer for his first year of Family Medicine Residency. A few weeks after we moved, one of my co-workers from the lab I worked at in Roanoke moved in with us, along with her four-year-old daughter. Without a doubt, this has been one of the biggest blessings and challenges that the Lord has EVER dropped in my lap. I had no idea what we were in for, but the Lord has knit our little crew together like family. Daily sharing your space so intimately is frustrating and sanctifying (wailing tantrums, disappearing phone chargers, the mystery case of who shut the cat out in the rain), but I also think it is a preview of the marriage supper of the Lamb. My co-worker has become a dear friend and, very recently, a sister in Christ! This entire journey over the past six months has catapulted me into thinking about gospel-centered hospitality. How do I share my life--my house, my food, my time, and my relationships--with another image-bearer in a way that puts Christ on display? Foundational in my processing of this question is the book The Gospel Comes with a House Key by Rosaria Butterfield. She outlines 3 principles that I love and would like to reflect on with you.
“Radically ordinary hospitality reflects that the words you speak reveal that you are owned by Christ.” If you know me, you know I am a control freak. I plan everything out. I know exactly how much milk is in the fridge and exactly how long I plan for it to last. Then Jesus tossed in a wild card--a four year old consuming cereal...and this can, at times, require half a gallon of milk?! WHAT? My precious apple cart of control must come tumbling down. I am not my own. My home is not my own. My fridge is not my own. All are for the use of the Kingdom. Now, I am not saying there are no boundaries. What I am saying is that if I really believe “you also have died to the law through the body of Christ, so you may belong to one another, to Him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God” (Romans 7:4), then my desire to have things my way must be nailed to the cross .
“Radically ordinary hospitality sanctifies us by putting us in a sacrificial posture of service to others.” Ouch. My time is so precious to me. My time with my husband is so precious to me. However, the Lord has given me the unique opportunity to use my time this year to serve my friend and love her daughter. “For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Galatians 5: 13-14). Control Freaks like myself plan strategically for maximum efficiency when it comes to the use of time. However, Jesus never approached life or people this way. He said, “The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). There is an aspect of service that is the giving of your life, of yourself, to a world that is starving for love and belonging that can only be felt in Christ. Hospitality always requires hands, heads, hearts, and messiness, weakness, and sacrifice. Always.
“Radically ordinary hospitality is part of our spiritual armor, allowing us to access people’s broken hearts, allowing the Spirit of God to work through us in spite of our limitations.” And that is exactly what was happening that Monday when I opened the door to find complete strangers on my couch. My co-worker’s highschool friend had been struggling to find work, which had led her to a path she would not have chosen. She had not told my coworker she was coming, and out of desperation had ended up in my house seeking comfort from her friend. As they grieved together, I realized God was granting access to brokenness that needed a space of safety and hope.
I am learning that gospel-driven hospitality is about the business of making people want more of Jesus. Sin cannot harm Jesus. In fact, I was entrenched in it when He saved me. Weren’t we all? The gospel says to fellow image-bearers, “You are welcome in my home. Come as you are. I am not leading, I am following. Jesus is leading.” This means I must bring others into my mess. I do not have to have it all together before I open my home. People will die from loneliness and a life apart from Jesus much faster than they will die from the dog hair that is in my food. In the book, Rosaria Butterfield asks a question that really wrecked me, “Have I made myself safe to unbelievers where they can share the real hardships of day-to-day living, or am I still so burdened by the hidden privileges of Christian acceptability that I can’t even see the daggers in my hands?” This was a punch in the gut. Am I safe? Or am I constantly trying to make sneaky evangelistic raids into the sinful lives of those around me? For unbelievers to see Jesus and know the truth of God’s love, I must be close enough to be seen in transparent and vulnerable ways.
God is calling us to make sacrifices that hurt sometimes so that others can be served...and maybe even saved. In our post-Christian world, I am convinced our words are only as strong as our relationships. My best spiritual weapon? An open door, a space at my table, and lots of Kleenex for the tears that may come. So what do you do when your unbelieving coworker lives with you and her friend (who dances for a living) is on your couch? You reach for the chips and salsa, lean hard on the Holy Spirit’s guidance, and remember, “The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5).