Hospitality, Hospitals, and Incubators

"Practice hospitality." Romans 12:13 (NIV)

From Christmas at the Caroline House

We buried our beloved Uncle Jack last Saturday at Elmwood Cemetery in the middle of a 4.5 inch rain deluge. Somehow the rain managed to hold off during his funeral, but the graveside service was a downpour in the truest sense of the word.

Last week I had begun reading Rosaria Butterfield's latest book release, The Gospel Comes with a House Key: Practicing Radically Ordinary Hospitality in Our Post Christian World."  I'll be sharing more about Butterfield's book in a later post, but for now, suffice it to say that by last Thursday, I was so challenged by her words in the first three chapters that I invited all of my extended family to dinner at our house following the funeral. Sixteen of us representing five different states from Florida to Virginia gathered at our home for dinner late Saturday afternoon.

Butterfield's book is much more than the standard women's "how to do" hospitality fare.  Butterfield writes, "The goal of radically ordinary hospitality is that those who live it see strangers as neighbors and neighbors as the family of God. They see their homes not as theirs at all, but as God's first to use for the furtherance of his kingdom. They open doors. They know the gospel comes with a house key.  In radically ordinary hospitality, host and guest are interchangeable...hosts are not embarrassed to receive help and guests know that their help is needed." In other words, opening our hearts and homes to others, gives us an opportunity to open the Gospel as well.

To be sure, Butterfield has some "how to" hospitality tips like keeping menus simple and not obsessing over a perfect house, but she nailed me when she wrote, "My (hospitality) lists are not set in stone; they are set in grace, organized around people and their needs." Five different families coming from north (Tennessee & Virginia), south (Florida), east (Georgia) and west (Mississippi) needed not just physical food but the gift of place to gather, reminisce, share stories, and comfort each other. So I contacted my cousins and said, "I'll have food; please come!"

I settled on a Honeybaked Ham menu with easy to fix sides that could be made ahead. My only concession to "trouble to prepare" was my favorite comfort food: Granny Muir's scratch Pound Cake. Baking that cake probably brought me more comfort than eating it. I wondered how many pound cakes Granny made in her lifetime. The ingredients- butter, sugar, eggs, flour, and milk- are so ordinary; but the results are divine. Perhaps hospitality is like that too.

Saturday was a whirlwind since we had to make arrangements for James Bruce's care; Bruce was serving as a pallbearer, and last minute food preparations remained. I decided to scratch any deep clean tasks and opted for a "fairly straight" house and my sanity. I also ditched some of the last minute food prep like slicing strawberries for the pound cake. Butterfield writes, "Host and guest are interchangeable..hosts are not embarrassed to receive help." I really didn't mind asking for help with strawberries for heaven's sake. I just prayed no one saw my basement, still cluttered with three married adults' leftover mementos, old furniture pieces, and stuff.

Fast forward to after the funeral and the 4.5 inch rain storm. Everyone was soaked to the bone. My family members weren't desperate for food. They needed towels, a change of clothes, bathrooms, and my clothes dryer. And despite my resolve for no one to see my cluttered basement, every single person entered my home through the basement. It was the easiest access and the closest route to the clothes dryer. God has a way of humbling me and forcing me to die to my pride!

In the end, none of that mattered, especially my pride. People gladly cut strawberries, put ice in the glasses, or helped dry clothes. We were gathered together, doing what families have done through the ages- sharing stories, laughing and crying together, reconnecting across the miles and years. More than food, God allowed us to give the gift of place, where we are accepted, affirmed, and allowed to grow and grieve.  Biblical hospitality isn't cheap, but it's worth it. Butterfield again writes, "We make gospel bridges into our home because we notice the people around us and their needs. Hospitality renders our houses hospitals and incubators."

Are our homes truly hospitals and incubators for those who need, not only the gift of place, but the Gospel of Christ? Next time, we'll focus on Rosaria Butterfield's unique testimony on learning to face her fears and feed her enemies.

In the meantime, may all of our homes- and lives- be hospitals and incubators for God's glory. The Gospel comes with a house key!