"Hachnassat Orchim" Hebrew for "Bringing In Of Guests"

"As Christians, we aren't meant simply to invite people into our homes, but into
our lives as well. Having guests and visitors, if we do it right, isn't an imposition because we aren't meant to rearrange our lives for our guests—we're meant to invite our guests to enter into our sometimes-messy lives. It's this forging of relationships that transforms entertaining (i.e., deadly dull parties at the country club) into hospitality (i.e., a simple pizza on my floor). As writer Karen Burton Mains puts it, "Visitors may be more than guests in our home. If they like, they may be friends." (The Heart of Hospitality" Lauren Winner, Today's Christian Woman")

The PRACTICE of Biblical hospitality was not only something I grew up in but something I have practiced in many different ways throughout my married life. Recently, the Lord began directing my attention to the STUDY of Biblical hospitality. Until now, I never really was taught that it was a cardinal command of Christ on which we would be held accountable or at least HAD GIVEN it much thought. It was something we always just DID because we saw the vital need. It is a practice that has not only been neglected in America in our day and age, it is nearly extinct despite the strong commands and traditions of the scripture. I mean, when was the last time you heard a sermon or had a Bible study about it? Few Christians do it. I remember once about twenty years ago, the women's Bible study at church studied a book about it "Open Hearth/Open Home" but at the time, it seemed kind of "off the wall" for a Bible study topic.

Anyway, I had felt the Spirit truly directing me in that area and I began reading scriptures about it. Then, for a totally unrelated reason, I happened on an old file I had kept with some computer research printouts on the subject I had forgotten I had, much less knew where it was. The articles really peaked my interest. God was truly directing me. I continued my studies and began making my own notes from experiences we have had and putting together a presentation outline for future use. God began giving me creative ideas for one.

Then I checked Amazon and found ordered several books and study guides. Perhaps this could be a small group study. This idea fit right in to an idea I had several months ago about forming a small group devoted to follow-up and assimilation of people to our Body of believers.

Lastly, I googled "Biblical hospitality". I have been reading some amazing articles on the subject. I am continuing to be amazed at the depth of the importance and centrality to the Gospel the concept of hospitality is! I challenge you to read some. It is easy to see the lack of practice of this gift is killing the church. As I collect information and list m own experiences and anecdotes, it's just hard to know where to begin in putting things together. There is just so much to be said. I'd like to study it in depth and become proficient in a comprehensive understanding of this sorely neglected Biblical practice.

I have cut and pasted a wonderful article on the subject. Perhaps you can take the time to read it. It's worth it. Especially note what the term "hospitality" means in the Greek.

Making Room: The Practice of Hospitality Genesis 18:1-8, Matthew 25: 31-46October 6, 2002South Bend Christian Reformed Church©Leonard J. Vander Zee`
When we think of the word hospitality, most of us probably have images of warm gatherings of family and friends, a bright, well set table, an attentive host, a general atmosphere of coziness. In some churches, there's a hospitality committee that coordinates the coffee hour, greets visitors, and sets up welcome teas. But all of these images miss the dynamic expression of vibrant Christian faith that biblical hospitality conveys. The Greek word for hospitality is interesting. It's philozenia, and it's made up of two words, one is love, and the other is stranger. Biblical hospitality is the love of the stranger. Which puts us in a real quandary. In our culture, the stranger is often a threatening figure. Our reaction to strangers is captured in another word that comes from the Greek, xenophobia, the fear of strangers. We rightfully stress to our kids not to talk to strangers. In a world of terrorism, we look suspiciously around in line for swarthy strangers as we wait to board a plane. We keep the stranger at arms length, or more. We avoid the panhandler, the homeless pushing their shopping carts down the sidewalk. Our hospitality, such as it is, happens on the neutral, institutional ground of soup kitchens and homeless shelters. It's better than nothing, but it seems to fall short of the biblical calling. But we can't just write it off as some ancient practice that doesn't fit our world today. Hospitality to strangers isn't just a nice thing to do if we can; it's the very embodiment of our faith. It begins before time. God's very being is community, the community of the Holy Trinity. You might say that God is a family. But in creating a universe, God made room for others, creatures, especially human creatures with a mind of their own. Making room in creation was an act of divine hospitality, welcoming creatures to share in the love of the divine community. But in the amazing story of creation, God isn't only the host; God is also the stranger who needs to be welcomed. Think of those mysterious three strangers who show up at Abraham's tent one day. There's a certain ambiguity to the story. The narrator announces that the Lord came to Abraham one day, but all Abraham and Sarah see are three strangers, for whom they provide a generous meal. But it's these three strangers who also bring the message that Sarah will have a son. God comes to us in the distressing disguise of the stranger. The writer of Hebrews picks up on this ancient story when he says, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." (Hebrews 13:2) Then think of Jesus. Luke tells us that when the Son of God arrived on this earth there was no room in the Inn, and he was born in a stable. John says, "He came to his own, and his own did not accept him." (John 1:11) Jesus lived as an itinerant, a stranger, "with no where to lay his head." He often depended on the hospitality of others. So many of the gospel's stories of Jesus revolve around issues of hospitality. Jesus is the guest who is welcomed and brings great blessing at the homes of Martha and Mary, and Levi, and Zaccheus. But Jesus is also the host. When the crowds follow him into the wilderness and have no where to eat, he becomes the host, inviting them all to a miraculous picnic out of a few loaves and fishes. At the end of the last book of the Bible, John's vision peers into that future when God will make all things new, and the broken creation will be healed. And how is it pictured? Hospitality. "See the home of God is with people, and he will dwell with them as their God, and they will, be his people." The end of all things is God's great open house where there is feasting and gladness forever. We discover how much hospitality is close to the bone of God's Kingdom in Jesus great teaching of the last judgment. Jesus the judge, who once came as a stranger now looks at all people and welcomes them into his kingdom not on the basis of their faith, their knowledge, but on the basis of their simple hospitality. "I was a stranger and you took me in." But both groups in the parable, the so-called sheep and goats, say, "When, when did we see you a stranger and take you in?" The answer takes our breath away. "In as much as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me." Jesus came as a stranger, and now he calls us to see him in strangers, the needy, the lost, and the lonely that we meet every day of our lives."I was a stranger and you took me in." It is this great teaching of Jesus, more than any other, that defined the practice of hospitality for all time. The idea is so simple, but so crucial. Christ comes to us incognito in the stranger, in every lonely, needy person we meet. I once saw a plaque on someone's refrigerator door. "Let everyone that comes be received as Christ." It's a fine ideal. It's something else when the doorbell or the phone rings, or someone arrives unexpectedly. Hospitality is a lovely ideal; as always, the devil's in the details. We begin to wonder how it can be practiced in our busy, harried, dangerous world. A simple example: A woman in a Bible study this week told of a young man who came to her door saying he was a neighbor (she had never seen him before), and asked to borrow a drill. She was alone in the house, and had already broken a cardinal rule of women alone, to open the door to a stranger. She eventually refused his request. She said to us, "I prayed in my heart, Lord, if it's you, forgive me." We can all identify with her quandary. Someone described the intentional practice of hospitality as the best and hardest thing they had ever done. The best practitioners of hospitality, past and present, are those who are refreshingly honest about its ambiguities, its ironies, its difficulties, as well as its joys. It raises lots of disturbing questions. Do you invite the homeless man on the street corner to your home? What about your family, what dangers might the stranger bring? You can't ignore these issues. Throughout the centuries the church has recognized that hospitality to strangers is essential but also fragile and difficult. It needs boundaries. Henri Nouwen says that there can only be a welcoming space where there are boundaries. A room is defined by its walls. The welcoming space of our lives is defined by its boundaries. Boundaries are the limits within which we define our lives. This is who I am. We need limits, flexible limits, but limits to provide a welcoming space for strangers. One of the earliest Christian writings, the Didache, offers this advice on how to welcome strangers. "If you help a traveler, help him as much as you can, but he shall not remain with you for more than two days, or if need be, three. And if he wishes to settle among you with his craft, let him work for his bread. But if he has no craft, provide for him according to your understanding, so that no man shall live among you in idleness." They were struggling already with boundaries and limits. Even monasteries, where the welcome of strangers has been a bedrock value from their beginnings in the 3rd century, acknowledge the joys and difficulties. Kathleen Norris tells of a Russian monk who extols the joys and difficulties of hospitality. "I have finally learned to accept people as they are. Whatever they are in the world, a prostitute, a Prime Minister, it's all the same to me. But sometimes I see a stranger coming up the road and say, 'O Jesus Christ, is it you again?'" Hospitality doesn't demand that we put on the face of a bland neutral host. We welcome people, as Jesus did, when we let them into our lives, with our opinions, our commitments, our boundaries, and yes, our faith. When we define our lives and boundaries in that way, it challenges our guests to become aware of who they are, and to explore it critically. At the same time, being ourselves, we invite others to be themselves. Hospitality doesn't require spotless homes, gourmet meals, and shiny-faced, sweetly polite children. Making room means we welcome another person into our lives as they are. When we're guests, doesn't a relaxed, "this is who we are" atmosphere make us feel most welcome? My daughter Marie and her husband Aric are house-parents to five college students in inner city Grand Rapids. I asked how it works. Well, she said, our lives are an open book. We argue with five curious students carefully observe. We kiss and hug in front of five pairs of eyes. But we've learned that's an essential part of real welcoming hospitality. As you look through the practice of hospitality down through history, it becomes clear that hospitality is best supported by a community. It's hard to do alone. The community comes together to offer places where hospitality can best work. By supporting community ministries we support hospitality while we minimize the problems and dangers. From monasteries, to the Catholic Worker Houses founded by Dorothy Day, to St. Margaret's house here in town, or Hope Rescue Mission or the Homeless Shelter, Dismus House, and Hannah's House, Christians work together to provide spaces of hospitality. But there are also many ways in which we can practice hospitality in our homes as well. Strangers are often closer than we think. Neglected, orphaned children with special needs, abused women, elderly neighbors, pregnant teens, people recovering from severe illness or substance abuse, grieving widows or widowers. We encounter these people in our daily life and in our church, and in reaching out to them we have received the gift of Christ in them. One of the long-standing ministries of this congregation is that we welcome people who are a long way from home, refugees, international students, foreign workers, and college students. We've welcomed them into our church and into our homes. Each Sunday we say, "Soup's On". What a joy and blessing it's been over the years. Yes, we have "entertained angels unawares." But the difficulties and dangers of hospitality are not only in the guest, but also in the heart of the host. Providing hospitality can easily become a position of power over others. Being hospitable, we can subtly keep strangers in their place. I talked to someone who works in a soup kitchen. She said the hardest thing is to get the volunteers to sit and eat with the guests. Ladling the soup, handing out bread is powerful. Sitting to share it with the poor, the needy, the mentally ill, the ungrateful, makes us feel vulnerable. Will I be welcomed? Whenever we go to the Hope Rescue Mission, I always make it a point never to work behind the counter, but to receive the food and eat with the guests. Sometimes I'm ignored; more often I'm profoundly welcomed and soon fall into conversations in which I learn more than I can ever teach. If we're always the host and never the guest, we lose our perspective, and we fail to give others the dignity to welcome us. Gracious natural hosts make hospitality look easy and enjoyable. But not all of us are naturally hospitable. Some are extraverts, who thrive on having people around. Others are introverts, who find the constant presence of others draining. Hospitality is a spiritual gift given to some, but as with all the other spiritual gifts, like giving, or evangelism, we're all called to practice it in our lives as the opportunity comes. Some of us shy people need Garrison Keillor's Powdermilk Biscuits to help us "get up and do what needs to be done." Hospitality is something we stretch ourselves into. If we don't, we'll miss out on some of the most growing-edge, life-changing encounters of our lives. Or, to put it bluntly, we'll miss Jesus. We don't become good at hospitality over night, like anything else; we learn it in small increments by daily practice. In his teaching on the judgment it's important to see that Jesus doesn't ask us to turn the world upside down, or change social structures. He doesn't ask us to end homelessness, but to take in one stranger. He doesn't ask us to heal the sick, but to visit. He doesn't ask us to empty prisons, but visit one prisoner. One, just one at a time. Start with small moves of openness to the stranger. Maybe the best place to start is just praying and training ourselves to remember that the stranger is Jesus in disguise. Take the time to linger in a conversation with someone very strange or different. Offer some concrete help or the simple presence of listening that takes time and care. In his powerful book, Lest innocent Blood Be Shed, Phillip Hallie tells the story of the little town of LeChambon in France and its Church and Pastor. During WW II they hid and saved hundreds of Jews. But it began with small moves, like sharing supplies and food. Pastor Trocme just encouraged his congregation to "look and work hard for ways, for opportunities to make little moves against destructiveness." Before long, as danger rose, the habits of hospitality had already taken deep root. They began hiding hundreds of Jews in their homes. They never thought they were doing anything extraordinary. Many of them said, "Well, where else would they go, I had to take them in." Today, is WorldWide Communion Sunday. At the welcoming center of the church community stands this table. Luke tells us that a forlorn couple on their way home to Emmaus, welcomed Jesus, their strange fellow traveler, into their home on that Easter evening. Suddenly the stranger became the host. "When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. (Luke 24:30,31) Still today, the stranger who came to save us now stands as the invisible host who welcomes us all to partake of the loving sacrifice of himself. Krister Stendahl, the great Swedish theologian once said, "Whenever, wherever, however the Kingdom manifests itself, it is in welcome." The practice of hospitality, welcome to the stranger in all sorts of ways, is fundamental to our identity as Christians. One of the primary ways of living out the gospel in our daily lives is to welcome Jesus as he comes to us in his distressing disguise.
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