My Ugandan friend Monica once invited us to her home, where she lived with her three daughters in one room. Outdoors, we devoured generous ladles of rice and beans from mismatched, well-used plasticware while ducks nibbled around our feet. We washed dishes together, tipping jerrycans of water into the dust. We guffawed at Tom and Jerry on her tiny television. 

Monica’s generous hospitality sparkled. She honored us. Enjoyed us. Offered that elusive “at home” feeling.

Monica altered my occasionally strained version of hospitality. Image tempts my hosting. Even my attempts at casual hospitality can mimic “Insta celebs” who show how “real” they are by photographing a load of (noooo!) unfolded laundry. My hospitality can be a curated imperfection. 

I’ve transferred from loving well to wanting to look like I’m loving well. (GAH.)

And in that, a mask slips over my efforts to love. Rather than genuine connection and presence, I choose artifice. A self-centered agenda.

Ruth Haley Barton reflects, “Paying attention to these inner dynamics [of opening our homes] can tell us about ourselves. How comfortable am I with myself and my life as God has given it to me right now?” 

Because sharing our table is instead about accepting and welcoming all sorts of people, creating for them a warm sense of home. 

The Word communicates vital intimacy when we invite others in:

• Abraham hurried to invite heavenly visitors to the intimate fellowship of a meal.  




• In seven feasts a year (three mandatory), God’s people recounted His faithfulness around the table. 




• Jesus is for his close fellowship with sinners; think of the privilege of Jesus going to Zacchaeus’ home. People gossiped, “He receives sinners and eats with them!” (Luke 15:1, emphasis added). 




• One of the early church’s hallmarks is their continued breaking of bread together (see today’s Scripture). 




• In Revelation 3:20, Jesus encourages, “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

I’ve found visitors don’t typically remember whether they tripped on a Tinker Toy or if I served homemade bread or the power or water went out (again). But they remember if I received them. If I was truly present.

Hospitality matters because community matters. We all long to be untucked, just-as-I-am…and finally unashamed. To finally be accepted as we are, embarrassing needs and all. Happily dependent, reaching for each other.