My wife has told the story of when she was young, and a man came to the door of the family home in small-town Minnesota. It was snowy, and he was cold. They let him in, fed him and gave him a place to sleep until the next morning.
A friend has shared similar stories, as a pastor's kid living by the railroad tracks in another Minnesota town. The "hobos" would come through and find shelter, a meal and good company with the Koch family.
We call this hospitality in the truest sense. We've allowed it to become narrowly focused on those times when we invite people over for a Sunday dinner, but its roots and meaning are in the obvious word "hospital" - as in, the place where one goes to find help and healing.
Christa Wells writes in her song, "You've Got a Home":
Here’s a key to my front door, got a pillow if you lost yours
you got a seat at my table, you've got a home
Here’s somebody who believes you, let truth remind you
you’ve always got a place to go to, you’ve got a home
How many of us would say no to the "hobo" today? How many of us would keep the doors locked and blinds pulled so we don't have to see what's outside of our front door? How many of us have a pillow and blanket for the stranger in need? How many of us trust God to take of us while we take care of others?
The paradigm for the Christian life isn't the active church-goer. It's the one who tends to the needs of her neighbor, practicing real, Christ-like hospitality.
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