Wrangler Dani

When Adam was in leadership with FUEL (the church singles ministry where we met) he was one of the “Belong” leaders – basically, his job was to make people feel welcome and build teams that would continue to make people feel welcome. In a practical sense for a church-based weekly event, this meant he had greeters at the entrances and tablecloths on the tables – in a broader sense, he was always looking out for the loner, the awkward girl (me – that worked out well!) or the opportunity to make a table more than a table, but a place to become real-life friends. For my part, I was drawn to the “reach” side of ministry – the inviters and fearless welcomers who brought others into the place to belong.

But this is ministry stuff, not real-life stuff, right?

I will never forget, maybe a month or two after we got married, Adam and I met at the sink during a party, at our cracked and tiny countertop in our little beach house apartment. He was opening a beer for a friend (and one for himself, probably), I was putting an appetizer together. It was loud in there – we might have had 20 or 30 people crammed into 800 square feet, and every one of them had something to say. Standing at our sink, we looked at each other and laughed – we were thrilled that people were getting to know one another, that they felt comfortable in our home, that we had “reached” and that now we all “belonged”, right here, right now, as newlyweds and oldyweds and single people and serial daters. We realized that we are “belong” people, hospitality people, that the lessons we learned in ministry actually meant something, here, in the nitty-gritty of real life, when our counter is small and our budget is tiny and our house is nowhere near clean enough or big enough for all these people.

I guess I’m writing this because, even though we value hospitality (reach and belong) highly and we see it as a core value, it’s still hard to do sometimes. Sometimes I don’t want my guests to see me crying in the kitchen because my life is emotional and hard in all kinds of ways. Sometimes I think, is this hospitality a thing of generosity or foolishness?

Hospitality is foolishness, in the end. We all want to be hospitable in the bed and breakfast kind of way, but we seldom want the drop-in or the abrupt change in plans. Hospitality is vulnerability, a willingness to let someone else into your mess and your gloopy, teary-eyed mascara and your saggy couches. Hospitality is sharing everything you have and then some. Hospitality is generosity you don’t expect, with people who surprise you. Hospitality matters because we have a big God who opens his arms wide to screw-ups like us, who adopts us as his children and who gives us a place to belong.

I’ve seen a lot of think pieces lately about how watching Jimmy Fallon on the tonight show is a spiritual discipline/high art/the best thing ever. OK, I get it, everybody loves Jimmy. But do you know why? Hospitality. He makes everyone on his show and his audience, by default, feel included. We’re all in on the joke, and he’s happy to grab us a beer from the fridge while we laugh. It’s not a cool kids club, and he’s not stingy with his affection or regard. We all love Jimmy, but how many of us are willing to be Jimmy? It’s easy to watch and laugh anonymously from our couches, feeling connected to people who will never know or judge us. It’s even easy to write criticisms of those who aren’t in on the joke and lambast others for not acknowledging the greatness of our choice to watch Jimmy Fallon every night, because (oh the irony!) he’s so inclusive and nice.

We all want to be the included, but how many of us want to include? We all know what it feels like to be put down or locked out, and that is the antithesis of the God we serve. So, I’m going to keep having parties and planning dinners and offering hugs. We believe in a God who loved while we were yet screw-ups (my translation) and who tells us to give cheerfully, for much has been given to us.

Hospitality matters, and it matters deeply. We all needed to be reached at some point, we all want a place to belong.