Out In The Cold
I’d brought the wrong shoes.
I realise now what a strange thought that was, never-the-less, that’s the one that first embedded in my mind. I had been struggling to navigate the eight city blocks back to my hotel, I suppose I’d only made it about two when I first slipped over. It was my first time walking on icy sidewalks. After my first close call, I’d attempted to walk where the grass would normally be, but the snow lay deep, a discoloured mix of filth and grime layered with sticks and the occasional limp cigarette filter. The bottom of my pants were wet through, my feet were cold, and my head was swirling. Now I was unceremoniously sitting on the side of the road. I looked at my shoes and sighed.
Three hours earlier I’d walked these paths, heading toward what I was sure would be a memorable experience. I guess I was right; I haven’t forgotten it. I was a foreigner, a stranger to this city. Having flown 21 hours to reach this nation, its northern boarders gripped by the crushing strength of mid-winter, I was eager to worship with brothers and sisters as Sunday dawned over freshly fallen snow. The church I had in mind was pastored by a well know preacher and leader, a man I’d admired from afar through the lens of digital media and the pages he’d penned. Now I was close enough to visit. So I pulled my too-thin coat a little tighter and set out to sit under his teaching, worship with his flock, and enjoy the hospitality of the saints. But sitting on my gradually-getting-colder behind, regretting my decision in footwear, a new thought began percolating through my mind.
People will come to hear a preacher, but they’ll stay for true community.
The sermon was as I thought it would be—solid and compelling. The worship was sweet—singing, prayer, and word-centrality is always a joy when gathered with the saints. But then the service ended. I stood alone in a large foyer. I gathered my complimentary visitors pack which included a free cup of coffee from a girl who served it with a beaming smile. “Wow! An Aussie!”, she said in that slightly annoying way most Americans manage to say it. I drank my coffee in a conspicuous place watching families and friends mingle and laugh together. I overheard plans being made to meet for lunch, some warm eatery somewhere downtown that had just opened. A man with a warm smile and firm handshake nodded to me as he stepped back out to battle the cold. But by now, my cup was empty, and I wasn’t sure what to do next.
I wanted to go with those people to the new eatery downtown. I wanted to sit in some strangers lounge room and share in their life for a couple of hours. I wanted to know what it was like to be a disciple of Jesus in this foreign place. Instead, I was sitting on the sidewalk scowling at my shoes knowing I still had five blocks to go before I found the safety of my empty hotel room. I had walked eight blocks to hear good preaching, but now I was longing for good hospitality.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. (1 Peter 4:7-9 ESV)
Please don’t mistake my story as an opportunity to grumble, that’s not my intent. It was a moment where God used a cold sidewalk and a bruised pride to help pivot my thinking. I needed that moment.
Rethinking Hospitality
I think we’ve confused hospitality with entertaining. We’ve taken the bait of an image-driven, Master Chef mentality and swallowed the lie that the goal is impressing people into the kingdom. Or maybe it’s not entertainment that’s the real problem, but our definition of it. After all, in the pursuit of showing hospitality, some of us have unwittingly entertained angels! (Hebrews 13:2)
As Paul’s masterful treatise on the gospel begins to flow over the great divide of chapter 12, he begins to tease out the implications of a life transformed by grace.
Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. (Romans 12:9-13 ESV)
The gospel opens doors, sets an extra place at the table, clears the guest room, and invites laughter around the fireplace. The gospel ignites a passion for shared lives where true discipleship can be heard in the tone of conversation, and evangelism mixes with soap suds and the clinking of glassware as we clean up together after a hearty meal.
I’m sure that’s why Paul includes it as the one requirement for Eldership that seems most out of place.
For an overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach. He must not be arrogant or quick-tempered or a drunkard or violent or greedy for gain, but hospitable, a lover of good, self-controlled, upright, holy, and disciplined. He must hold firm to the trustworthy word as taught, so that he may be able to give instruction in sound doctrine and also to rebuke those who contradict it. (Titus 1:7-9 ESV)
Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. (1 Timothy 3:2-3 ESV)
Sure, not a drunk, not a violent man, nor contentious—we can understand that. Absolutely, a man with an aptitude to unfold the mysteries of the gospel through the Word of God—that’s essential. But hospitality? What’s the big deal with that?
We’ve forgotten that hospitality is where the church shines. Hospitality is the place where gospel fluency filters past the glossy images of ministry we post on Instagram. Hospitality is the field where shepherds best tend their sheep, and where sheep see an example of the Great Shepherd’s tender care. Hospitality is the church at home.
Without it, we’re all out in the cold.
