Christian Hospitality Is Not Nice
When I was a boy growing up in North Carolina, when someone moved to a new neighborhood, the established neighbors commonly brought a fresh-baked loaf of bread as a way of welcoming the newcomer—insiders to outsider. I once heard a story, however, about New Yorkers who moved to the south and whose new neighbors brought them a big pot of freshly cooked grits, what New Yorkers call polenta, though many are oddly resistant to acknowledging the synonym. Humans do not readily integrate new into established, whether ideas or people. This requires commitment, which is why the ritual of giving bread is important.
As a young man, I had occasion to live in Yokohama. There, I learned that it was the custom for people who moved into a new neighborhood to present gifts, usually dish towels or other practical items, to the established neighbors—outsider to insiders. The expectations were reversed. The newcomer had to show goodwill towards the community into which he or she was moving. Luckily, I was the first to inhabit the apartment building where I lived, so I did not cause offense out of ignorance. Later, when others moved in, I was the confused recipient of dish towels and washcloths. When I investigated, I was instructed as to the custom.
Both American and Japanese hospitality assume that there is a distance that must be bridged, the only difference being from which shore the bridge is to be built. Christian hospitality, on the other hand, starts with identification. There is nothing to bridge. We recognize that all human beings are created in relationship with one another. When Christ is asked, “Who is my neighbor,” rather than defining a category of people, he places the burden upon us. To illustrate, he tells the story of the man stripped, robbed, beaten, and left by the road. A priest and a Levite pass by, crossing to the other side to avoid the unfortunate one. Finally, a Samaritan stops and takes pity on him. Christ asks, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” (Luke 10:36) The person asked correctly responds that it was the Samaritan. In contrast with American and Japanese culture, as Christians, we do not make neighbors. We start from the assumption that we already are.
We acknowledge that ultimately, because we are neighbors, either both sides benefit or both sides suffer from the choices made. The priest and the Levite are diminished by their behavior, as the Samaritan flourishes. In other words, to thrive in Christian terms is to live in community with others and to understand that our deepest joy comes from our connectedness with God, the world, and those around us. When we recognize that we are connected, we more readily identify with others. Each interaction becomes an opportunity to affirm the dignity of others by responding to them with honesty, sincerity, and the recognition that God dwells within us. The salesman in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is an excellent modern example. When Holly and Paul enter Tiffany’s with only ten dollars between them, but determined to purchase something as a testament to their mutual affection, the salesman is honest with them about what they can afford to purchase, yet never condescends. Without losing his own dignity, he simultaneously respects that of Holly and Paul (who are unsure of it themselves) and ultimately accedes to their request to engrave a Cracker Jack ring (www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVFi-yeTe5g). It is not the ring itself that is important, of course, but the way in which he treats them—never patronizing. As such, he is a model of how Christians recognize others as neighbors. We are seekers, seeking God in all of God’s creation, including other humans. It is for this reason that we recognize the inadequacy (though importance) of simply communing with nature.
In our current society of competition and fear, of gated neighborhoods and of arming ourselves with powerful weapons, of children raised by television, Christianity is both a countercultural creed and a radical commitment. We place seeking God above all other goals. By seeking God in others, we help them to find God in themselves, to recognize the interdependence, the interconnectedness of all creation. When we achieve this, our entire attitude changes, and we start seeing more clearly, beyond our own desires that act as a screen, between us and the world onto which we fearfully project our prismatic view. Once this drops away, we recognize that our joy is mutually dependent upon the joy of others. Those who fail to see live in various degrees of alienation. Not everyone can connect readily and deeply with others. The greatest hope lies in remaining non-reactive, prayerful, sincere, and caring since setting out to challenge directly the self-fulfilling movie that plays on another’s screen is usually ineffective.
I was recently working on a project that required a cork and a length of copper tubing. One local hardware store sold the tubing whereas its other branch sold corks. After work, still wearing my clericals, I went to the first store. When I purchased the tubing, they agreed to cut it to the desired length once I had tried it out in place, which I accomplished on my way to the second branch. Wanting to simplify things, I showed the receipt to the clerks at the second store and asked them whether they would cut it for me as they had said they would do at the main branch. One guy responded suspiciously, “Yeah, yeah: he said, she said.” He was projecting distrust onto me, even though I had presented a receipt that demonstrated that I had purchased the tubing about thirty minutes earlier at their other branch. I suspect that, by saying this, he hoped to protect himself from being taken for a fool. He nevertheless introduced me to someone else who seemed more interested in helping. In fact, the second clerk was sycophantic. I was his good luck charm of the day. By treating a priest well, he hoped to profit (not in terms of mutual growth, but as a kind of economic exchange of favors through which he would be the recipient of some as yet unknown blessing). As I waited for them to decide what to do, the guy behind the checkout counter talked with me. He told me about his aquarium, his two disabled yet healthy fish, his dog, and his cat. Whether he knew it or not, he was allowing me to see God in him.
Initially, I congratulated myself on being open to the exchange and only later realized I had left the other two clerks lying beside the road. Christianity is, after all, not about being nice. We are to recognize honestly the state of our relationship with everyone. To the first one, I could have said, “You seem to distrust me.” That would have brought the conversation back into the present, from whatever place of fear he was operating. To the second, I could have said, “Thank you for being so helpful. I hope everyone gets such good service.” I had not sought God in them. I had not recognized my connection with them because neither the calculating nor the distrustful clerk had recognized their connection with me. I could congratulate myself on recognizing the one connection, but the truth is, I had passed by two others to get to it.
If we are sincere about Christian hospitality, then we must strive to be present—to be in the present where God is. We extend hospitality because we seek God in all people and wish to help them to see God in themselves. Only then can the work of God be carried forth. We recognize the world to be purposeful, and that purpose depends upon our commitment to increase the awareness of meaningful connection in the universe. Christian hospitality is not nice; it is sincere.
