Humbling ourselves to welcome one another in the spirit of hospitality

I can still see her hands, lightly dusted in white flour, as she motioned for me to come closer. Watching my mom bake was like watching the sun rise — brilliant and warming — and her dinner rolls never disappointed. They were my favorite, and so was getting my fingers in that gooey dough.

My recollection of her specific instructions has grown hazier: a sprinkle of flour on the counter so the dough wouldn’t stick; gently pressing the ball of yeasty goodness away with the heel of the hand then lifting it back and folding; repeat.

This time, we were preparing rolls for Thanksgiving dinner. She had several baking pans waiting to be filled on the counter, more than I could count.

When I was growing up, our home was filled with laughter, good smells from the kitchen, kids getting into mischief, and a dinner table full of familiar faces and some unfamiliar ones. It didn’t matter how many guests stopped by after church; the food never ran out, and neither did my mother’s smile.

My mother’s generosity seemed endless. She would often take in people who were without housing, either temporarily or permanently. Whether they were relocating into the area or were looking for a warm meal after work, my mother’s open-door policy provided people with community and belonging.

One guest in particular would transition from the dinner table to their favorite spot on the couch, sleeping there for hours. Without hesitation, my mother would pull fresh linens from the hallway closet to lay across them, careful not to disturb their sleep. In the mornings, she would prepare a hot pot of coffee and toasted butter bread, kept warm in the oven.

We see another picture of hospitality in Paul’s letter to the Philippians, where he writes: “In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the form of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death — even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:5-8 NIV alt.).

Hospitality as a Christian practice is weighty and difficult. In Pohl’s words, “it involves hard work.” Offering hospitality, she writes “requires that we allow for uncertainty, contingency, and human tragedy.”

It requires a servant’s heart and a humble disposition, often beyond the limit of what our human strength can leverage on its own, I have learned. But where our weaknesses abound, God’s strength is abundant. We can see the weightiness of hospitality through the lens of the teachings of Jesus, but perhaps the greatest example can be seen through the sacrifice of the cross.

How can we continue to humble ourselves to see others through this lens, and what does it look like for us to rise with Christ in hospitable mission to others? For some, it may be opening your doors to travelers from distant or local corners. For others, it may be holding a smile long enough for the stranger outside the grocery store to notice. It may be purchasing a meal for an individual you don’t know who may be in a transitional stage of life.

For my mother, it was simply kneading dough into bread that fed countless guests. My mother was practicing hospitality with the love and joy of knowing that others felt welcome in our home and welcome to call us family.