COME ON OVER

I had the privilege of meeting several members of my oldest son's seminary family a couple of weeks ago. The gracious, open, honest, unpretentious hospitality of his "other mother" and the warm affection between his brothers and sisters - no wonder my son loves these people so!

We've been having lots of conversations in my family lately about hospitality...what real hospitality is, what it is not, obstacles to hospitality, how to create opportunities for hospitality, how our personalities influence the ways we practice hospitality. And in Sunday school, we are working through Scott Sauls's book, Befriend, and discussing the need every human being has for intimate relationship.

I am learning that true hospitality is an invitation to true intimacy.

There is a kind of false hospitality - I invite you into my world on my terms, when I am ready, when I feel comfortable with having you in my space. When my house is clean and the fridge is well-stocked. When I am fairly confident your kids won't break my things or get on my nerves, or when the weather is nice so we can send the little heathens outside to play. When I'm having a good day (certainly not when I'm feeling down or when I'm wearing the same yoga pants I've worn the past three days). When I am caught up on chores and work so that I am not distracted by the pressure of uncompleted tasks - after all, I want to be able to give you my full attention. (Because that's true hospitality, right?)

When I invite you into my home under these terms, I am able to maintain the appearance of some degree of competence. I make sure that you see only the "Me" I want you to see. Oh, I may let you peek a sliver of my humanity - "Sorry about the cat hair on the sofa!" - I wouldn't want you to think I am perfect, of course.

I may even brag about the clutter - "Don't mind the mess. You're welcome here anytime!" - but if I'm honest, I say things like that to assure myself I'm being hospitable, when actually, I'm asserting my control over the terms of our interaction. (My house is a mess, but I know that and I'm okay with that, and if I weren't okay with that, you wouldn't be here.) Maybe if I insist that you are welcome in my messy house, neither of us will notice that you are not welcome in my messy heart.

This is not true hospitality, and it does not foster true intimacy. It creates an invisible barrier: you can come this close, but no closer.

I commented to one of the kids last week that I am so done with the I-need-to-clean-the-house-before-you-come-over routine. Really, I am. Let me be honest: I am a type A, cleanie person. Yes, I would prefer that the floor wasn't crunchy and that every horizontal surface in my house didn't look like the site of an archaeological excavation. But the truth is, if I wait to ask you over until those things happen...well, don't hold your breath while you wait for an invitation! And for Pete's sake, do not show up uninvited!

Go ahead...show up uninvited. Please, show up uninvited! I'm okay with that, really, regardless of what my house looks like.

But while I am okay now with letting you see the mess and chaos that often characterize my home decorating, what I am not okay with is letting you see the mess and the chaos that often characterize my inner house. You are welcome in my house, but not in my heart.

Just as thinking I need to mop the floors and wipe down the counters can be a hindrance to welcoming you into my home, so thinking I need to appear cheerful or spiritually "together" (Praise Jesus! all the time!) can be a hindrance to welcoming you into my heart. Both are hindrances to hospitality. Both are hindrances to true intimacy.

God - with the grace of seven children - cured me of the first. Curing me of the second is taking a little longer.

Can I let you in on a secret? So much of the time, regardless of how I look on the outside, I am an emotional, relational, and spiritual disaster. Like stinky soul laundry, mildewing in the washing machine. Heart fungus, like a pink ring in the toilet bowl. Why bother?, like last week's bacon grease, spattered on the cook top.

If I invite you into my heart - if I practice true hospitality - there's a good chance you will see some nasty stuff. If I say, "Come on over anytime!" and you show up unannounced, I may not have time to shove all my emotional crap into a black bag that I can hide out on the back porch. Am I willing to risk that?

Lately, more and more, the answer is: Yes.

Because it's time. And because I have seen firsthand how incredibly beautiful true hospitality - heart hospitality - is.