By The Rev. David Hoster
What does our community of radical hospitality do when a pandemic turns ordinary hospitality into a good way to spread life-threatening disease? It’s scarcely an act of hospitality to welcome your friend into a deadly environment.
When the outward expressions of a thing are denied, we have to ask what the thing is in its essence. Surely hospitality isn’t fully described by opening a door, extending a hand, even breaking bread together. Something deeper is always going on in the act of welcome.
So, let’s appreciate that hospitality is invitation into intimacy. The open door and the extended hand invite another soul closer. Breaking bread and sharing minds in conversation generate mutual nourishment in intimacy. Hospitality is about creating a space where the unpredictable magic of shared minds can occur.
Face to face contact is not necessary.
Ironically, greater intimacy may even be likely when face to face contact can no longer be taken for granted. Speaking of the pandemic’s impact on social fabric, David Brooks, the New York Times columnist, wrote last Thursday, “The great paradox is that we had to be set apart in order to feel together.” Suddenly, when physical contact is denied, our need for intimacy, once taken for granted, now surges up.
We are all vulnerable to serious illness. We are all frightened—or should be. We all feel the need for one another. We experience the need for intimacy as the essential act of our nature that it truly is. Hospitality means opening the door into this life-giving intimacy by whatever means possible.
So, let’s get practical. We’re all spending more time at home, minimizing our public exposure. What are you doing with all that time?
One of the things you can do is get on the phone. Call people you haven’t talked to in awhile. Renew old relationships. In ordinary times, people might think you’re being weird if you phone out of the blue, but these days it’s different. When a person feels vulnerable, even disposable, it’s no small joy to receive concrete evidence that they are valued by somebody exactly like you. We’re in one of those unusual times when a question like, “How are you doing?” is much more fraught and stands a chance of getting a real answer. That’s hospitality opening the door into intimacy.
Furthermore, in a community of radical hospitality, we should be thinking about phoning more than old friends. We should be reaching across an uncomfortable distance, maybe even across party lines. The unyielding thoughts and sharp issues that ordinarily divide are softened when shared exposure to danger opens us to one another at a level deeper than politics. The surprise of hearing concern in a voice like yours can soften a person who would otherwise be closed to you. That, too, is hospitality opening the door into intimacy.
When Jesus broke break with his disciples, he said, “Here is my body, broken for you,” offering deep intimacy in the act of sharing himself at the brink of mortal peril. To say to another, “Here I am, wanting to know how you’re really doing” acts as Jesus did. You may not face crucifixion the very next day, but you do face an implacable virus that does not care whether you live or die. Under these circumstances, opening the door into intimacy rises to a Christlike level.
Wherever that other person is in their journey in faith, you need to make them welcome at your telephonic (or even online) table. Give some thought to who those folks might be. Then pick up the phone and get to work.
