Hospitality Lessons from a Preschooler

It was a typical evening coming home with my son. It was a day that we were headed home just the two of us, my husband working a late shift. As we approached home, the initial request came, "I want to go see Alex." Alex is the high school freshman girl who lives across the street from us and with whom my son is enamored. "Okay," I say, "let's go home, put our things down, and we can go say hi for a few minutes while dinner cooks in the oven." He agreed, and he very cooperatively waited while I got out the fish sticks, sweet potato fries tossed them on a cookie sheet and into the oven. I set a timer on my phone for a couple minutes shy of the oven, and off we went across the street.

We spent a lovely 12 minutes in our neighbors' home, he on the sofa chatting and watching some TV with Alex, me by the door chatting with her mom. When my timer went off and I declared it time to go home for dinner, he was ready. But we exchanged that "we should do dinner sometime" thing that you do. You know that - you mean it, sort of. But when I got home, suddenly I was called to account.

"I want Alex to come over for dinner."

"Yes, sweetheart, I said we'd do that sometime soon."

"NO. I want Alex and her family to come over to dinner right NOW!"

I began thinking how unreasonable his request is. The house is a mess; I haven't vacuumed up all the cat hair. Do they have allergies? I only made enough fish sticks and fries for two, maybe with preschool sized leftovers. Nate isn't home. I don't know what their dinner plans are. I don't know what they eat. 

I offer a perfectly reasonable alternative. "How about Friday?" Yes, Friday is perfect. Several days to get ourselves together. Nate will be home. No choir rehearsal or other things on the evening agenda.  Perfectly reasonable.

"But I want them to come over for dinner TONIGHT."

Now, I know there was some typical preschool impulsiveness at play here. But I was suddenly struck by the insistence for radical hospitality that he demonstrated. I heard Gospel in my son's frustrated words.

I actually stopped in my tracks and considered for a moment: Isn't that what we're called to - relationship, in the here and now, immediate? Isn't that part of what Jesus was trying to tell Martha when she complained about her sister Mary not helping to get ready for the guests? Come. Sit. Be with people. Yes, it is important to have food. Yes, it would be great if the floor was cleaner. But don't let it get in the way of the relationship that is so much more important. Why also should I worry about the food? Did not the loaves and fishes multiply to feed everyone the two times in the Gospel that the crowd needed feeding? When we are together in Christ, there is enough to go around and all are fed. Fed not only by the food, but by the gathering and the sharing of the meal.

Jesus showed us how to invite anyone, everyone to our table; tax collectors, fishermen, the poor, the rich, the sick, the healthy, sinners, and saints. Jesus showed us how to sit with them; to be with them. It is amazing how presence alone is healing. And, indeed, Jesus invites all into his presence and to the table each Sunday morning.

So, why should a little cat hair in the carpet and a handful of fish sticks stop me from inviting over people I already know a bit? What's stopping me from showing a tiny fraction of the radical hospitality that I've been taught?

Flowers from our neighbors.

I failed that night. I failed as an example of Christ to my son, and I failed my call. I heard it, but I ignored it and did the "reasonable" thing. I invited them over for dinner on Friday. My son was thrilled - he told everyone he saw on Friday about our dinner plans. Our neighbors came, and we had a lovely time. Just the other day, Alex's mom came over to deliver flowers in thanks for dinner. I'm glad we had them over. I'm glad we were all there. It was a blessing and I hope I made up for not following when first called.

I'm blessed that I'm forgiven, and that I have a chance to try again anew.

So, what's your hospitality challenge? Do you have a story of failure or success of your own? What tiny fraction of a difference could you add to your faith journey? Add your thoughts below!

- Natalee Hill

(cross-posted to NataleeOnShuffle.blogspot.com)

From Shalom to Shalom

A few years ago I had the privilege of hearing Dr. Stephen Fowl, a theologian who teaches at Loyola University, Maryland, talk about theology of health. Although I am a trained nurse I had never heard nor thought about a theology of health until this time. So I looked forward to this talk with much curiosity and interest. As usual I took notes on the things that stood out for me and I share one of them with you here. 

'Wholeness' by Gaia Orion
http://www.artofimagination.org/Pages/Orion.html

My note reads “Scripture begins and ends with the vision of shalom (Hebrew for wholeness).” That is, our story begins in “Shalom Garden,” the Garden of Eden mentioned in the Book of Genesis, and will end in “Shalom City,” the Holy City mentioned in the Book of Revelation. In Shalom Garden all of creation—human beings, animals, the ecosystem, and the cosmos—were in harmonious relationship with each other and with God until we disobeyed God and separated ourselves from God. This separation was so catastrophic that it resulted in a separation between human beings, and a separation between humanity and the rest of creation. According to the author of Genesis, God created an enmity between the man and the woman, and it became necessary for the man to labor for food and for childbirth to be painful. This then becomes the root of our suffering. Christianity teaches us, however, that this is reversed in Jesus’ resurrection when our relationship with God, each other, and the rest of creation is restored. How then do we explain the suffering that exists in in our present time? This is a hard question for anyone to answer concretely though I hope the following might help.

Our earthly life is situated between the two “locations” of Eden and heaven. The process of living a human life is filled with contradictions and tensions; for example, life/death, health/sickness, good/evil, rich/poor, peace/war, love/hate, joy/sorrow, youth/old age, Christian/non-Christian; the list is endless. Our tendency is to treat these poles as distinct “things” rather than aspects of a single continuum; they are parts of a whole. As a result, these apparent contradictions create confusion and conflict for us and we experience stress and dis-ease and other kinds of imbalance. Given this situation, how can we hold these tensions together in a balanced way? Put another way, is shalom possible in this life?

I recently heard a helpful thought from Arthur Zajonc as he was being interviewed by Krista Tippett (you might be interested to listen to it on onbeing.org). Mr. Zajonc is a physicist and a contemplative who was recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. When asked how he is coping with the implications of such a debilitating disease, he responded, and I paraphrase, that we need not be reminded of our suffering all the time; instead, we would benefit more in focusing on balancing the challenges we face and the experiences that give us satisfaction and contentment by attending to our bodies, our minds, our souls or spirits. Our capacity to attend sets us apart from other creatures. I felt comforted and humbled to hear this from someone facing the challenge of his life. So, that may be one answer to our question and our quest for shalom.

In my experience shalom or wholeness is not something we can gain for ourselves as individuals. I believe we are God’s greatest gift to one another; we are created for community after all. This is particularly true when we are struggling with physical, emotional, or spiritual problems. We need companions during times of crisis or transitions such as those brought on by death of a loved one or the loss of a relationship or an unexpected diagnosis. And we need companions as we sort out our spiritual life and our relationship with God during our transitory life on earth.

At St. Martin’s we offer two opportunities for such a companionship; Stephen Ministry and spiritual direction. In Stephen Ministry someone needing care during a transition or crisis is assigned a Stephen Minister who has received 50 hours of training in providing a one-on-one listening presence for the care receiver to talk about his/her troubles and discern his/her next steps. This is not a therapy or counseling session; the Stephen Minister does not offer advice but leading questions to help the care receiver clarify the issue for herself. Confidentiality is paramount in this relationship which may last from a few weeks to a few years. Spiritual direction on the other hand, is also a one-on-one relationship between a spiritual director and a directee. One desiring a deeper and more authentic relationship with God may be prompted to seek spiritual direction. The transaction between the director and the directee is also confidential and may last for a varied period of time. Both of these ministries provide assistance for one pursuing shalom, though they focus on different issues facing the person.

For more information about Stephen Ministry you may contact Karen West at 215.248.3613 and Cary Nicholas at 215.402.0844. For more information about spiritual direction you may contact Rev. Harriet Kollin at 215.247.7466 x108 or Rev. Sharline Fulton at 215.283.7342.

- The Rev. Harriet Kollin

Loving the Institution

I love the institutional church.  There, I said it.

Fallible, faulty, confused, ineffective, bumbling and sometimes harmful though it may be, I do love it.

When I was a teenager I hated it.  With all the fury of adolescent intolerance for hypocrisy I denounced the institution for failing to live up to my high standards for integrity and authenticity.  My spiritual fortress of solitude became books, and especially the books of Thoreau, Emerson, and Whitman.  Here I found kindred spirits, bold individualists, and sirens of romantic rebellion for the suburban teen egoist.

Detail of a Stained Glass Window at St. Martin's
photo by Lucy Baber Photography

Then I grew up.  Life taught me that I am as fallible and faulty, hypocritical and hurtful as any other person and any Church.  I learned to see my youthful intolerance for what it was – rigid, self-righteous, and self-protective.  Living as an adult in community or living as an adult within any network of satisfying relationships would require a new level of flexibility, maturity, humility and, most of all, God’s grace.

My turn to the Transcendentalist authors – rather than a bold and mighty ‘yawp’ of self-invention – was a well-worn American path.  I simply traded one tradition for another, one story for another.  The Transcendentalist myth holds that it is possible to find an innocence outside all culture and tradition, a new Eden where we are free from all corrupting influences and free to be at unity with our authentic selves.  In this telling – which is traceable up to and including Ayn Rand – we must tear down all institutions to protect our sacred individuality.

Hogwash.  Whenever I convince myself that I am above or beyond tradition and culture, I am fooling myself.  In fact, the attempt to “stand above” and “look down upon” is itself awash in a tradition of privilege. 

For example, when I was a teenager I was a fan of the movie Koyaanisqatsi, which is a visual tone poem accompanied by the music of Phillip Glass.  Camera angles of humans tend to be from a high angle looking down on masses of people as they commute to work.  Images of factory production intercut these images of commuting men and women.  The point is not subtle, and has I have aged I find it arrogant and lacking compassion in the extreme.  With no relationship to anyone in the camera frame they are judged to be automatons and cogs, not people.

Who gains when we throw down the institution?  The great baby boomer agitprop was all about tearing down the institutions and living outside them, especially the God awful “Institutional Church.”*  Certainly, our society and polity lose when we weaken mediating institutions like the institutional church.  Where is the organized moral voice to stand up against injustice and oppression?  Where is the organized body to respond to crisis and calamity?  Where will the resources for charity, community-building, and the sacred arts come from?  What body will encourage civility, stability, and love of neighbor while resisting consumerism, the hegemony of transactional culture, and the rising theology of economics? 

Most folks who want to tear down the houses of worship have no replacement strategy.  They are “abstract complainers.”  The pleasure of abstract complaint is that nothing is required of the complainer.  No effort, no work, no alternative plan, no respect for complexity, and no risk!  Whatever vision underlies the complaint is often hopelessly ungrounded, idealistic, and reactive.  The amount of reflection needed to get the complaint to the point of helpfulness is well beyond the energy level of the complainer who really has just enough energy to form an opinion. 

Individuals also lose when we tear down the “Institutional Church.”  Relationship and community are necessary ingredients for spiritual growth, discovery of identity, and discovery of our soul.  In community we learn that we are a mixed bag of gifted and fallible and we are still loved all the same.  Loving community holds up a mirror for us so we can learn to see ourselves as we really are and grow in the good while restraining the hurtful.  Indeed, in God’s economy, community is necessary for our growth in love.  It is the rub and friction of real, fallible people who choose to return again and again to relationship, with mutual delight and forbearance, which grows us in our capacity to love and to know God. 

Stability in community cuts across the grain of our transient, individualistic, abstract, and consumerist society.  I would argue that faith communities are a crucial counter-culture that restrains our dominant culture from indulging in its worst, most corrosive impulses without limit.  To serve this role we must be organized and institutional.  We must have power, presence, and a stake in our communities.  Whenever a hearty individualist renounces community for the purity of their own thoughts, they are also leaving behind all effectiveness for the ghetto of opinion and abstract complaint. 

The institution is far from perfect and neither am I or my family or my pets.  Our glory is our imperfect struggle together, our grace is healing the wounds and alienation that are also our fault.  We follow Jesus who did not claim the high ground but entered our reality fully in the flesh, finitude, and vulnerability of humanity.  That is where we live into grace. 

*Spiritual but not religious is a species of this destructive impulse.  Lillian Daniel has challenged SPNR in her wonderful book, When Spiritual but Not Religious is Not Enough.  I have many concerns about SPNR including lack of accountability, its eerie similarity to consumerism, its self-indulgence and its rampant colonialism and superficiality.  I was taught Buddhism by a Japanese Buddhist priest.  One day someone asked him about, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  “It is an interesting book but there is not much Zen in it,” he gently replied.  Zen does not mean ‘mellow.’ I like to say.

Threshold Anxiety

I am obsessed with doorways.  Thresholds consume my imagination.  What does it take to cross through a portal into a new experience, a new community, and new way of living?

Our front doors. Photo: Lucy Baber Photography

Long term church members forget the anxiety which grips newcomers and visitors when they approach the church door.  When that door is approached questions percolate as the pituitary sends a rush of endorphins to our brain.  What is waiting for me?  Will I be warmly greeted?  Will my space be respected?  Will I be gravely disappointed by the worship?  Will someone try to convert me or come on too strong?  Will I be ignored? 

If you are a gay, lesbian, or transgendered person, or a person of color in a predominately white church, the stakes are even more intense.  Is this community homophobic and hateful?  Will the words and the looks sting and hurt and raise my anger when I am looking for solace and connection to God?  Is the community racist and exclusionary in behavior and in culture?  Is my culture and my person respected here?

I call this response, threshold anxiety.  A focus of my ministry is to decrease this anxious experience as much as possible.  I want people to immediately feel welcome, acceptance, curiosity, and kindness when they enter our space.  We need to send clear signals that each person is a delight and an addition to the goodness of our community.  Why?  Because, however imperfectly, we represent a God who delights in all Her children and has room for all at Her table. 

Concretely, our buildings send signals.  Are there signs directing newcomers or is the building indecipherable and poorly lit.  The latter state of affairs sends a message that says, “We are not expecting you and we are not going to make life easy for you here.”  

Our buildings must communicate to all people that we are expecting their arrival and have a space in our web of relationships prepared for them.  For example, when we designed the rehab of the first floor of Hilary House, we chose a front door with a glass window in it.  Solid doors obscure what lies within.  Glass in a door sends a message of welcome and gives the reassurance that whatever is behind that door is accessible, open, and transparent.    Most shops – except those that wish to communicate exclusivity- have glass doors for exactly this reason.

I told you that I am obsessed with doors.

Over the next few years we will continue to work on our thresholds both physically and spiritually.  The vestry is working hard on the design and funding for an access ramp for people in wheelchairs, those who use walkers, and young families with strollers so the church will be more welcoming.   We will also make the door to the Parish House fully accessible and add glass to make it less foreboding and more embracing.  By the time we are done with this phase and the work at Hilary House about 65% of the facility will be fully accessible.  Not enough, but progress.

Spiritually we need to remember that the word “catholic” means “embracing.”  As a Church in the Anglican Catholic tradition we embrace God’s creation in every facet finding sparks of God’s light and grace wherever we go.  Thus, our buildings and our spirits must strive to be equally embracing.  We will continue to build on our Anti-Racism training (all the staff and the vestry attend this training!) so that we have the knowledge and skills to dismantle racism at St. Martin's and to work across significant divides of race without further aggravating the hurts and grievances of historic racism.  

Our mission statement says we exist to “Welcome All Seekers,”  and the good news is that we are receiving much positive feedback from newcomers who call us friendly, warm, and welcoming.  Our website, yet another modern threshold, is also telling, we are told, a welcoming story for families approaching us electronically.  May these words motivate us to be obsessed by thresholds and empathetic to all with the courage to cross.  Each newcomer is God’s delight and God’s gift.  Our spiritual work is to make room and make welcome.

- The Rev. Jarrett Kerbel