on hospitality, pt. 1/3

a life with no maps

In the West, we love a good plan. The question, "where do you see yourself in five years?" permeates interviews and meetings as we get to know new friends and coworkers. We are obsessed with keeping busy through planning out each minute during the week for ultimate productivity, and we make plans for the weekend to maximize pleasure. We map out our story to know how best to prepare for whatever challenges might lay ahead. 

So what happens when plans are disrupted? What happens when maps are torn from our grasp and we are left to figure things out on our own? Do we remember what that feels like? 

In the Ancient Near East, travel was treacherous. Bandits lay in wait for unsuspecting travelers, there were no maps or even actual roads to follow, and those on the journey were completely reliant on the hospitality and generosity of strangers to provide them with water, food, and housing. The travelers were completely at the mercy of the stranger's willingness to care for them. God's people were intended to soften their borders and welcome the traveler in, learning how to take care of each other just as they had been taken care of and provided for by God and others throughout their long seasons of wandering. 

Fifty centuries later, though our context has shifted, the role of God's people in the world has not, and neither has the needs of the traveler. Those without homes remain completely at the mercy of those who are willing (or unwilling) to take care of them, to provide them with food, water, and a place to rest, grow, and thrive. 

However, in our culture of individualism, we pledge our allegiance to the god of independence, rather than the God of generosity. We value individual effort and initiative above all and expect others, even those who are in desperate need of embodied aid, to simply listen to our chiding and follow, without help, the same path that we did. Our personal maps are not universal, with different terrains, starting points, previous experiences, landscapes, cultures and values. It is for this reason, perhaps, that these maps (and the accompanying suggestions) are not actually as helpful as we assume. 

We live our lives with so many maps: digital maps on our phones, maps of our day, our week, and our life. Our freedom to move about these landscapes the way that we want to is held as our chief good. 

But this bears questions: is it possible that these maps hinder our hospitality? 

What, practically, has to shift inside of us to live in a world without maps? 

How do we need to be formed to change our life to make room for others? 

What happens to those for whom their own map has become irrelevant? 

When do we need to set down our own expectations and step into the story of another? 

And, what would it look like for us to be moved by compassion rather than fear? 

The kingdom of God has soft edges and open doors–can this be said of our own hearts towards those in need? There is a force in the world seeking to make things right, and we are being invited into this same work of justice as brokenness is made whole again. We must become people who instinctively say yes when there is need. 

There are 1000+ people in our city whose maps have been demolished, who have no idea what their own future holds, who have found themselves in an environment in deep need for a safe place. You have something that someone else needs that will change their life. 

From offering a rental property you own, building an accessory dwelling unit (ADU) on your property, and cosigning and leveraging your credit for a family in need, to donations, advocacy, or even simply cultivating a relationship with someone that needs a friend, we have the resources to come alongside those who are in need. 

Because the fact is, we all know what it feels like to have our plans disrupted, that anxious fear that takes over our body as we frantically grip the semblance of control we still have left. In those moments, all we want is for someone to notice, to welcome our messy life without expectation or shame, to enter into it with us and offer a listening heart and helping hand. God does this for us, and we have the opportunity to do that same thing for people who need it. 

Will we act on it? 

For more information on action you can take to make a difference in the housing crisis in our city, visit houseyourneighbor.org or leaphousing.org. 

Our Christmas show this year is a fundraiser for LEAP Housing as we take steps to cultivate a spirit of giving and hospitality in our city this Christmas. We'd love to have you join us on December 22nd at 6:30pm, downtown at the Basque Center. 
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