“She doesn’t play the piano,” I said with a smile. “And she doesn’t sing in the choir or praise team,” I added quickly.
The pastor search committee had quizzed me on the role my wife would play in the church. Even though I was interviewing alone, before I left home Wendy and I had rehearsed my responses to a question we knew would be asked.
“My wife is given to hospitality,” I replied with confidence. “She loves to have people into our home where they can be made to feel special.”
Like an increasing number of pastors’ wives, my wife does not fit the traditional mold. She is a professional woman with a teaching credential and years of experience in the work force. She has been a devoted member in every church I have pastored. But Wendy insists on involvement where she can express her interests and gifts in a natural way.
Creating an “open door policy” at the parsonage is one such way. Hospitality is a ministry we share.
One of my pastorates was in an affluent suburb. Our family of five knew our new location would challenge our budget. What we didn’t realize is how much our new situation would challenge our willingness to maintain our open door policy.
Many in the congregation had six-figure incomes. Several had homes with square footage in excess of 6,000 feet. Most of their homes were professionally decorated.
And then there was ours.
Our decor is not French Country or Early American. Our furnishings are a menagerie of mismatched pieces we’ve collected through the years—used end tables from my parents, a sofa I’d purchased at a yard sale before Wendy and I were married, and dining room and bedroom sets we’d secured at an auction.
The thought of having people who bore Martha Stewart’s seal of approval into our modest home was intimidating.
Merry, not Martha
Our “uncompromising” commitment began to waver. Our passion for hospitality needed to be fanned into flame. Fortunately, a little book that impacted Wendy early in our relationship had survived the move. These principles from Open Heart, Open Home by Karen Burton Mains kept our front door open when we were about to turn the dead bolt.
Hospitality is not the same as entertaining. Entertainment, says Mains, is what we do to call attention to ourselves. It is a performance that expects applause. When we entertain, we hope people will say, “Wow!”
Hospitality, on the other hand, is helping people feel welcome in our home even though the house is not camera-ready. When we express hospitality, we hope people will say, “It sure is comfortable being here.”
Wendy and I swallowed hard and invited millionaires into our humble abode, determined that what we didn’t have in decor would be compensated by what we did have to offer—sincere interest in getting to know people who longed for friendship and acceptance.
Hospitality isn’t “a gift” as much as it’s something you give yourself to. Like evangelism, everyone is called to practice hospitality. We can’t excuse ourselves by saying we don’t have the gift. While it comes more naturally for some, we all can open our homes by first opening our hearts. The apostle Paul insisted that one of the few requirements for church leadership was “being given to hospitality.”
Beginning a new pastorate, we swallowed our pride and digested God’s truth that called us to obediently and generously invite others into our lives. We began by having the staff and their spouses over for dinner. Christmas at the parsonage became an annual tradition for the church council and their mates. Each quarter we invited all those who had just started attending our church to come to our home for an informal newcomers’ party. By scheduling times of hospitality, we allowed our calendar to trump our reluctance.
Don’t make the place spotless ahead of time. According to Mains, when you thoroughly clean your house in advance of your gathering, you expend energy you could otherwise invest in meaningful conversation. She advises that you intentionally leave some dishes in the sink so that when your company arrives for dinner, you can ask them to help in the kitchen while you put finishing touches on the meal. This casual approach will not only catch your company by surprise, it will create an informal atmosphere the rest of the evening.
We’ve learned the joy of welcoming folks for a simple supper of soup and warm bread.
In all honesty, Wendy and I have not yet mastered this principle. We would rather begin the evening in the living room with iced tea than ask for help washing the glasses in the kitchen. But the principle has freed us to not wear ourselves out dusting and vacuuming. We’ve even started closing doors on rooms that will be off-limits to company. The principle that really matters: picking up is not nearly as important as giving people a safe place where they can let down.
Cold cuts beat a hot meal. When Karen and David Mains planted a church in the inner city of Chicago in the late 1960s, they didn’t have a lot of money. But they didn’t let lack of resources prevent them from using mealtime in their home as a means of building community with those in their church. A five-course gourmet meal didn’t accomplish any more than a plate of luncheon meats, a bowl of chips, and soft drinks. The guests didn’t feel intimidated about having the pastor to their homes in return. They could offer a similar spread.
The ministry of paper plates
Wendy and I have lowered our anxiety level by lowering our requirements of what makes for success with guests. We’ve learned the joy of welcoming folks in for a simple supper of soup and warm bread. We sometimes ask guests to bring a dish to the dinner. We’ve found that people don’t mind sharing in the menu.
We occasionally order take-out. Laughter and the special from Pizza Hut can be more nourishing than a fancy meal that took three days to prepare.
We use paper plates. We don’t feel we have to put on the dog anymore. Ice cream and cookies are quick and easy, the perfect touch to coffee by the fire (even if the Barbies and the playhouse are scattered on the floor).
Since we dared to focus more on people than on our modest possessions, ministry has been more rewarding. A week-long visit by a missionary family of six coincided with a big conflict in our congregation. We opened our home to them anyway, and found—even in our bruised state—we were strengthened by sharing what we had.
We’ve reached out to those who have just moved into town and don’t have a church or friends. We took a chance and invited over a woman whose executive husband was out of the country on business for four weeks. She was more grateful for warm cocoa and conversation on a cold winter night than she was mindful of the clutter on our kitchen counter.
Wendy and I are growing accustomed to the freedom that comes from admitting that relationships mean more than a freshly waxed floor or Martha Stewart’s seal of approval.
Greg Asimakoupoulos pastored churches for 19 years and is director of creative communications at Chapel of the Air Ministries 1416 Terrance Dr. Naperville IL 60565 AwesomeRev@aol.com
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