When I think about hospitality, my brain sometimes goes straight to Martha Stewart. Perfect tables. Matching dishes. Candles lit. Curated menu.
Which is kind of hilarious, because I have four energetic kids, a sink that never stays empty, and a living room that regularly looks like a LEGO crime scene (watch your step!).
Because of the high bar in my head, hospitality can become something I admire, rather than something I actually practice.
But what if hospitality was never meant to look glossy? What if, in all its messiness and simplicity, it was always meant to look human?
How can we experience God, not just in quiet moments alone (which for sure matter), but in shared life? And one of the most overlooked ways God draws near is through small, faithful acts of hospitality.
Entertaining vs. Making Space
Somewhere along the way, we turned hospitality into “hosting.” Into Events (capital E). Perfect dinners. Pinterest tables. And because of that, a lot of us quietly opt out before we even start.
But hospitality at its core simply means love of the stranger. It’s making space for someone who isn’t already inside your circle. It’s less about impressing people and more about welcoming them.
Sometimes, that looks like inviting someone over when you wish you had 30 more minutes to clean. Sometimes, it’s leftovers or ordered pizza instead of a homemade meal. Sometimes it’s sitting on the floor with toys everywhere and saying, “This is real life. Come in anyways.”
Instead of stressing, lower the bar and raise the warmth.
Warmth changes people, not the meal or decor. Presence changes people, not perfection. Vulnerability builds trust. And honestly? A slightly messy home often feels like a safer space than a flawless one, because it tells the truth.
Hospitality Changes Me
I used to think that hospitality was mostly about helping other people. And it is. But it also changes me.
Hospitality pulls me out of isolation and into belonging. It’s so easy to slip into survival mode – get through the day, feed everyone, check the emails, collapse on the couch. Hospitality gently pushes back against that, moving me towards people when my instinct is to pull inward.
Hospitality also confronts my selfishness. My natural bent is to protect my time, energy, family, and comfort. Hospitality loosens my grip, acting as a shield against the self-interest of the world.
And hospitality brings my faith into everyday life. I’ve experienced God around my table, in late-night conversations, in prayers whispered by the fire and hugs in the kitchen. The Christian life was never meant to be lived alone. God often meets us through people.
Hospitality Reflects the Heart of God
The gospel itself is a story of welcome. We were strangers. God brought us in. We were far off. Jesus made a way. We have received Christ’s saving hospitality, paid for with his own blood in the ultimate act of self-giving love that opened God’s family to us.
Every time we practice hospitality, even imperfectly, we reflect that same heart. It’s one of the simplest and most tangible ways we model the truth of what we believe.
Psalm 68 tells us that God “sets the lonely in families.” I’ve become more and more convinced that sometimes he does that through dinner tables, coffee dates, playdates, and living room couches.
Hospitality Shapes Others
Hospitality doesn’t just shape us. It shapes the people around us.
Some people will never walk into a church building. But they’ll come over for dinner. They’ll sit on your couch. They’ll share coffee and a birthday donut. And in those spaces, walls come down, trust grows, and hearts soften—even if it’s just a little.
Hospitality makes God’s love feel tangible. It turns faith from just an idea into an experience. And it builds real relationships. Not the kind where we just wave at each other once a week, but the kind where we actually know each other’s stories, where we actually share life, and where we become family.
The Tension We All Feel
But, let’s be honest: hospitality isn’t always convenient.
It costs time. Parts of our budget. Energy. Emotional space. Sometimes it feels easier to protect our routines and our quiet and our comfort.
But spiritual growth rarely happens in comfort.
God has more for us than isolated faith. He has more for us than scrolling alone on a couch every night while Netflix plays in the background. He has more for us than just surviving.
God invites us into shared life.
What Small Acts Actually Look Like
The good news is that hospitality doesn’t require perfection or a ton of extra capacity.
It can look like:
- Grabbing a coffee with a co-worker
- Inviting someone over when you’ve got extra food
- Staying a little longer at the playground or pick-up to chat with someone you see often
- Asking a neighbor to walk when you were going anyway
- Following up with someone about a circumstance in their life
How thankful I am that God doesn’t wait until we have more margin. He works with what we bring, right in the middle of ordinary life. And somehow, the Holy Spirit takes our small, human offerings, and multiplies them.
We follow a God who welcomed us when we didn’t deserve it and when we didn’t have it all together. What might it look like for you to practice this same kind of welcome with others?
This week, make one invitation or send one text. May it feel less like another thing to add to your plate, and more like a small response to the grace we’ve already been given.
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