Zach Barnhart

Hospitality: Gods Workroom for the Weak

You might not think you have much to offer in terms of hospitality. You aren’t a Michelin Star chef, your house would never be photographed for a magazine, and you’re not even close to having all the theological answers. However, none of these things are required for true hospitality. Only Christ is needed, and because of him, you have immeasurable impact to offer. You have the very power of Christ to offer. When you serve, God supplies you with the strength you need. The power of Christ is made perfect in your weakness.

I get home from work and walk into the kitchen. Atop the stove lie things upon which I have to imagine angels would long to look: chicken puffs and mace carrots, and a dessert to boot. It is one of many favorite dishes in our home—one that we love to share on a night like this. A couple that is relatively new to our church is coming over and we’d like to get to know them better. Most people we’ve shared this meal with have never had it before, and every time my wife Hannah prepares it, I am transported back to my early twenties and my weekly drive to the Oliver home.
Rewind to 2010. After classes concluded for the day, I drove out to the pasturelands on the outskirts of our college town with a handful of other college students. Each week we were guaranteed a hot, home-cooked meal away from home. As a broke college kid, how could I possibly turn that down?
But the food turned out only to be a delicious means to a greater end. I also received a family. With these brothers and sisters in Christ I could lose my breath in laughter, cry, and pray as we walked through life. I was invited over for dinner, yes, but even more, I received an invitation to witness up-close what a godly marriage, godly parenting, and godly service really looked like. I watched Molly pull out all the stops and sling around all the kitchenware, which Paul washed by hand at the end of dinner. I watched them raise their children in the ways of God. I watched them faithfully serve others at our church and at their workplace.
Don’t miss this: it was only through their decision and commitment to be intentionally hospitable, that I learned these valuable lessons.
Is Hospitality a Gift?
When it comes to biblical hospitality, most of us recognize its importance and will certainly value it when it is offered to us. But when it comes to the prospect of inviting others into our homes (and lives), we tend to defer to our weaknesses to get us off the hook. I’m familiar with the arguments because I’ve made them myself over the years: “That just isn’t my spiritual gift.” “We don’t have a home conducive to hosting.” “I’m not a good cook.” “My house is never clean.” “No one wants to be around all of my crazy kids.” Our protests rattle off like Moses taking exception with God’s commission (Ex. 4:1–17). Hospitality is viewed as a Christian ideal that’s simply out of reach.
It seems in the church we often limit our ministry activities to what best aligns with our perceived spiritual gifts or personality traits. We take assessments and ask questions that point us to our strengths: “What do I like?” “What comes naturally to me?” “What am I good at?” Then we let our answers to these questions dictate where and how we serve the body of Christ. If, for example, I’ve got a low score on “evangelism,” so the argument goes, then I might consider myself to be in the clear and can instead leave the evangelizing to someone more gifted. I think it is fair to say that many people fail to practice biblical hospitality because they feel an inherent deficiency in themselves to do it well.
A particularly insightful passage for our purposes is 1 Peter 4.
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Enter and Eat

The Disney placemats are set. Then come the purple and green polypropylene plates (try saying that three times fast). There are still hands to wash, bibs to put on, utensils to grab, and sippy cups to search for throughout the house. Oh yeah, and Mom and Dad still need some food, too. But, in due time, the table is finally set, hands are joined, a prayer is said, and we begin.
This is the current daily routine for Hannah and I when dinnertime rolls around. Every day leading up to that hour looks a little different. I sometimes imagine our kids huddling up in the morning to dole out which of them (if not all of them) will be the one to not take a nap, or which one will volunteer as the day’s distinguished Button Pusher.
Despite how the variables of the day have played out, it is this evening rhythm that gets us in the same room, around the same table, to share the same meal. There is something about that tiny window of time between the “Amen” and those first bites of dinner that is sacred, perhaps even sacramental. It’s my favorite part of the meal. In that brief pause, each of us are daily brought back to reality, and reminded of what we cannot afford to forget: we belong to God and to one another.
There is another space of life where you and I get in on this moment. Here, there are no bibs to disperse or placemats to set. But we find ourselves again at a table. His table. We pause, clutching the bread, carefully holding the cup. We confess, we pray, we praise. All around the table, as we take the bread and the cup, we remember and proclaim: we belong to God, and to one another.
Trouble in Corinth
The Church at Corinth needed a wake-up call. Badly. They earned the longest two letters Paul wrote in the New Testament. In his first letter to Corinth, Paul addresses a host of issues: sexual immorality, selfishness, lawsuits against one another, and other divisions in the church. But Paul spends a great deal of time rebuking their treatment of the Lord’s Supper.
Prior to this, it seemed that some from the Corinthian church were eating meals within pagan temples. These temples would make animal sacrifices to false gods but would also be the spot used for hosting various dinner parties and banquets. The people felt it was their “right” to eat wherever they desired; but Paul disagrees. He tells them that it is inappropriate to eat such food in such places, as it seems to be sympathetic toward the world’s idols and could cause a fellow brother or sister in Christ to stumble in their conscience. This contributed to rifts being formed among certain factions of believers in Corinth.
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Willing Sheep

Tom approaches the doors with caution this week. It has been a discouraging past few days for him. He was not expecting the doctor to call with that diagnosis. The weariness has spread from the physical to the emotional. He doesn’t want to answer the question so often asked in passing: “How are you?” The thought of standing up to sing songs of praise isn’t exactly thrilling. And yet, here he comes, walking in.
Beth is beaming as she anxiously hangs around the entryway. She is waiting for a friend that has finally taken Beth up on her offer to come visit one week. Many times, her name has been spoken at the altar. Beth can’t wait for the conversation she will get to share with her pastor when she gets to introduce her to him. Here she comes, walking in.
Cindy is only here because she is, quite literally, living on a prayer. Her world has fallen apart, her hope has vanished, and she does not know where else to go. She knows, deep down, that there is no where else to go. She doesn’t know, however, what to expect. What are Christians like? What is God like? It’s been years since she was in a church. She’s a little afraid, but she is holding out hope that someone in this building will know how to help her. She walks in.
Every person who walks in every local church on every Sunday morning has a reason for doing so. No two Sundays look the same for the sheep as a whole. There is a mosaic of motivations that compels men and women like Tom, Beth, and Cindy through the doors. But there are two certainties each can cling to as they prepare to enter: through the door they will find pasture, and they will find shepherds.

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