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Hospitality amid chaos

Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

Community life has always been a central part of my faith life. I came to know Jesus through a beautiful youth group, and although I attended a public high school, all of my remaining friends from my childhood are from that youth group. After high school, I was a missionary with NET Ministries, where I traveled all over the US in a van with ten other young adults, putting on retreats for young people. Immersed in community life, I grew closer to Christ. When I returned home, I began doing youth ministry at my home parish and then at another parish, and I found myself constantly surrounded by a community striving for holiness. Flawed, of course, but trying very hard to be holy. Every time I moved or found myself in a new situation, I knew I would find some support within the walls of my parish. I became friends with people of all ages and backgrounds and found myself having the most exciting conversations and being exposed to the Church on a larger scale. That support and love I've received from the many different Catholic communities I've been a part of has been a lifeline for me in my many life transitions.

When I moved to Phoenix after Walther and I got engaged, he was already attending a lovely parish, so I joined him. Slowly, we met different families, young and old, some with no children and some with ten. It's been a decade since I started going to that parish, and it feels like the spring that makes bloom in the garden of my life. It has not been without difficulty or work. Sometimes, it means approaching a family I didn't know or a woman standing by herself and introducing myself. Working in youth ministry has left me with a swole small talk muscle, which I’m not afraid to flex on Sundays after Mass.

Tell me if this sounds familiar: You attend the same Mass every Sunday. You start recognizing fellow parishioners who are there every week as well. Maybe you wave at them on your way in or out of the Church but haven’t talked to them yet. If it sounds familiar, I challenge you to approach them and chat. Talk to them on the line for doughnuts after Mass, or invite them to your home for coffee. We started doing that, and slowly, our community grew and flourished. Walther and I are extroverts, which probably helps, but I don't think it’s necessary. 

Talking to strangers can feel daunting. Crossing the aisle requires openness and a little vulnerability. Try these two things: 1. Ask people about themselves. Usually, people are happy to share about their lives. 2. Start with a compliment. I habitually compliment people, especially women, because I love a good accessory, outfit, shoe, etc. This technique is twofold: it helps disarm someone who might feel intimidated or annoyed that I'm trying to talk to them, AND it gives them confidence. Conversation can flow pretty easily after that.

I've been reading this incredible book, “The Rule: St. John Paul II's Rule for a Joy-filled Marriage of Divine Love” by Theresa and Peter Martin. It's a translated work of John Paul II and his emphasis on marriage, family, and community. It's inspirational. In a world where being a faithful Catholic can feel lonely, this book helps to encourage us to draw closer to our spouse and faith family.

How do we do this? Hospitality. That word probably feels intimidating. Who wants to make a three-course meal, clean the house, dust, and paint that one spot on the wall? No one. I will say this about hospitality: don't do any of that. Don't complicate it! Tidy up, yes. Make your home presentable, enlist your spouse and kids, and tidy up. Give the youngest child a kitchen towel and have them dust. But don't stress. Recently, Walther said he wanted to host an open house and invite people from 2:00 to 5:00 pm on a Sunday. It had been a while since we hosted anything, so I agreed. I resisted the urge to freak out, made a list, and cleaned up our little home together. He made a big bowl full of boozy punch; we put out charcuterie with fruit and Capri suns for the kids. I baked brownies and cupcakes the night before and put out fresh flowers. Easy peasy.

Close to fifty people showed up! We had kids spilling out of every door and all over our backyard. Groups of adults gathered in the kitchen, living room, and outside, sipping on punch and chatting about life. People who, for a while, have been sitting next to each other at Mass finally met and became fast friends, exchanging phone numbers and making plans to meet up. Our pastor joined us. Our parish’s director of religious education also came; she’s the sweetest. I didn't see my children for three hours. They played and shared snacks and toys with the other children of all ages and made deeper connections with those friends. The only thing I refilled was my cup, and I floated from conversation to conversation, enjoying my time with every guest. It was wonderful!

Please, I beg you, do this; open your home! Many of our guests thanked us for hosting and making our home available. It confirmed what I knew: We need each other. It is tempting to avoid inviting people to our home because we think that maybe our home isn't nice or big enough or that we don't have the funds to offer something fancy. Enlist people to bring an appetizer to share! Get the cheap (but shockingly delicious) premade margaritas from Costco! Sweep and mop and give the bathroom a once over, and presto! You're ready to host! I don't think anyone noticed the random chunks of paint missing from our walls, the pencil marks on most doors, or the Sharpie on the kitchen cabinets. They didn't notice my imperfect tiles or my disastrous laundry room. They saw how it felt to be with others. How nice the sunshine felt as they met someone new. And reflecting on that day now, what I noticed the most was a community bursting with so much life. So much joy and zeal for the Lord. So much hope. Give it a try! Host some hope! We all need it.