Generosity and Hospitality

I have been thinking a lot about generosity and hospitality lately. While members of the Clergy Academy and I were in Cuernavaca for our cultural immersion, we were offered incredible hospitality by our hosts at CILAC FREIRE. From the very moment they picked us up until they set us off for our return flights, they did everything they could to make sure we were cared for in mind, body and spirit.

Towards the end of our time there, Denise Bender, Robin and I met with the leaders of the school to review how the immersion went, what worked, and what could be changed, and to begin to make plans for next year. One thing they wanted to know was if our accommodations were okay. This was our third year staying in the apartments. We really like them! They asked if we were having any problems with the water—in the past, hot water had sometimes been in short supply! We mentioned that the hot water was better, but still a little irregular, but no big deal.

As we finished our review of the week and began a more informal visit, we learned more of each other’s lives away from the school. In the course of the conversation, both hosts shared that they don’t have hot water in their homes. And then it hit me:

They gave us more than they have themselves!

That was such a humbling realization. And then, as we listened to the places where others in our group were staying, it became plainly evident that all of us were the recipients of incredible generosity. The school family (because they are not employees but a community that is family for one another) goes the extra mile in caring for school participants. All of them share a deep faith. Those involved in Christian Base Communities live an Acts 2 faith: They share everything in common. By sharing with one another, needs were cared for.

I saw the essence of the Christian faith lived out vibrantly by our Mexican friends. It has challenged me to consider my own actions (and inactions!). Am I willing to give more than I have myself? Does the way I live enhance the lives of others? Do I share as much as I can so that those who have little can have more?

Imagine what would happen in our congregations if we offered everyone who walked through our doors a generous hospitality? What would happen if we pooled our resources, sharing not only our financial resources, but our own goods and equipment? How does that kind of abundant thinking create a community full of vitality, vision, and joy? People beyond the walls of our church would see a community of deep care and love, and be drawn to the possibilities of promise such a community holds.

Jesus told those who follow him:

“Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. ³⁴ For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Luke 12:33-34

May we offer to others the best of what we have, making the love we hold in our hearts tangible to those around us.

Dying to Live

I write this from Cuernavaca, Mexico. Members of the Clergy Academy and I are here on a cultural immersion, learning Spanish and looking at social movements through the lens of liberation theology. We are studying at CILAC FREIRE and the school’s family of teachers, helpers, and host families have welcomed us with a generous hospitality that is humbling. 

Each day one of the clergy lead us in a time of devotions. Each day has been a rich time of sharing. One morning, Rev. Yevette Christy challenged us: “What do you have to allow to die within you so that the new can be born?”

I have been reflecting on that question ever since. Even though   our faith begins with the freshness of creation, finds its promise in the birth of a child, and leans into the unfailing hope found in the new life of resurrection, we cling to death as if our lives depend on it. 

What do I refuse to let go of, that prevents me from enjoying the fullness of new life? What defenses that once kept me safe have outgrown their usefulness and now stunt my growth? What relationships prevent me from living into my authentic self? Where do I remain at a literal or figurative grave and see only what was, failing to see the seeds of new life seeking to burst all around me?

Likewise, what are we holding on to in the church that needs to die so new life can rise up? What are those habits, traditions, and ways of being and doing that need to die because they belong to a bygone era that no longer serves us well? 

Do we have the courage to live into the power of our faith and let  die those things that no longer work? Are you willing to trust that on the other side of death is new life?