The need for radical hospitality sneaks up on you some days. A woman demanded food for her family in a hotel room with "literally nothing to eat" for her and her children "and a winter storm moving in."
No excuses here...description. End of workday...4:50 p.m. Worked on a sermon that refused to come together, wrote Sunday school curriculum, and baked desserts for the fundraiser dinner on Sunday. For some strange reason, the cakes poured out of their pans, leaving a huge mess in the ovens, a stink in the kitchen, and then what was left in the pan burned on one side.
Weather closing in means I don't see my husband a second weekend in a row. Other small irritants got under my skin. The phone rings...
The family is 45 minutes away from the church. I suggested several avenues for assistance. She argued that it was too late for anything. Every possibility I thought of, she had a reason it wouldn't work. There was no food at the church...it had already been sent to the shelter. They had no way to cook in a hotel room. She spent several minutes yelling at me, then hung up with the conclusion that "no church wanted to help them."
Hospitality fail. Not only had I failed to come up with an option that might work, I was angry with her. I'm traveling this Lenten journey of radical hospitality, exploring its dimensions, trying to answer its call, challenging others to do the same, and not only could I not solve her problem, I was pissed off.
Sunday's sermon is on the feeding of the 5000. I needed that stretch of green grass, some disciples to work the crowd, one loaf of bread and the power of God. It felt a bit like I was slogging through the wilderness while everyone else enjoyed the miracle.
I hope there was a picnic somewhere for that family.
I am grateful that the hospitality of God never fails.
Today, I'll try again.
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