When Ordinary Becomes Holy
Hospitality isn’t something we must try to fit into our schedules; it is a practice that builds a culture in the home and in the heart. As we practice hospitality, we become more aware of God’s presence in our lives and more open to the people around us.
More often than not, we are too tired, too afraid, and too busy to open our hearts or our homes. I believe what often holds us back most is the idea that hosting people—and serving God—has to look like our neighbor’s, or that it must be polished to perfection for it to matter. Let’s consider it from another point of view. Imagine entering a grand hall where fine china shines beneath candlelight and servants carry out course after course of exquisite food. Yet the hostess never meets your eyes. She barely notices you’re there and is too busy to connect. You leave feeling unseen, wondering why you came in the first place. It isn’t the meal or the presentation alone that makes an evening meaningful. It’s the heart of the person behind the hosting that does.
One of the Bible’s most compelling stories of hospitality is found in Genesis 18. “The Lord appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the door of his tent in the heat of the day” (Genesis 18:1, ESV). The passage unfolds: three visitors stand before Abraham. Without hesitation, he runs to meet them and bows low to the ground. He urges them to rest beneath the tree. He offers water to wash dust-worn feet. Sarah kneads some of their best flour into bread. Their best calf is prepared. Abraham ran, hurried, hastened—each movement intentionally made with a heart to serve and to be generous.
There is something we often overlook in Scripture. This encounter comes immediately after Abraham’s circumcision (Genesis 17, ESV). Rabbinic tradition has long noted the physical vulnerability he likely still carried. Abraham could have had excuses, but he chose to serve instead. He did not feel pressured to; he desired to respond. And his hospitality becomes the very space where covenant promise unfolds; the promise of Isaac is reaffirmed at the table (Genesis 18:9–10, ESV).
Hosting in today’s world often takes a backseat. But I believe God calls us to live out a rhythm of hospitality in our everyday lives. For me, it has looked like turning my attention to God while washing dishes instead of thinking about what I need to do next. It has meant using the afternoon quiet hour for my children as my own quiet time with God—instead of scrolling, cleaning, or checking something off my list, I fight the temptation to “do” and instead return to the place of “being” with my Heavenly Father. It has meant kneading a loaf of bread for my neighbor after preparing one for my own family, or inviting someone new to dinner simply to get to know their story.
All of these are acts of hospitality, whether big or small. Each one costs us something—our time, energy, and space. Each one draws us closer to Jesus and closer to one another.
Reflection
Where in your daily rhythms might God already be inviting you to make room?
What expectations of “perfect hospitality” might you need to release?
With a whole lot of love and grace,
Jessica Tobler
