I recently attended a lecture on Narrative Hospitality by Richard Kearney. It was inspiring and thought-provoking in many ways. He told about his work which seeks to foster reconciliation through the exchange of stories. [1] His ideas on the nature of hospitality reminded me of some study I had done on the topic a few years ago which helped to broaden my thinking about the whole concept of hospitality.
We often think of hospitality as opening our home to people, but it is much more than that. There are basically two expressions of hospitality. In the first, we invite people to share in our experience. This usually takes the form of having people over for a meal, giving them a place to sleep in our home, or involving them in something we are doing. The second type of hospitality is that which requires us to enter someone else's experience. This happens every time we visit someone else's home or experience a context or culture which is different from our own. This second type of hospitality requires that we adapt to another person's normal. Depending on the host's wishes, we may take off our shoes or leave them on, we may shake hands or hug or even bow, we may sit quietly on a chair or play with children on the floor. The host might invite us to help prepare the meal or keep us away from the kitchen. If we are good guests, we accept whatever food and drink are offered, partaking with gratitude and without complaint. The first expression of hospitality locates us on home turf, where we, for the most part, control the environment and the rules of engagement. However, when we are the guest, the stranger, we must accommodate ourselves to the host's way of doing things.
There is a certain vulnerability associated with hospitality, and this is reflected in the Latin root: hostis. The original meaning, "to have power," reflects the dynamics at play in acts of hospitality. Kearney notes that the same root (hostis) is used to form two words: hostility and hospitality. This is not as strange as it may first seem. Hospitality, in its purest form, puts strangers together in close quarters. Both become vulnerable to each other, have a certain amount of power over the other, if you will. When we invite a stranger into our home, the nature of the relationship is unknown. Will they turn out to be a friend or an enemy? When we are strangers in a foreign land, will we be met with goodwill or hostility? Can a stranger be trusted or will they take advantage of us? Hospitality positions both host and guest in the realm of uncertainty.
Kearney tells the story behind the Irish expression, "chance your arm," which demonstrates the precarious nature of hospitality. The phrase originated in the 15th century when two Irish families (the Butlers and the
FitzGeralds) were involved in a bitter feud over a position of power. The disagreement resulted in violent fighting and finally, the Butlers fled from the scene and took refuge in the Chapter House of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. The FitzGeralds followed them into the church and asked the Butlers to come out of the room and make peace. The Butlers, afraid that they would be slaughtered if they came out, refused. The head of the FitzGerald family had a hole cut in the door of the Chapter House, removed his armour, and thrust his arm through the opening. "You can cut it off or you can shake it," he offered. "I come in peace." The Butlers decided to shake the extended hand and the two families made peace. This door, known as the "Door of Reconciliation," hangs in Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin to this day.
Hospitality is risky work. It invites us to make friends out of strangers (or even enemies). It invites us to leave our comfort and imagine (and enter) into life as "the other." It invites us to take a risk, to "chance our arm," even when we are threatened. There are two stories in Genesis which illustrate how closely vulnerability and hospitality are linked. One turns out well; the other results in disaster.
In Genesis 18, three visitors come upon Abraham and Sarah and their encampment near some trees. In the Ancient Near East, resources were limited in the desert climate, so travellers relied on the kindness of strangers. Abraham sees the men and invites them to stop, wash their feet, refresh themselves, and have a meal. He has his servants quickly prepare a calf as well as bread, butter, and milk and ends up offering the strangers not just the basics, but a feast. The strangers turn out to be messengers from YHWH and they tell Abraham that within a year, his wife will have a son. It is very good news for Abraham and Sarah who have been waiting over twenty years for the divine promise of a child to be fulfilled.
In Genesis 19, two of the visitors continue on to the town of Sodom. The text says that YHWH has heard of the injustices in this city and is sending messengers to see if these reports are true. YHWH tells Abraham that if ten righteous people can be found, the town will be spared (Genesis 18). Late in the day, the two men come to the city gate. Lot, Abraham's nephew, greets them and invites them to spend the night at his house. The strangers refuse at first, saying they will sleep in the town square, but Lot insists. The visitors come to Lot's house and he gives them bread to eat. Then the men of the town show up at Lot's house and demand that he hand over the strangers so that the mob can abuse them sexually (an act of violence meant to humiliate the strangers and establish the mob's dominance). Lot tries to dissuade the men, even offering his daughters instead (willing to protect his guests at the expense of his family), but the townsmen threaten to break down the door. The messengers of YHWH pull Lot to safety and blind the assailants so they cannot find the entrance to the house. The injustices of Sodom are thus confirmed and the town ends up being destroyed. It is important to note the correlation between injustice and inhospitality. Instead of welcoming outsiders, the people of Sodom saw them as enemies and sought to harm them.
Hospitality is risky work. It invites us to make friends out of strangers (or even enemies). It invites us to leave our comfort and imagine (and enter) into life as "the other." It invites us to take a risk, to "chance our arm," even when we are threatened. There are two stories in Genesis which illustrate how closely vulnerability and hospitality are linked. One turns out well; the other results in disaster.
In Genesis 18, three visitors come upon Abraham and Sarah and their encampment near some trees. In the Ancient Near East, resources were limited in the desert climate, so travellers relied on the kindness of strangers. Abraham sees the men and invites them to stop, wash their feet, refresh themselves, and have a meal. He has his servants quickly prepare a calf as well as bread, butter, and milk and ends up offering the strangers not just the basics, but a feast. The strangers turn out to be messengers from YHWH and they tell Abraham that within a year, his wife will have a son. It is very good news for Abraham and Sarah who have been waiting over twenty years for the divine promise of a child to be fulfilled.
In Genesis 19, two of the visitors continue on to the town of Sodom. The text says that YHWH has heard of the injustices in this city and is sending messengers to see if these reports are true. YHWH tells Abraham that if ten righteous people can be found, the town will be spared (Genesis 18). Late in the day, the two men come to the city gate. Lot, Abraham's nephew, greets them and invites them to spend the night at his house. The strangers refuse at first, saying they will sleep in the town square, but Lot insists. The visitors come to Lot's house and he gives them bread to eat. Then the men of the town show up at Lot's house and demand that he hand over the strangers so that the mob can abuse them sexually (an act of violence meant to humiliate the strangers and establish the mob's dominance). Lot tries to dissuade the men, even offering his daughters instead (willing to protect his guests at the expense of his family), but the townsmen threaten to break down the door. The messengers of YHWH pull Lot to safety and blind the assailants so they cannot find the entrance to the house. The injustices of Sodom are thus confirmed and the town ends up being destroyed. It is important to note the correlation between injustice and inhospitality. Instead of welcoming outsiders, the people of Sodom saw them as enemies and sought to harm them.
If we look at hospitality from the viewpoint of the strangers, we notice that they came to Abraham to give good news. Because Abraham received them, he received the news they were carrying. The messengers came to Sodom looking for signs of goodness, but because they were threatened instead of welcomed, the town did not receive the mercy that was on offer. When we receive guests, we are receiving much more than a person who needs food and lodging; many times strangers have precious gifts to give us if we can but receive them. Hospitality expands our idea of who belongs and who doesn't, who is part of us and who is not.
Richard Kearney recounts the following story:
I was moderating a conversation between two groups: IRA [Irish Republican Army] prisoners on the nationalist/Catholic/ republican side and UDA [Ulster Defence Association] prisoners on the unionist side. One of the republicans told the story of how he had nearly been shot. He had been taken out of his bed, blindfolded, handcuffed, brought to a barn in the boot of a car, tied up, and was about to be shot. He asked his assassin, could he smoke a last cigarette? The assassin said yes; and as he was smoking the cigarette he told the story of how he himself had joined the IRA and why he had shot people. He described what had happened to his grandfather, being tortured by the B-Specials12, and then how his father had been taken out and kneecapped; how his mother had had a breakdown and become an alcoholic and ended up on the street, and how his brother had been tortured… He went through a litany of appalling brutalities, and told how he had become so full of anger and hatred that he went out and shot his enemies. There was a silence after he’d finished the cigarette and he waited – five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes – for the gun to go off, but no gun went off. When finally he untied himself and turned around – there was nobody there. The barn was empty. He walked home. He finished telling that story, and another person stood up at the back of the room and said 'I was the loyalist paramilitary who was about to shoot you, but when I heard your story, I realised it was also my story, and I couldn’t shoot you'.
Hospitality is seeing ourselves in the story of others, even in those we might consider our enemies. Hospitality invites us to "chance our arm" in acts of vulnerability instead of always seeking to protect ourselves. Hospitality invites us not only to welcome the stranger into our home but to enter into the world of "the other." Hospitality seeks to build bridges and not walls. This is the radical hospitality that is at the very heart of the incarnation: God becoming human. And because we have entered into the divine hospitality, are undeserving recipients of mercy and love, we are invited to extend that same hospitality to others, both by inviting them into our world and by entering into their experience.
“Keep loving each other like family. Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it. Remember prisoners as if you were in prison with them, and people who are mistreated as if you were in their place.” (Hebrews 13:1-3, CEB)
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[1] Richard Kearney is the Co-Director of an initiative called the Guestbook Project which “invites young people from divided communities to meet and exchange their stories of conflict, and to engage in a new, shared, imaginative project that can end the gap and build a better future.” You can find more information at http://guestbookproject.org/media/.
[2] Breffni O’Rourke. "Intercultural encounters as hospitality. An interview with Richard Kearney," UniCollaboration: Journal of Virtual Exchange, 2018, p. 36. Accessed at
https://richardmkearney.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/878-2347-1-pb.pdf
Image: Door of Reconciliation, Saint Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. Found at vox.ie.
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