A Perfect Dinner Party
the work of hospitality
I typically see hospitality as something I don’t do well. When I contemplate hosting friends for dinner I usually find myself running through a litany of things that I lack:
I don’t have fancy dinner-ware.
I don’t have a large kitchen.
There’s barely enough seating in the house for our family, let alone guests, and most of the seating we do have is sub-par in one way or another.
I don’t cook fancy meals or arrange pretty centerpieces.
Planning menus stresses me out.
I almost always forget to think about serving drinks until someone asks me if they can have some water.
Making conversation doesn’t come easily to me.
But recently I’ve begun to notice something: All of these things, while they certainly add to the atmosphere of any gathering, are not at the heart of hospitality.
What is at the heart?
Relationship.
Hospitality doesn’t actually begin with what I have or don’t have. Instead it begins with my attitude toward the person I invite into my home. The first order of business is not to arrange and organize all the logistical details, but to welcome my guest. To make a person feel welcome I need to give them my time, my attention, my love.
If I want to know a person better I must make the time to do so.
If I want to show my guest that I care about them I must pay attention to what they communicate — both verbally and non-verbally.
If I want to show love to those I welcome I must open the door, not only of my home, but of my heart.
Time, attention, vulnerability. These matter more than my dishes or the seating. They help a guest to feel welcome more than pretty centerpieces or a perfectly planned seven-course meal. Of course all the externals can add to the atmosphere of welcome I intentionally create, but they are not the starting point, nor are they essential elements. They can be concrete expressions of my desire to show genuine hospitality to my guests, but if I leave them out for some reason or other they do not make or break a gathering.
We know this on an intellectual level, but how often do we really remember it?
When we plan the school year for our children do we prioritize the perfect curriculum or good relationships with each child?
As we move through our days do we worry about the house being spotless or that our children feel loved?
As we pray and fast do we focus on following the rules to the letter or do we keep in mind the deeper thing — relationship — that these practices facilitate?
A good curriculum, a clean house, regular prayer, serious fasting — all of these things matter; they are important. But we must never mistake them for the first things.