Whether extravagant or in contexts of restraint, there’s a profound sense of belonging when someone opens their door to host me as a Christian sister and friend. I’ve enjoyed food and fellowship on a porch in Guatemala’s coffee hills, laughed with women teaching me to wrap a headdress in Ghana, and shared a meal of mussels in a small Croatian apartment with friends.

Growing up, my grandmother’s kitchen table was always filled with food, and surrounded by extended family and the sounds of laughter. In church, I learned hospitality is an essential part of Christian life. Visiting a church without receiving several lunch invitations was unusual. On the East Coast of Canada, this seemed a natural practice.

Yet, over time, culture has changed. While our reputation for hospitality endures, I wonder if it reflects more of who we were than who we’ve become. Inviting people in means welcoming people to your home — and your life. For me, home is a refuge from busyness and travel. Life today often feels exhausting, with no spare room. Still, the seed of hospitality remains in me. I often feel a Spirit nudge to be more open, inspired by those for whom hospitality comes naturally. But creating space for it is a struggle.

One of my most instructive moments of hospitality came when my husband Peter and I moved to England. As new leaders, we were invited to lunch by the area minister. Arriving at his home, we were welcomed to his kitchen table and offered sandwiches in plastic containers from a local corner shop and a canned drink. I was surprised — and delighted. That simple, vulnerable act of welcoming us into his home showed me hospitality doesn’t have to be elaborate. It melted my objections and gave me permission to offer hospitality within manageable parameters. I thought, “This is great. I can do this!”

Though life often feels too hectic for me to be the host I aspire to, I’ve never forgotten how an open door and home matter more than perfect presentation or a special meal. With so many today feeling lonely and isolated, I’m deeply convinced that hospitality is the Christian practice most capable of nurturing and growing the church.

Newcomers to our communities, neighbours without family nearby, and even seemingly happy people all need connection, belonging, and love. Unlike my grandmother’s kitchen table surrounded by family who already belonged, our tables need to welcome strangers and transform them into friends. These gatherings can offer a glimpse of the heavenly feast, where all respond to Christ’s generous invitation and embrace. The act of opening our homes and hearts can change lives. Even if the table holds nothing more than a few sandwiches and canned drinks.