Christian Hospitality Means Welcoming People Into Real Life
There’s a scene at the beginning of The Hobbit where a group of dwarves overruns the home of the protagonist hobbit, Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo had sort of reluctantly—and mistakenly—invited the wizard, Gandalf, to tea one day. But when Bilbo answered the door, an uninvited dwarf stood there instead.
Bilbo didn’t quite know what to do. He let in the dwarf, and the dwarf quite quickly made himself at home. Then there was another, even louder, ring at the door. Another dwarf stepped in, uninvited, but acting like he was meant to be there all along. The second dwarf asked for beer and cake, and then to Bilbo’s surprise, more dwarves rang the bell and entered. Then more and more, until thirteen dwarves, along with the wizard, ended up descending on Bilbo’s house asking for coffee and red wine and pork pie and salad and cakes and eggs. “By the time [Bilbo] had got all the bottles and dishes and knives and forks and glasses and plates and spoons and things piled up on big trays, he was getting very hot, and red in the face, and annoyed.”1
Christian Hospitality Requires Grace Over Control
In our neighborhood, there’s a group of kids who run around from house to house, playing kickball and raiding pantries and eating at whatever home they land at around mealtime. It’s what I dreamed of for my kids. But even though I want my home to be filled with that joyful chaos, sometimes when it’s my pantry and my food and my floors that get messier, I’m tempted to react more like Bilbo—red in the face and annoyed. I’m happy to show hospitality when I can plan ahead and the house isn’t destroyed and I still have food left. I want the kind of hospitality I have control over. But controlled hospitality can be a selfish version of the welcome we’re meant to show.
After ten years, four kids, and a rescue dog, I’ve learned a thing or two about spills. I’ve learned which carpet cleaners are best and that purchasing a carpet shampooer is 100 percent worth it. I’ve learned that school-age kids can put Tolkien’s dwarves to shame in an eating contest, the pile of shoes by the front door is a beautiful sight, and it’s important to keep allergy-friendly snacks on hand so no kid feels left out. I’ve also learned, as Tim Chester once wrote, that “hospitality will lead to collateral damage.”2
Christian Hospitality Reflects the Generosity of God
“Food will be spilled on your carpet,” Chester continued. “You’ll be left with clearing up. Your pantry may be decimated. But remember that God is welcoming you into his home through the blood of his own Son. The hospitality of God embodied in the table fellowship of Jesus is a celebration and sign of his grace and generosity. And we’re to imitate that generosity.”2
Hospitality doesn’t always look like relaxing dinner parties or serene coffee dates. More often, it looks like inviting messy, imperfect people into your messy, imperfect life—and loving one another anyway.
Christian Hospitality Creates Space for Belonging
It means rifling through the refrigerator to feed the needs of those in front of you and then seeing the pile of dirty dishes as a sign of time well spent. It’s about providing a place where people can take a breath, where they can pull up a chair and know, no matter what, they are welcome there.
Understanding the meaning—and the cost—of hospitality frees me to accept and extend grace in a way I’m not naturally inclined to do. No matter how much I try to control, no matter how good of a guest I try to be, no matter how much I plan and prepare as a host, glasses will break and drinks will be spilled and kids will never have their fill of snacks.
Collateral damage comes with the gig. I can spend my energy taking a mental inventory of the messes and losses while gritting my teeth in frustration, or I can grab the carpet cleaner and restock the snack drawer, offering the grace and spirit of welcome that’s been generously offered to me.
Living Out Christian Hospitality Every Day
Adapted from You’re in Good Company by Ashlee Gadd and Coffee + Crumbs. Copyright Ashlee Gadd© (March 2026) by Zondervan. Used by permission of Zondervan, www.zondervan.com.
Sarah J. Hauser is a Charlotte-based writer and speaker living with her husband, four kids, and loud rescue dog. She is a contributor to You’re In Good Company, author of All Who Are Weary: Finding True Rest by Letting Go of the Burdens You Were Never Meant to Carry (Moody) and is working on her second book with B&H (Fall 2027). Read more at sarahjhauser.com, check out her Substack, or find her on Instagram (@sarah.j.hauser).
