Hospitality and the Kingdom of God

By Rachel Cheng

I

am fascinated by what makes people feel at home. How to create the kind of warmth that fills up your insides like hot soup on a gusty day. As a Chinese American in the Midwest, I grew up watching my parents host dumpling parties, Bible studies for international students, and dinners for coworkers. I spent weekends shuffling between the familiar scents and sounds of Asian houses—aunties and uncles laughing loudly while cracking open sunflower seeds, grandmas and grandpas playing cards, the kids yelling over a game of Monopoly or watching Cartoon Network. In those spaces I felt unhurried ease and familiarity. It’s a feeling I have always wanted to recreate.

I love that Scripture compares the kingdom of God to a home. During his last meal before his death, Jesus comforted his disciples by telling them he was going away to prepare rooms for them in his Father’s house (John 14:1-3, NIV). In Revelation, Jesus says that he stands at the door and knocks, and will come in to eat and drink with those who welcome him into their homes (Rev. 3:20, NIV). Home is a place that is comfortable, unassuming, and familiar.

In Luke 13, Jesus tells a different kind of story about a home. The scene opens with a homeowner “get[ing] up and clos[ing]” the door” (Luke 13:25, NIV) to his dinner party. At the party is a multicultural array of guests. People from “east and west and north and south” (Luke 13:29, NIV) all eat and drink together with the owner and with the forefathers of the faith. As the party begins, there are people left outside who want to come in. But the owner refuses, twice saying, “I don’t know you or where you come from.” (Luke 13:25, NIV). Though they shared meals with the owner and listened to him teach, this does not change the owner’s response. 

It is a sobering passage. Initially it seems ungenerous, perhaps even cruel. But looking deeper at the kind of party the homeowner is throwing, we see a picture of the heart of God toward lost sinners. He invites us to be known and loved by him. The invitation, the door to the house, has been left open to all. People from everywhere are inside eating and drinking at the party. No one has been excluded because they are too rich or too poor, because of their race or ethnicity, or because they failed to do enough good deeds. Rather, those who are outside the door are there because the owner does not know who they are or “where [they] come from.” Though they shared a casual acquaintance with the owner, it was not a real relationship. By contrast, those inside and enjoying the party are there because they have accepted the owner’s invitation. They have received the hospitality of God and His extravagant invitation to be deeply known and loved. 

As Christians, we have the opportunity to experience God’s heart when we practice hospitality. In many ways, with its communal focus, rich food culture, and natural bent toward honoring guests, Asian culture uniquely positions us to share this kind of welcome with others. We have the opportunity to create spaces where people can enjoy a meal and a meaningful conversation. Where they can wrestle with a difficult thought, share their anxieties, or sit silent in grief. Where they can linger without an end time. 

This hospitality is an art I am still learning. In the busyness of modern life and the interruptions of internet entertainment, pausing long enough to create this kind of analog space is costly. It requires time, intentionality, and vulnerability. It requires work. Sometimes our efforts fall flat. We may host dinner parties that are awkward, or extend invitations that are politely declined over and again. We may burn a dish, or get no further than small talk. But in our labor to know someone and their story, we are sharing in the likeness of our Lord, who sacrificed all to pursue us. He suffered rejection so we could be known fully and loved completely. There is glory in our laboring.

On this side of heaven, we catch glimpses of this deeply-known-and-loved familiarity. And we can be co-laborers in creating it. We can cultivate spaces where the door is open and the invitation is generous. A place where people can linger—long enough to sit and laugh, crack open some sunflower seeds, and play another round of Monopoly.

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Rachel Cheng is a 1.5 generation Chinese American from St. Louis. She is a practicing attorney and lives in Chicago. When not doing her grown-up job, Rachel enjoys hosting, watching live theatre, and cultivating her plant mom skills.

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