Tea time.

a simple start to practicing hospitality.

My college friends used to joke with everyone who walked through the door that they’d know who Lisa was because I would immediately offer them a cup of tea.

Our little California house on Templar Dr. was falling apart: a hole in the porch ceiling, paint peeling, and bright yellow walls that screamed the 1950s. It was way too small for 7 girls but as I look back on that time, I am often nostalgic for that crowded house and the days when people would come to study late into the night, stop by for dinner because they knew there would be extra, and come for a cup of tea.

Learning the art of tea time really started during my time in Uganda. Every morning and afternoon all would stop and everyone would gather and drink a cup of milk tea. It was a lovely pause to each day.

Somehow tea carries with it a sense of rest, home, love, and connection, all in a small cup.

I brought that rhythm with me to Mexico when we would gather every morning with fresh oranges from the market, random crackers and wafers to go with it, and a hot teapot ready to pour. It was a highlight for me, a rhythm that centered my days there.

I realized recently that my teapot is my most prized possession. I picked it up at a Goodwill in California and I’ve found nothing like it since. It has traveled with me almost everywhere and been with me through some of my favorite memories and most treasured conversations.

When we think of hospitality, I think we often think of manicured homes and perfect grazing boards. I think of my house on Templar Dr. practically falling apart but full of people coming together.

Hospitality is creating space for healing.

Quite literally, this is what hospitality means, hence the word, “Hospital” in the root of it.

At the end of day we don’t heal because of fancy dinners or perfectly swept floors. We heal when we receive the presence of another.

I love my teapot because although we have different cups, we share from the same pot. I am convinced that we create space for healing for others when we simply open our lives to share our presence and give what we have, no matter how simple it might be.

You don’t need the teapot, and you don’t need a home either. You can share your presence with a coworker on a break, offer your extra cookie from your lunch as you sit with a stranger, or pause with the homeless and listen to their story.

My teapot reminds me to share what I have, invite people into my life as is, and simply be with others. It is a physical reminder of what I want my life to be: A life shared with others.

Maybe you don’t like tea. That’s okay, you can do the same thing with coffee, or the leftover pizza in your fridge, or even just sitting together on your couch that’s big enough for two.

Maybe you’re insecure and don’t feel like you have anything worth inviting people to. I happen to believe the vulnerable invitation is the best one. We all want to experience people where they are really at. That is when we heal the most.

Maybe you’re like me and you feel the temptation to have everything clean and get gourmet food on the table before you open your home. While some level of cleanliness makes a space inviting, it’s unattainable and also off-putting to always manicure our lives. I often have to remember that laundry being folded and floors swept are not prerequisites for hospitality.

A heart that longs to give is all it takes.

It’s much more about us sharing our presence than our meals or homes.

Jesus didn’t have a home, and yet he gave his presence everywhere he went. He ate with people and hung out with them, in fact, it seemed to be the bulk of his ministry.

I would argue this is the foundation of it all. We invite people into our presence in the hopes that they experience through it the presence of God.

As one of my favorite authors ever puts it, “The Gospel comes with a house key.”

In America, we are pretty closed off, and if you’re in Minnesota like me, an invitation into someone’s home is incredibly hard to come by. Privacy is a high ideal in this country, and although it is not wrong, I can’t imagine Jesus being quite as “private” as we are with much of our lives.

I also can’t imagine Jesus having a perfectly clean home. I think it would be filled: Filled with people, love, and laughter. I think it would be simple, but lovely, homey, and quaint. I think he’d be more concerned with those coming through the door than if they took their shoes off. I think he’d sit with them. And I happen to think that if Jesus lived today he’d have a teapot just like me.

In Romans, we get a quick little interjection by Paul as he describes what love in action looks like.

“Practice hospitality.” (Romans 12:13)

That’s all he says about it. Practice. Do it. Pursue it.

It’s one of those disciplines that you learn by doing.

If you need a reminder, go out to a thrift store and find yourself a teapot, but above all, start with what you have, just start.

All for One,