3 Ways to Live Out Low-Stakes Hospitality, with One That Might Surprise You
Perhaps it’s been a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I’ve found myself wondering if over the last twelve months, I’ve lost what limited pre-pandemic social savvy I once thought I had. Social norms have shifted, and I need someone to tell me straight how I’m supposed to handle fist-bumping, conversations about Covid weight, and gently remind me it’s time to change my outfit. It’s all just overwhelming.
Studies show I’m not the only one feeling awkward these days or whose social skills are threadbare. Almost 50% of Americans say they’re nervous for the social aspect of being together again; psychologists are calling it “re-entry anxiety.” We have what’s called agoraphobia, “the irrational fear of being in open or unfamiliar places, resulting in the avoidance of public situations.” Work, church, sports . . . Togetherness used to be a good thing; now it’s something we fear.
But perhaps the answer to our angst over social cues and pull toward hibernation isn’t reclusion, rather something rooted in Christian hospitality that’s nuanced and gives room for the different comfort levels with how we’ll all re-engage. We don’t need a one-size-fits-all, throw-caution-to-the-wind form of togetherness—but we do need a baseline mindset that says connection with others isn’t something to be feared or avoided; it is vital and necessary.
As restrictions ease, we need bite-sized ideas for connection, nothing mind-blowing. And we can start on our own turf, in a place close to home: our mailboxes. While there are dozens of ways we can practice low-stakes hospitality to help us connect, here are three, plus one that might surprise you.
1. Make That Awkward (Re-)Introduction
If you’re like me, there are people in your proximity with whom you have frequent and awkward “hello’s.” They remain strangers to us because—among other barriers—we don’t know their names. We’re not good with names, have bad memories, and struggle to pronounce them if they’re rooted in a different language.
An article in the Washington Post emphasizes why it’s so important to use people’s names: “When someone remembers our name after meeting us, we feel respected and more important. It makes a positive and lasting impression on us. To not remember a name, especially when someone has had to repeat it several times, is to make that person feel slighted.”
“Using our neighbor’s name is a radically simple demonstration of Christian hospitality.”
Dale Carnegie is famous for saying, “A person’s name is to him or her the sweetest and most important sound in any language.” God knew this and modeled introductions for us when he made the first move and told Moses to call him by his name, Yahweh (Ex. 3:15). In the Old Testament book of Isaiah, he says, “I have called you by name” (Isa. 43:1).
Using our neighbor’s name—including our best efforts in pronunciation—is not only our first therapy exercise for our atrophied social muscles but also a radically simple demonstration of Christian hospitality and what moves a neighbor from stranger-status to friend-status.
2. Linger a Little
People say, “If the pandemic has taught us anything, it’s taught us to slow down.”
Has it, though?
I find I still have the same propensity for competing in grocery lines (always frustrated because I pick the wrong one) and determining the fastest lane to drive in, yet I never seem to get there any faster. I’m not alone. In both urban and suburban contexts, we mad-dash to get home and aren’t looking for friendly, neighborly small talk.
What would it hurt for us to slow down and linger a little? Perhaps we worry our neighbors would drain what little we have left in the tank. We embrace a scarcity mindset regarding our time.
God isn’t in a hurry, and he isn’t self-protective or frugal with his time. Yahweh is our patient and generous host who welcomes us into his family, multiplies our bread, and enables us to be generous neighbors. Why are we then surprised when he restores and refreshes us by these very next-door image-bearers?
John Mark Comer says, “Hurry is incompatible with love.”
3. Put Your Phone Down
I’m convinced no amount of shaming and scolding about the negative long-term effects of our tech addiction will be the final “talking to” that empowers us to get our heads up and stop staring down at our iPhones. We need a bigger vision here, one better than dopamine hits.
What if God has more in store for us than our private Instagram and Twitter feeds, and it’s available to us right outside our front doors?
To choose to keep our iPhones in our pockets when out and about in our neighborhoods would be to reject Siri’s anxious voice yelling, “Hide behind me!” We’d say no to the notifications from our social media apps and enjoy “interruptions” from neighbors right around us. Our whole vibe would change. Instead of giving off the “I’m important” (I’m insecure), “I’m busy” vibe, we’d give off the “I’m here, I’m present, I’m available” vibe.
It’s counterintuitive, I know, because turning Siri on silent can make us feel even more anxious. But this relatively low-risk, baby step can lead to finding common ground, making conversations, and building connections that can help our neighbors and us gradually come out of our Covid shells in truly enriching ways.
4. Ask for Help
Surprise! Asking for help is a way we practice hospitality. Contrary to our Western thinking, independence and self-sufficiency are not always virtues. We don’t want to appear assuming, too forward, or worse yet––needy!
“When we ask for help, we swallow our pride and say, “I have needs, too.””
Yet we are all somewhat needy, and that’s okay. Part of what it means to be human involves a sense of interdependence with God and other humans. No one is autonomous in the truest sense.
When we ask for help, we swallow our pride and say, “I have needs, too.” Whether it’s in asking for the proverbial cup of sugar, for help moving a heavy item, stringing Christmas lights, borrowing yard or power tools, or simply seeking their expertise on something—when we ask for help, we practice humble hospitality that shows openness to mutual, two-sided rapport.
Whether we feel like we’re beginners, having to re-learn how to relate, or just need a reminder to slow down and allow ourselves to need our neighbors, Christian hospitality can help us find our way forward in these strange times. We are emerging from a shared, collective trauma, and we’ll all be moving at different paces. There’s grace for all our social phobias and faux pas; we’re all in this together.
Elizabeth Mckinney is a wife and mom to four little girls. She is on staff with Cru City and serves as associate staff at her church, The Crossing in Columbia, Missouri. She writes, speaks, and is passionate about helping people love their next-door neighbors. Elizabeth is the co-author of Placed for a Purpose: A Simple and Sustainable Vision for Loving Your Next-Door Neighbors. You can find her on Instagram and Placedforapurpose.com.