Home Part 7
June 8, 2026
Home Part 7
“Make yourself at home.”
We hear those words as guests, often a little unsure of ourselves at first. We don’t want to overstep, to assume too much, to cross invisible lines. But something shifts when the invitation is sincere. Our shoulders drop. We breathe differently. We reach for a glass without asking, settle into a chair, and move about more freely. For some of us it can mean opening the fridge without feeling like we have crossed a boundary. For a moment, what is not ours begins to feel like it could be. Hospitality makes that possible.
The host becomes a quiet custodian of welcome, and each one offers it in their own way. The word itself comes from the Latin hospes—a relationship between host and stranger, marked by shelter, care, and mutual presence. Over time, it gave rise to words like hospice, hospital, hostel, and hotel—all places of temporary belonging. But the deepest form of hospitality is not about place at all, but about space… the space we create within ourselves.
Henri Nouwen described hospitality as the creation of a free and fearless space where strangers can enter and become friends, without the pressure to change, perform, or defend. It is not controlled. It is not persuasion. It is not a subtle correction. It is present, open, unguarded, and generous. This kind of hospitality lives in the heart.
I was reminded of that recently while sitting in a doctor’s waiting room. An older gentleman leaned toward me and asked, gently, “What is that you’re typing on?” He had never seen an iPad. There was something disarmingly simple about his curiosity. He had no agenda, no pretense. He shared with me his visual problems and said an iPad might be helpful to him because of its ability to enlarge the type. Just a small, genuine reaching out.
In that moment, he made space for me. And in response, I found myself stepping into his world just as naturally. It was a brief exchange, but it lingered, not because of what we said, but because of how it felt. It was easy, human, unguarded. He had extended hospitality without a house, without a plan… simply by opening his heart.
These moments happen more often than we notice. A question was asked kindly. A story shared freely. A willingness to see and be seen, if only for a few minutes. Sometimes they pass quickly. Sometimes they become something more. But always, they carry the unspoken yet much desired possibility of connection.
This is spiritual hospitality. It does not insist. It does not shape others in our image. It creates room for another person to arrive as they are, and perhaps, in that safety, to discover more of who they are. And so the invitation becomes ours to give.
How many people might we meet today to whom we could silently say, “Make yourself at home?” Not in our houses, but in our presence. In our listening. In our attention. Because in the end, home is not only a place we return to. It is something we become for one another.
Spiritual practice and self-inquiry: What keeps me from offering that kind of space to others? What walls remain, and why?
Prayer:
Dear God, Thank you for the gentle reminders that home can be found anywhere—even in a simple conversation between strangers. Teach me to offer that same welcome. Amen.
