Hospitality

Bob Edmunds, my former colleague in the church where I used to serve in Elmira, New York, tells a story of what it feels like to be denied hospitality. He and his family were vacationing one summer and decided to worship at a prominent church in the Washington D. C. area. Apparently this church had quite a reputation for the quality of their preaching and corporate worship. The reputation held up, according to Bob and Susan's standards. And believe me, they have rather high ones. The sermon was riveting and the music, inspiring. That much did not disappoint them. But the lack of hospitality did.

From the moment they arrived at that church to the time they left, not one person spoke to them - except for the pastor who made a feeble attempt on their way out the door. No one directed them to the nursery. They had to find it themselves. No one invited them to the fellowship hall for coffee and refreshments afterwards. They had to find it themselves. In fact Bob deliberately stood underneath the huge chandelier in the center of that spacious hall for at least five minutes - gazing up at it and looking as conspicuous as possible. But no one came up to him or introduced themselves to him.

"We felt as though we were invisible," Bob says. "No one noticed that we were even there. I don't care how good the preaching and music were. Nothing could have made up for their lack of hospitality. That church was as cold and lifeless as a corpse."