Tag Archives: Hospitality

The hospitality of the nativity, or Yesterday was a lovely day to spend Christmas in Monaco

My Monday travel posts posts usually reflect back on places I have been over the years. But today I’m reflecting on the place I spent yesterday, Christmas Day 2016: the tiny principality of Monaco.


Monaco is known as a playground for the rich and famous and there were certainly glimpses of that. But with all the shops closed and the rich hotel buffet lunches behind closed doors, it was perhaps a different side of the city-state that I loved and learned from.

What did I love about Monaco?

Built on the steep slopes of the Maritime Alps overlooking the Mediterranean, the city’s architecture reflects its topography.


The ports are filled with luxury yachts, at this time of year many moored for the winter.


The winding streets are familiar from watching F1 Grands-Prix.


Looking down from above is the old palace,


as well as the beautiful old Cathedral.


At this time of year, along the quai there are Christmas markets with food, handmade gifts and entertainment.


All throughout the city there are beautiful Christmas decorations and lights.


What did I learn from Monaco?

The highlight of my day was the time I shared with some of the wonderful people I met after visiting St Paul’s Anglican Church. Not only did we share a significant time celebrating Christ’s birth with carols and death and resurrection through the Eucharist, but they invited me to share an amazing Christmas lunch afterwards! Their hospitality and welcome to this visiting stranger was a beautiful reflection of the message of this day.

St Paul’s crèche

I was also reminded of God’s hospitality in the incarnation through the variety of crèches (nativity scenes) throughout the city.


In parks, on street corners, in churches and on display outside the palace, the variety was stunning.


What really struck me was how so many different people portray the scene of Jesus’ birth in a way that reflects their own life experience.


From 19th century Provençal sets


to Madagascan displays


and everything in between, it was a delight to discover the huge range!


And they also reminded me of the key truth of the incarnation that we celebrate on this day: God coming to us as one of us.


Emmanuel, God with us. It makes sense that we depict his coming in ways that look familiar to us, because God does come to us in the familiar, ordinariness of everyday life. He enters our world, speaks our language, lives our humanity.


This is the ultimate act of hospitality. The God who incarnates himself as one of us so that we might know his loving embrace.


As I was reminded of it in the crèche scenes and experienced it through God’s people at St Paul’s, may you know and experience the hospitality of the incarnation this Christmas season.

What does hospitality look like in speech and in action?

A few years ago I had a disagreement with a politician about words. He was using a phrase that had been understood in the popular media at the time as a kind of ‘slogan’ with a particular emphasis. I assumed that was what he meant by using this phrase; he assured me that he had a more nuanced perspective to communicate. The key to our disagreement was that he then said it was my responsibility to listen and understand what he intended to communicate, and my problem if I didn’t get what he meant. Conversely, I suggested that it was his responsibility to understand how I would hear what he was saying and to use words to ensure that I would receive his intention. In the end we had to agree to disagree, but it is a conversation I have often thought about since.

Does the onus lie on the speaker or the hearer to make sure communication is clearly understood?

And what does that have to do with hospitality?

Missiology 101 tells me that as someone who has a good message to proclaim, the onus is on me to make sure that my words are being heard and understood by those I am seeking to communicate with, rather than expecting or assuming that they will know what I intend. We call it “contextualisation,” that is, making sure our message is communicated in a way that makes sense to those who are receiving it. To me, this is a form of hospitality. I invite someone into the conversation in a way that is welcoming when I focus not so much on what I want to say, but on what they will hear and receive.

I think hospitality is often misunderstood. The mental picture many people have is of inviting someone into their home. Which is a lovely, welcoming thing to do. However, there is an important caveat. In many ways, our home is our “turf.” It is the place where we feel most comfortable, and where we do things our way. If we invite someone in to that, but expect and assume that they will “fit in” with us, are we truly being welcoming? Or is hospitality about making the other person feel comfortable, choosing to accommodate ourselves to their way of doing things, making sure they feel at home?

True hospitality is the attitude of making someone else feel at home rather than simply being in our home.

What would it look like to live that kind of hospitality in speech and in action?

My church has recently started partnering with a Christian community who speak a different language to us, many of whom are refugees and have left everything they have known behind. I see their joy in their eyes as they come into a place where they can speak their own language, and eat food that is familiar to them, and feel comfortable knowing that they understand what is expected of them. I imagine that in nearly every other aspect of their lives this is not the case. Everywhere they go they are expected to fit in with us, speak like us, do things our way. And yes, that is part of the process of learning to live in a new culture. But what if instead of the church being just one more place where they are the outsiders who are expected to find ways to fit in, what if we as followers of Jesus chose to be the ones who learned their language, ate their food, did things their way? What if we went out of our way to be the ones who were uncomfortable so that they might feel at home?

That’s a challenge. That will be more difficult. That’s the kind of hospitality that is costly as we sacrifice our own comfort and ease for the sake of the other. That’s the kind of hospitality of a church whose early leaders chose to become like outsiders in order to share their hope with those on the outside. That’s the kind of hospitality of a church whose head is a God who condescended to become a human being in order to demonstrate his great love for humanity.

Today would be a good day to be in a village in Malawi

It’s time for another Monday travel post from me, talking about somewhere in the world I have visited and why I would like to be back there today. One of my goals in travelling has been to challenge the way I see the world and its people, to remind myself that the way I live is not the way everyone lives, and to consider what it means to be a global citizen, and in particular, one of the wealthiest 1% of global citizens.

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And so one of my goals in sharing these travel posts is to challenge those who read them likewise. To challenge your perceptions of people and places around the world, and to challenge you in how you respond to your place amongst them.

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Today, I’m thinking about a rural village I visited in Malawi. I’m not going to name it, and I’m trying to be very careful about which photos I share, because I am conscious of how easy it is for someone like me with access to this kind of platform to unthinkingly exploit those who do not have the same voice or opportunity I have to share their own stories. I want to be very careful because I know that I do not fully understand their stories, and I do not want to do them an injustice by misrepresenting them. I certainly don’t want you to feel sorry for them. But I do want to remind myself, and hopefully you, that there is much for us to learn from their stories, and to be challenged by, once we realise the privilege and power we don’t even recognise we have compared to them.

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What did I love about this village in Malawi?

The hospitality and welcome of the people to an outsider like me.

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Their willingness to share so freely what they have, not realising that their generosity with the relatively little they have puts me to shame when I think about all I have and yet how tightly I can hold onto it.

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The food (or some of it)! Although I find nsima (maize porridge) itself a bit stodgy and tasteless, I am amazed at the flavour that can be brought to the relishes eaten with it with a few simple ingredients. My favourite was futali, a sweet potato and peanut dish that tastes so much better than I could have imagined combining those two things could.

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The landscape. Wide open spaces, fresh air, glorious sunsets, a blanket of stars at night.

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What did I learn from this village in Malawi?

The significant reminder that the way I live is not how most of the world lives. The stark reality of the fact that my life is privileged in a way that most people will never comprehend.

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The everyday realities of living in a place where the average income is around $2 a day and more than 1 in 10 adults are HIV positive.

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The babies room at the village orphanage – heartbreaking

The huge difference a small investment of foreign aid can make, and the exponential difference people willing to live in this place and walk day by day with the community can make.

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The simple provision of a water pump like this has the potential to change lives by reducing disease or allowing girls to go to school instead of cart water long distances

And most of all, that too many of the maxims my society seems to unthinkingly live by are actually lies. Having more does not make you happier. Waiting until you feel you have all you need to give does not make you more generous. Having a beautifully presented home does not make you more hospitable. Wealth is not the deserved reward for hard work.  And saying “charity begins at home” does not absolve us from responsibility to care about people in other places, but rather calls us to extend the love and mercy we have learned in caring for our families to those most in need, however far away they may be.

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As my government prepares to hand down its budget this week, with predicted cuts coming out of our already depleted foreign aid giving, this challenges me greatly today.