A Christmas Question

Dear Eugene,

What does it mean to be hospitable in an inhospitable world?  This seems to be one of the many Christmas questions that haunts humanity still.

I like my new kitchen, but I really would rather have my old one back.  Does wealth discredit a Christian's discipleship?  I am sure many wise people would have many wise things to say about this topic.  The reality for me, though, is simple: that my hospitality in this family sanctuary will now need to dance on the slippery veneer of vanity that is my sparkling new counter-top.  I love its singular uniqueness but am not too sure about where its grain pattern leads.

Everything beautiful points towards Jesus.  It does until it doesn't.

I fear I am too well-adjusted a person living too ordered a life for Christ to work through me.  I am not hospitable and am frequently afraid of its implication.  I am not saying this just to entice your consoling counter-argument and thus double down on my vanity.  The fear is real, both of what it means to be inhospitable and what it takes to fight the damnable habit.

I am afraid to invite a family to come over this Christmas, a family much less privileged than my own.  I am afraid they would know me only for my kitchen.  I am afraid my kids can't even pretend to act friendly towards theirs.  I had nightmare that my guests would remember the night for what they don't have and miss the Jesus that we could all have.

The first time in my life I rode in a private vehicle was after the birthday party of a "wealthy" ("have-money" in Cantonese) childhood friend, his mom driving me home, giving me the first pleasure of a little moving space of my own, a sheltering cabin summoned especially to take me to my destiny.  When I finally left the car I had to try thrice to properly close the door.  I was afraid to slam it and cause damage to something so special, so precious.

The mom was nice to drive me home.  But I remember the experience for the shame I felt.

What does it mean to be hospitable in an inhospitable world?  This seems to be one of the many Christmas questions that haunts me still.

Yours, Alex

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