Saying For Today: Elijah sitting there was a sign of inclusion, of hospitality. We had invited into our space someone few of our race would. Even as a child, I knew how remarkable was this moment.
Rose of Sharon (Blue Hibiscus ...)
Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens; Boothbay, ME
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Elijah, now sitting at our dining room table to share a meal with us, had just helped us guide our run-away horse back to the pasture. He was the oldest of three children. He was dark skinned, we white skinned. His family was the only black family living in our neighborhood. His sitting there would be a rare site, and oft unacceptable, in the deep South USA in the 60s. Elijah sitting there was a sign of inclusion, of hospitality. We had invited into our space someone few of our race would. Even as a child, I knew how remarkable was this moment. I remember it vividly, now over fifty years ago.
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Come to me ...
*Jesus, Gospel of Matthew 11.28
Surely there is a window from heart to heart ...
*Rumi. "The Water is Calling the Thirsty." Trans. Kabir and Camille Helminski. In Kabir Helminski, Ed. The Pocket Rumi.
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Note: In this work, as usually I use "heart" for our essential self, or True Self, the connection between our presence and Presence - what some call God, Creator, Father, Mother, ... I sometimes refer to "heart" as do Quakers, or Friends: that of God in everyone. The Sufis teach the heart is the point at which the self and Spirit are joined in one. Accordingly, my use of heart does not connote the emotional aspect of the self, as in common usage; however, neither does it exclude emotion.
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The mind decides whom to welcome or not based on its past. The heart lives in the present, the timeless, and is the welcoming itself. The heart welcomes spontaneously.
The key is to move from welcoming to being the welcome. This conversion is from the head to the heart. The more you live from the heart, the essential self, the more you become welcoming. Hospitality is not merely something we do; it is who we are; hence, there is no separation between you and welcoming.
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Flee from the foolish; even Jesus fled from them. Much blood has been shed by companionship with fools! Air absorbs water, little by little; even so, the fool drains you of spirit.
*Rumi. "The Companionship of Fools." Trans. Kabir and Camille Helminski. In Kabir Helminski, Ed. The Pocket Rumi.
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Being welcoming does not exclude wisdom. And wisdom entails decisions about whom to include or not in the physical spaces we share. There is no absolute inclusion in the relative realm. Hence, we honor the teaching to wed compassion and wisdom. While the heart is never unwelcoming, wisdom means we cannot include everyone in a group or our lives in some naive idea of inclusivity or radical hospitality.
Not to include does not mean being exclusive, not when the act is from wisdom. Instead, we are responsible, for example, to respect the boundaries of the groups we engage in and, likewise, to respect ourselves wisely enough to choose whom we spend time with or allow into our dwelling places. Rather than seeing ourselves as excluding, the behavior or loyalties of others can exclude them, for example.
As I say of where I live, an Inn - everyone we meet may be a Christ, but not every Christ belongs at the Inn. Consequently, even in not including, you can remain hospitable toward everyone, for you have not excluded the other from your heart. Physical space is a secondary space, while the heart space is the essential place of welcome.
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This reflection today reminds me of the Inn where I live as a host. The Inn, called Inn Along the Way, is an open space. Persons come as they will and leave as they will. It is a safe space. No one has to agree on religion or politics. They do not have to be of a particular religion, race, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, or economic class. All belong, who choose to belong.
That is what we humans desire - to belong. Hence, welcoming, or hospitality, which includes presence and action, makes possible belonging. Yet, not only can places be places of belonging, we each can be such a place. In being welcoming, you are creating a space for others to find belonging.
You yourself can become the safe, freely-given space. Accordingly, from a spiritual view, hospitality does not begin with what you do but what you are.
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While sitting out under the tree at midday, enjoying a drink after a morning walk, three words arose: "Come to me." These words resonated with me, as they did during my youth and often since. I mused upon these words attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew 11.28. The musing was a sitting with and listening gently, deeply to, not an attempt to get meaning from them.
I will share a few brief thoughts on the passage. I do so, for the wisdom of these three words applies to anyone on any spiritual path.
"Come to me" is an invitation. As I have often written here, Presence is invitational. The nature of Spirit is welcome, is hospitality. When the heart comes forth, there is a common space for another to enter and meet with you.
Buddhism often refers to this space as "spaciousness." The ego has been trained to constrict. The heart is expansive. The sense of self might include or exclude others based on fears and preferences. The heart does neither. That is, the heart provides the space for meeting to occur.
The Buddhist practice here is "generosity." The first of the six paramitas, often called transcendent perfections, is generosity. An act of generosity is giving the self. In hospitality, you are not giving only something, you are giving yourself. Hospitality is an act of creating communion. The other given - physical space, words, deep listening, food ... - are sacraments of hospitality. They are means to communicate yourself.
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Buddhist teacher, Vimalasara - Valerie Mason-Johns - in "Sujata's Offering," writes of learning that giving is, also, receiving ...
I was raised in an orphanage run by Christians. The act of giving and receiving was at the heart of this charity. People donated so much to us orphans, and we in turn were taught to give. I learned that true generosity wasn't about just giving; it was also the act of receiving.
*Florence Caplow, Susan Moon. The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women.
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Communication of self entails receptivity of the other. Aggression manifests when hospitality takes on the tone of, "I'm doing this for you." The one given is objectified, and the giver is in a position of control. This manipulative action guards oneself against vulnerability by asserting subtle control in the appearance of kindness. In communion, one opens in openness to receive that the other comes bringing their gift, as well. Hence, hospitality is reciprocal.
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The heart is invitational by not aggressively pushing away or pulling to. One is honored as free to enter into the common space or not. One is content, for example, for another to choose friendship or not. The heart, see, is not needy. The ego may get needy, and from this arises an over-assertiveness to pull others into its orbit. Yet, when one finds fulness within oneself, all given arises as a gift, and there is no desperation in the offered kindness.
Hence, "come to me" are words connoting the heart posture of a spiritual contemplative. Such ones express the spaciousness others can freely move into and out of. Others may sense this non-aggressiveness and feel freer to respond to the silent welcome. And silent welcome means Presence itself is the welcome, and so are you.
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Our practice is learning to trust the abiding hospitality that does not have to do anything - this is one reason introverts can be as hospitable as extroverts, sometimes more so, for the introvert is less likely to feel in need of getting energy from interaction with others. Then, wedding this natural compassion with wisdom, we can act in welcoming ways, grateful for those who enter and leave our lives.
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An image of welcome is found in Jewish mysticism, in which Abraham and Sarah are portrayed in a tent with an opening in the four directions. The image is of spontaneous hospitality. They are not going out to get anyone to visit, nor are they calling anyone to their tent. The openings say all that needs to be said, silently. May we live like that - non-grasping toward all, welcoming to everyone.
This welcoming can be with someone who visits our home, someone we meet standing in the line at the store, we meet as we walk down the sidewalk, someone we meet on our walking path, ... If we are alert, we will see our lives are filled with moments to act hospitably.
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We never know how a moment of generosity can change a life. Once, after the break-up of a relationship, accompanied by loss of job and home, I was driving back into the community where I lived and was soon to leave. I had nowhere to move and little money, not enough to put a deposit down on a rental. I was emotionally exhausted and distraught. A woman was driving out of the neighborhood. I had never met her. She waved, smiling, to me, and I waved, smiling, in return. Ten years later, I recall that moment of hospitality by a stranger. Her kindness was a fresh breeze of comfort and renewed within me a sense of not being alone in this world. Her grace uplifted my spirit into the blessing of life again.
In what ways can you brighten our world through small acts of generosity and hospitality? Do you recall a time when hospitality was a healing salve to you?
*Use of photography is allowed accompanied by credit given to Brian K. Wilcox and notation of title and place of the photograph.
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse.
