Embracing the idea of hospitality and actually putting it into practice are two different things. Human beings, though wonderful and beautiful, can also be confounding, conflictual, worrisome and dangerous. Perhaps nobody knew this better than Dorothy Day, who, once she opened her houses of hospitality, found herself at times challenged by people who suffered from any number of ills, including just being plain cranky. Even at their best, human relations are not easy.

I noticed this in my own parish after we started literally keeping the doors to the church open. As I stopped in to pray one day, I heard snoring coming from one of the pews. An unhoused man had decided it was a good place for a nap. I couldn’t blame him. More generally, we notice that a small but significant portion of the people who knock on the parish door—perhaps in response to an evangelization initiative—have mental health issues. Welcoming people in such cases can involve forms of caregiving that we don’t feel equipped to provide. How should we respond?

How, moreover, are we to show good hospitality in general? When new people show up in our church, do we even see them? Is the eucharistic celebration itself welcoming? Do we invite them to coffee? Do we introduce them to others?

According to the Bible, hospitality is our duty. Leviticus 19:33-34 reads: “When an alien resides with you in your land, do not molest him. You shall treat the alien who resides with you no differently than the natives born among you; have the same love for him as for yourself; for you too were once aliens in the land of Egypt.”

Abraham and Sarah put this into practice when three strangers show up outside their tent. They greet the men and provide them with a resting place, a foot bath and a good meal (Gn 18:1-8). By doing so, they unwittingly serve God directly, in an encounter that previews Jesus’ teaching: What you did for the least of these, you did for me (Mt 25:31-46).

For the Christian, this matter of hospitality would seem to be straightforward, a given. But lately, it has seemed to me that the word hospitality sums up the challenge of discipleship. Doesn’t hospitality mean simply welcoming God and neighbor into one’s life, in line with the two chief commandments proposed by Christ (Mt 22:37-40)? The reality is more complicated. 

My hope is that we Catholics can deepen our commitment to hospitality, both in our parishes and in our daily lives. I note that in the course of the day I face this challenge repeatedly. I’ve begun to ask myself: Have I written people off in advance, to the degree that I won’t even talk to them? When I do enter into a conversation with someone, am I really listening? Beyond that, am I willing to enter into an actual friendship with that person? Without thinking, I answer yes or no to such questions all day long.

Even in prayer, it is possible to shut others out. We tend to glamorize being an individual, independent—the perfect product of modern Western culture. Not long ago I realized that often when I pray the Our Father I do so in an individualistic way. Though the words of the prayer include our and us and we, I mostly think in terms of my own needs and relationship with God. Even when I say this prayer in unison with others at Mass, I barely sense that we are doing this together on behalf of ourselves and all people. No wonder Pope Francis constantly reminded us that no one is saved alone. We must remember that we are interdependent and responsible for one another.

I have resolved to work on this, and it occurs to me that Mass is the ideal place to do so. Here God has invited us in. Here the readings challenge us to open our hearts. Here we are invited to the table—both the eucharistic table and, by way of that, the heavenly banquet. From this place we are sent to open our hearts to our neighbors.

Calling us to attention is the host. Note the etymological richness of this word. It comes from the Latin hostia, which means “victim,” but it also goes back further to the Indo-European root ghosti, which means “stranger” and “guest.” Deriving from this origin are a number of modern words that enjoy a familial relationship. These include guest, hospitality, hostel, hospital, hostile and hostage. Our eucharistic host, thus, by association, points to God, who is at once the one who welcomes us, the guest we receive and the victim who has been sacrificed on our behalf.

I pray our communion will help us to show true hospitality to others, especially now, when so many of us struggle to welcome the stranger, whether the migrant, the refugee or the person who lives differently or thinks differently. Our “Eucharistic Prayer for Reconciliation II” expresses it well:

Holy Father, we humbly beseech you to accept us also, together with your Son, and in this saving banquet graciously to endow us with his very Spirit, who takes away everything that estranges us from one another. May he make your church a sign of unity and an instrument of your peace among all people….

Amen.

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Timothy P. Schilling serves on the staff of the Center for Parish Spirituality in Nijmegen, the Netherlands. He is the author of Lonesome Road: A Memoir of Faith.

This article appears in April 2026.