Radically Ordinary Hospitality: A different way to use what we have

Is biblical hospitality radical or ordinary? What if we saw our homes, churches, and schools as resources for others—would we use them more freely?

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When we hear the word “hospitality,” we often think of inviting friends over for a meal or offering coffee in a tidy living room. In today’s culture, hospitality has been tamed—reduced to niceties or commercial services. But as Christine Pohl reminds us in Making Room, true hospitality once carried deep moral weight: It meant food for the hungry, shelter for the traveler, and safety for the vulnerable. It was necessary, not optional.

Today, most of us don’t need to ask for food or shelter unless we’re in crisis—and for those who do, their situation is often treated as an exception to society’s norms. However, centuries ago, nearly everyone relied on the generosity of others, and hospitality was regarded as an essential expression of Christian faith. In fact, this type of hospitality was considered subversive, as it challenged a structure that ignored the needs of strangers by offering care anyway.

At Uncommon Neighbor, we embrace that subversive vision. We believe, as the Danish proverb says, “If there is room in the heart, there is room in the house.” We ask: What if our homes, churches, and schools were seen not as private assets, but as resources for others? Would we open them more freely?

Authors Pat Ennis and Lisa Tatlock echo this in Practicing Hospitality when they say, “A hospitable home is a tool for ministry, not a showcase of perfection.” Hospitality isn’t about flawless meals or designer couches—it’s about a heart willing to serve. And Rosaria Butterfield, in The Gospel Comes with a House Key, takes it a step further: Radical hospitality means treating your home as God’s gift, meant to bless others—even when it disrupts your schedule or stretches your comfort zone.

At Uncommon Neighbor, we create spaces where hospitality moves beyond convenience and becomes a way of life. We open doors not just to guests, but to transformation—our own and others. In doing so, we recover something ancient, beautiful, and urgently needed in our fractured world.

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