One Sunday morning, some years ago, as my son Neil and I were returning to New Orleans from visiting my mom in north Alabama, I said, “Let’s try to make church at Eutaw. That’s where Grandpa Henderson grew up.”
As we approached the church, I told Neil, “If anyone other than the pastor invites us to lunch, we’ll say ‘no.’ But if he does, I’d like to do it.”
Anyone who knows me knows my love for pastors. I’m always glad to meet a brother laboring in the Lord’s work.
We knew no one at that church. But I figured that my son had distant relatives in the congregation, for one thing, and for the other, I know small-town Southern hospitality.
We had lunch with Pastor Rick Williams that day. He assured us his wife had made a great lasagna and salad, and that she and her mother and their adult daughter were attending a function at a nearby town immediately after church. She had even suggested that he invite us to lunch.
Hospitality. It’s a great concept, particularly if you are away from home and on the road.
In the old days, hospitality was an essential of life. In a time when and in countries where few hotels and restaurants existed, you depended on the kindness of strangers.
Pastor Adrian Rogers was preaching at our church. At one point, he said, “Joe, do you ever get up to Memphis?” I said, “Once in a while.” He said, “Well, my friend, when you come to Memphis, don’t ever worry about a place to stay or a place to eat.”
Long pause.
“We have some of the finest restaurants and hotels you’ve ever seen.”
I laughed. A great line. But not what I was expecting.
These days God’s people are no longer dependent on people opening their homes to strangers as in the old days.
That’s good. And yet we’ve probably lost something.