When C.S. Lewis wrote his book The Four Loves—a treatise on four ancient Greek words which mean “love”—he skipped a word, xenía. That’s a particular sort of love people show towards xenós/“[welcome] strangers,” also known as hospitality.
I find it odd he missed it, since it’s kind of a big deal in ancient Greek culture. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, his book of moral myths, he told the story of Baucis and Philemon, an old, poor couple from the town of Phrygia, who were the only folks to take in a pair of strangers. When Baucis noticed her jar of wine wasn’t getting any emptier, she realized the strangers were gods: Zeus and Hermes, actually. (And when Barnabas and Paul visited Lystra and healed someone, the Lystrans freaked out and assumed they were Zeus and Hermes,
Or Jesus. Likely you know Jesus’s story of the sheep and goats. If not, here’s a refresher.
“When the Son of Man comes to judge, and every angel with him, he’ll then sit upon his judgment seat, and they’ll gather every people-group together in front of him. He’ll divide them from one another just like a shepherd divides the lambs from the kids: He’ll place the lambs at his right, and the kids at the left. Then the King will say to those at his right, ‘You’ve been blessed by my Father; come! Inherit what’s been prepared for you: The Kingdom God originally intended! For I hungered; you gave me something to eat. I thirsted; you gave me something to drink. I was foreign, you let me join you; naked, you clothed me; unwell, you treated me; I was under arrest; you came to help me.’Then the right-minded will answer him, saying: ‘Master, when’d we see you hungering, and fed you? or thirsting, and gave something to drink? When’d we see you foreign, and let you join us? or naked, and we clothed you? When’d we see you unwell, or arrested, and came to you?’ Answering, the King told them, ‘Amen! I promise you, every time you did so for the lowest of these brothers of mine, you did so to me.’ He’ll then say to those at his left, ‘You damned people, get away from me, into the perpetual fire prepared for the devil and its angels. For I hungered; you didn’t give me anything to eat. I thirsted; you didn’t give me anything to drink. I was foreign; you didn’t let me join you. Naked; you didn’t clothe me. Unwell, arrested; you didn’t treat me.’ They’ll likewise answer him, saying, ‘Master, when’d we see you hungering? Or thirsting? Or foreign? Or naked? Or unwell? Or arrested?—and didn’t serve you?’ He’ll answer them, saying, ‘Amen! I promise you, every time you didn’t do so for the lowest of these, neither did you do for me.’ These went away into perpetual torment. The right-minded into perpetual life.” —Jesus,
Matthew 25.31-46 KWL
Jesus—or the folks he considers his representatives—is xenos/“foreign.”
For too many of us, you gotta be deserving before they offer to help. To such people, help isn’t just help. It’s an investment. Hospitality has a catch.
Hospitality, in our culture.
This was one of the flaws in ancient Greek xenía as well. Their superstitions told them if you were suffering misfortune, it was likely your own fault. If you were deprived, you displeased the gods somehow. If you were blind, either you or your parents sinned. Our social Darwinist culture teaches much the same thing: If you’re poor, you must be lazy.
So here’s the problem with spreading around that story of Baucis and Philemon: The ancients kinda expected some sort of return on their investment. If they were kind to strangers, they figured there should be a karmic payout. They deserved to be blessed in return. Either by the gods, or by the people they extended xenía/“hospitality” towards. While agapí/“love” or “charity” isn’t about itself,
Even when they’re practicing what they call “charity,” they wanna be repaid. Doesn’t have to be an equal return. For some folks, all they want is a simple “Thank you.” But they’ll lose their tiny minds if they don’t get that “thank you.” You’ve seen people who give a gift, expect a thank-you card, don’t get one, and fume over it: “What’s wrong with people these days? Whatever happened to courtesy?”
You’ve also seen people refuse hospitality—not because they don’t want what’s offered, nor because they’re just fine as they are, but solely because they don’t wanna feel obligated.
Xenía is an inadequate form of love for just that reason: It’s never done selflessly. Because xenía looks out for itself. But love doesn’t. Love is patient. And when we Christians practice hospitality, it’s not to be based on xenía, but on love, on agápi.
Love the stranger.
The words most New Testaments use to describe hospitality are related to xénos. Peter instructed Christians to be filóxenoi/“lovers of strangers,”
Xenophobia, in contrast—the fear of strangers—is too often found among Christians who worry about immigration, legal or illegal; who fret over the number of people in our nation who don’t speak English to their satisfaction; who are outraged at the idea of foreigners using our social services; who want our borders closed, our trade restricted, and anyone too out-of-place to learn their place, and stay there. These Christians certainly didn’t learn these attitudes from Christ. They brought ’em into the church with them, and hide them behind codewords of “taking care of our own”—which means not taking care of the stranger. And the less they know Christ, the more restrictive they make their borders… till “our own” consists of a few True Believers within their own isolationist churches, and even some of them are suspect. Fear, not love, reigns among them.
You read the story of the sheep and goats; you know how Jesus feels about this. Follow his lesson.