Yesterday I was struck by Ed Bahler’s post on the importance of understanding the people who come to your Third Place, whether it be inside the church or a stand-alone coffee shop. And I have to agree with one of Ed’s statements: if it was up to the church, we’d probably have still been doing a feasibility study on how to feed the 5000 while the crowd wandered off to the nearest pub. Can’t you just see the chagrined disciples slinking into the pub long after all the tables were taken with laughing, happy, full seekers? They squeeze in, here and there, and join the conversations that are almost over about the miraculous things the teacher was saying today. Now before someone writes me to tell me that there were no pubs in Jesus’ time, please give me grace. I know that. But I like pubs, and I want to think about some Monty Python-style disciples squeezing through the door. Substitute fire pits with goats roasting and the point is still the same: Christians are often late to the party.

Why? We have all the tools we need to understand people’s hearts better than anyone else on earth. We have the intrinsic motivation to care about the people “out there.” And yet, sometimes from the perspective of those “out there,” we couldn’t care less. It’s not true, of course. We care. We want to do what Jesus did. We want to feed the crowd, turn them into a party, and embrace the goodness of life with them. We want to do what the Master did. We just don’t always know how. How do we dip our bread into the oil and tell stories through the night with the crowd?

When it comes to creating intentional Third Spaces, we need to develop a theology of hospitality, a theology that embraces the recipient of our hospitality with more than respect, with something closer to welcome. If we want to have an atmosphere where seekers can feel comfortable seeking, we have to be careful not to give them our own answers too soon, and we have to be willing to listen to their first attempts at walking through a spiritual journey. Hospitality has long been relegated to domestic divas (yeah…sometimes I am one), but in truth it is a dangerous gifting, leading into deep waters of heartache, care and uncertainty. You see, the people “out there” don’t always follow our plans for them, oddly enough. And sometimes — really — their plan is even better. We have to be strong enough to create a space for the seekers, a space for laughter and comfort and sharing that may seem to have nothing at all to do with the gospel. That is the work of being an incarnational representative of Christ. When the recipient of our hospitality reclines in friendship to start yet another story and perhaps decide to indulge in dessert after all, he is feeling comfortable and safe. We have succeeded.

Creating that haven of “belonging” is what the world excels at. Buy this TV and you are “in” and your sports-viewing life will be better than ever. Come to this restaurant and you will find friends and food to tickle your senses. Wear these clothes and you won’t go home alone. We need to hear these messages, and realize that the world is out there waiting to belong. Now it’s time to welcome them home.