Applied Theology

In the last few weeks I have written extensively on hospitality. Since part of hospitality is sharing our stuff with others, I am trying to make sense of how I should think about my belongings. We can’t do without possessions—we need at least food and clothing—but how much is too much? Here are some thoughts.

One of my earliest memories is that of going on errands in the city with my Mom and siblings. I know my brother was still in a stroller, so I was probably 4 years old. I was whining about having to walk when there was a perfectly good (though occupied) stroller to ride in. It struck my youthful fancy to close my eyes while walking, and since it seemed to entertain me and keep me from whining, I can’t blame my Mom for allowing it.

Remember back when there were no cell phones? We had land lines, but often my friends would just come by and ring the door bell, and I often found myself on my bike, riding 30 minutes to my friend’s house, only to be turned away because he wasn’t home. If he was, we’d hang out. For all the technology we now have, I think we have regressed in our spontaneity and are worse off for it.

Last week I wrote about the Logistics of Hospitality. The article focused on inviting someone to share a meal, which is certainly hospitality. But the definition of hospitality can (and should) be expanded beyond just sharing meals, as a tool of discipling others.

Do you want to be more hospitable, but don’t really know where to start? We are certainly not hospitality experts, but if us two introverts can figure this out, so can you. Let’s look at some of the logistics of hospitality.

What was 2020 like for me? And what are my goals in 2021? If you have been reading along for a while, you already know what 2020 was like, so I won’t rehash details here and just note some higher level things. My 2021 goals are probably not very exciting, but I’ll outline them here as well.

Merry Christmas to you and yours, and a Happy New Year!

“Go to church, you’ll get a candle and a sweet roll,” my Mom says. “And you’ll be out of the apartment so we can finish all the decorating.” She doesn’t say the last part, but it is implied. For most of Christmas Eve, my Mom disappears into the living room, separated from the rest of the apartment by its own door. The murky glass of the door and its key hole were covered up after some clever kids discovered they still allowed peeking. Not this year. Besides some minimal decorations in other rooms or the Advent wreath, nothing has been decorated for Christmas yet: No tree, no ornaments, no wrapped presents. It is blind anticipation. The best kind.

What I miss most about Christmas in Germany is the Christmas markets: Hot chocolate, candied nuts and Glühwein bonbons, baked fish in a roll or a plate of steaming soup. It is a feast for the senses, though unfortunately one foreign here in the States, forcing us to be creative in making the most of the season.

Over the next few weeks, I’d like to share some of our Christmas traditions with you. Advent and Christmas are my favorite time of the year, bar none. It is an experience of the all the senses, but it must start with God’s word.