He Who is Least Among You

"Once we have become poor, we can be a good host. It is indeed the paradox of hospitality that poverty makes a good host. Poverty is the inner disposition that allows us to take away our defenses and convert our enemies into friends... since we have nothing to lose but all to give."
-Nouwen

I stumbled across this quote on the blog of a friend of a friend this AM. I had never visited that blog before but I believe God wanted me to see this particular quote. I don't know who Nouwen is or where this quote can be found, but I found it extremely powerful- especially after spending the morning frantically cleaning and fretting. Why? Only because two women (who have been here before... several times) were coming over for a very informal Bible study.

I remember when I toured with a singing group from college and stayed in peoples' homes that the least wealthy were almost always, without a doubt, the best hosts. I didn't figure that out back then. Back then, I'd always wait with bated breath to see how big and fancy the house was. When we'd gather back together in the morning, stories would be flying to see who had stayed at the most extravagant home. There are specific things I remember: a home so large I couldn't find my way to my bedroom. One that had a kitchen so large you could fit the entire downstairs of my house in it. One family had a daughter in a private high school for politician's kids around DC. In one of these fine households, the family left before we woke, leaving us no breakfast and my roomie and I tried to figure out how to make "toast" in a microwave and went through half of loaf of bread before we trudged off hungry. (Yes, I can cook... now.) I don't have any pictures of any of my host families and I remember very little about them. But Rod has stories about a family who really couldn't afford to keep anyone but did anyway. We have pictures of them. They were so thrilled to be allowed to host kids and Rod could tell you details from staying there. And his stories aren't horror stories. They are stories about what good hosts they were.

I remember during my public health rotation in undergrad that the patients we would visit were always so thrilled to be getting nursing students. One elderly couple had barely enough to eat. There was one orange in a bowl on the table. But the precious lady insisted that we split it four ways, one quarter each for me, my nursing student buddy, herself, and her ailing diabetic husband. I have memories of children in Costa Rica bringing me tiny treasures that belonged to them as going away gifts when I visited there one summer. Villagers in Jesus de Otoro, Honduras, showering us with gifts when we visited my sister who lived there during her years in the Peace Corps. Every experience genuine and memorable- because the people didn't give things- they gave of themselves.

It's so easy when we have a lot of stuff to dish stuff out and feel like we've accomplished something. When I went to Moldova we handed out toys we had collected to the orphans. I was appalled at what some people had offered. Broken McDonald's Happy Meal toys... they couldn't part with the ones that weren't broken? Sheesh! I wanted to give them the very best and what we had looked like junk.

I don't want to offer junk. I want to offer my best; I want to offer me; I want to offer- not just me- but the very best me there is. I don't want to be embarrassed by what I gave. I pray that I will keep in touch with my own poverty so that I will only strive to offer my very best.