As a young mother and recent convert to Catholicism, I struggled with the idea of hospitality and what role it should play in our family life. How, I wondered, could my home reflect the divine hospitality of Jesus’ words: “Love one another as I have loved you”?
My conventional upbringing offered me one model: The constant presence of grandparents and older people had given me many examples of true Southern hospitality (see “New World Hospitality”).
Yet the limitations of that gracious society became glaringly obvious when I considered that, as a Catholic, I would not have been welcomed. Colonial hospitality may have been fine for the privileged gentry, but what about the black slaves, the poor whites, and the Catholics of the eighteenth century? They had little, if any, share in the “universal hospitality” of the Old Dominion. Nevertheless, hospitality was undeniably right and good.
But where to begin? I was a struggling middle-class American woman scorched by failed feminist notions. Catholicism in the 1970s seemingly had little to say on the subject. There was a lot of talk about political and social injustice and serving the poor but little about the hospitality that is a necessary part of family life. Moreover, the solutions commonly proposed had more to do with radical socialism than the gospel, and I knew that was not—could not be—the answer.
The result was that our Catholic life was limited almost exclusively to Catholic moral teaching. Meanwhile, I longed for the fullness of truth. I longed for the vast, deep, and infinitely fulfilling life of Catholicism.
Where Have You Gone, Polite Society?
As I looked around me, it became obvious that I was not the only one who longed for a more civilized world. In our disordered age, the longing for a more cohesive society is evident in such things as the continuing popularity of Jane Austen’s novels and of period-dress dramas such as Master and Commander and Little Women. It seems they evoke nostalgia for a more cordial time governed by universally understood social norms. We even see it in the real estate market, with agents using terms such as gracious and traditional to sell period-style suburban homes. Whatever the reasons, it is obvious that Americans are seeking models for living in the “good old days” of the eighteenth century. But I knew that concept of hospitality was inadequate.
Happily, as a new Catholic, I was beginning to understand that two hundred years is not much time by Catholic reckoning. “Whatever is not ancient is soon old,” wrote G. K. Chesterton. As a Catholic, I could draw on more ancient traditions for wisdom—much more ancient.
St. Benedict, the founder of monasticism, in the sixth century wrote the Rule of St. Benedict, which informs monastic life to this day. The rule offers guidelines for monastic life. An entire chapter is devoted to hospitality (see “Old World Hospitality”). St. Benedict said the purpose of his rule was:
to establish a school for the Lord’s service. In drawing up its regulations, we hope to set down nothing harsh, nothing burdensome. The good of all concerned, however, may prompt us to a little strictness in order to amend faults and to safeguard love.
What could be a better reason for the virtues of etiquette and hospitality than “to amend faults and to safeguard love”? If our homes are to be missionary outposts of the universal Church, they need to be schools for the Lord’s service every bit as much as a monastery. “Charity begins at home” may be a bit of a cliché, but it would have gotten the nod from St. Benedict.
In both the family home and the monastery, hospitality parallels the hierarchy of loves: It begins with love of God and of family, then spreads to friends, guests, and the larger community. A Catholic home must be welcoming, orderly, and harmonious—a haven for every soul who enters.
When, Where, and How to Do It
That seems like a mighty tall order for a young couple with six energetic children. But we started small. The most obvious place to begin was at the family table. Our efforts to have civilized and convivial meals began simply enough. The table-talk began for toddlers with little sung rhymes about manners, such as:
Get your elbows off the table, little boy, little boy I’ve told you once or twice and it’s really not so nice Get your elbows off the table, little boy!
It also included jokes about eating gaffs, such as Edward Lear’s “I eat my peas with honey.”
Having guests for dinner was a big help. We were careful to make them child-friendly—often older folk, unmarried friends, or beloved priests. The guests were delighted to be with young children, and the children benefited, too. It gave them an opportunity to show off their good manners and to be admired for them by our exalted guests.
Conversation is a learned art, and there is no end of topics to discuss, so long as the exchange is civil. We made our rules and expectations clear, repeatedly and firmly. Teasing and ridicule were prohibited, and we tried to avoid criticism and unpleasant topics at the table. On a deeper level, these occasions provided our children with an image of adult Christian life that remains with them today as they begin their own families.
Despite evidence to the contrary, the dining table doesn’t have to degenerate into a cacophony at the common trough. It can be a place where everyone can share in a communion of persons. Our efforts paid off. The teenage years, despite their reputation for general barbarity (and we had six teenagers) did not bring us the disaster and disappointment expected by secular culture but really interesting conversations and more sophisticated jests. The table talk that had been difficult with toddlers became, in time, natural and very interesting young-adult conversation. It was not unusual for such conversations to last late into the evening.
We set aside Sunday evenings for a particularly festive meal followed by family prayer. In the teenage years, this weekly occasion evolved into “Dinner and Discussion.” At these summer events, the teens met at our house for soccer, games, and dinner. Afterwards, an adult speaker spoke to our guests—who were sprawled about our family room. Many of the same adults who had joined in rhymes about manners when the children were younger now brought their wisdom on such topics as getting a job, staying safe from predators, finding a college, chaste romance, making a budget, and volunteering in the community. But it wasn’t all business. We also had dramatic readings of plays and stories, which have always been an important part of our family life.
We also looked for impromptu opportunities for hospitality. Soccer and volleyball games were one. We often invited teammates, friends, and parents to our house for after-game spaghetti and pizza. The opportunity for Christian exchange and encouragement that these impromptu events of hospitality offered was golden. The geniality of these evenings led to natural conversation between parents and teens, and that led to organized service projects and charitable volunteering—thus the little community continued to grow.
It’s a Foretaste of the Heavenly Banquet
Although, as a young convert, I had rejected as inadequate the conventional hospitality of my ancestors, as a mother of six grown children, and now grandmother of eight, I have had to restore my regard for many of the conventions that I once threw away.
Through many mistakes and misinterpretations, I came at last to realize that the manners and rules of civilized society are what pave the way for true morality and for moral understanding. A Catholic home has so many opportunities to live the works of mercy, both spiritual and corporal. Years of building the family’s community of love with my husband and for our children and their friends taught me that without hospitality, the moral life remains stark, harsh, and unattractive.
The art of hospitality can be a foretaste of heaven. It is indeed “a school for the Lord’s service” and a true “safe guard of love.” Hilaire Belloc put it this way:
Where e’er the Catholic sun doth shine
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!