I recently returned from a remote village in rural northwest Alaska. I’d been attending a regional Lutheran conference there. The highlight—aside from hours of singing gospel hymns and participating in business meetings—was visiting people in their homes and accepting their hospitality.
The exteriors of the homes I visited had weathered by the harsh arctic climate, but the interiors were warm and bright. People offered me caribou soup, rolls, stacks of fluffy pancakes, and just-right scrambled eggs. During previous visits to the area, I’ve enjoyed dried fish, greens in seal oil and bowls of akutaq, an ice cream made from berries and whipped reindeer fat, which is more delicious than you might think. I am keenly aware that, in an economy not based on cash, but on subsistence hunting, harvesting and hard work, the nourishment offered to me is very generous. Radical hospitality is prevalent here. I’m humbled by it every time.
When have you experienced radical hospitality? What was that like for you?
For those of us raised in a more individualistic culture, it can be hard to accept radical hospitality, even from our friends, not to mention acquaintances or strangers. Many of us were raised with a Protestant work ethic that demands we take care of ourselves, yank ourselves up by our bootstraps, and deny our own needs. Asking for help or relying on others may even make us feel weak.
Singer Dar Williams, in her song, “Iowa,” croons: “But way back where I come from, we never mean to bother. We don’t like to make our passions other people’s concern.” One line hits me every time: “we never mean to bother,” and as it turns out, I grew up in Iowa.
When my second son was born and I had two kids under age three, both in diapers, someone told me to accept every single offer of help. I remember feeling reluctant to do so. Then one day, while I was loading groceries into my car, an older man offered to take my grocery cart back to the store. I burst into tears at his kindness. Suddenly I realized that I needed and deeply appreciated every offer of help I could get, no matter how small.
Lisa A. Smith is an ELCA pastor who loves exploring the wilderness near her Northwest U.S. home. She blogs at pastorlisawrites.com.
This excerpted article appeared in the July/August 2024 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.