HOSPITALITY IN THE HOME by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Dec 7, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 48.

HOSPITALITY IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

WE all love to entertain our friends; there is no question about it. We would willingly, gladly, put ourselves out, and be to all sorts of trouble to make them feel at home when they visit us. But when it comes to entertaining strangers, why that's another thing. But I suppose the text above quoted applies to all strangers of every nationality—even to that much-despised and often much-dreaded stranger, the tramp. The duty can not exclude even him. Whether this means that we ought to give them a piece of bread and a drink of milk in a tin cup, out in the back shed, or not, I shall leave to the individual conscience of my reader. But we all know this kind of entertainment would not work at all with our friends.

We have read the wonderful account of the regal entertainment Abraham gave the three angels who came to him one evening, in the plain garb of men. As I have read the simple story, I have tried to imagine how it would seem for people nowadays to offer such courtesies to strangers. Can we imagine a wealthy man—for such Abraham must have been considered in his day—hurrying to meet the party of entire strangers whom he sees coming, and bowing to them as politely as if they represented some royal personage? Ah, little does the grand old patriarch imagine that they are fresh from the courts of glory. Did you ever think what trouble and pains he took to get them a good supper? Most of us would hardly feel like taking so much pains as that, even for our friends. O, what is the reason that we so seldom have, nowadays, an example of real, old-time, old-fashioned Christian hospitality?

How would we feel if we thought that we had ever refused a drink of water or a morsel of bread to an angel from heaven? I trust we have none of us ever done that, but we can not be sure, if we ever turn the stranger away from our doors when he is hungry. I suppose that eternity will bring us many surprises. It will reveal the fact that many and many a time when we supposed we were dealing with men, we have been making a record that will be read throughout eternity,—for we have been entertaining a divine messenger.

O, if we could only remember the priceless value of a human soul! It matters not how the poor body may be clothed, whether in the height of fashion or in the dusty garments of the wayfarer,—that soul is worth more in the sight of heaven than a whole world of gold and silver. Yet how carelessly and with how little respect we sometimes treat these same poor souls.

The rich Mrs. Blank has a necklace of diamonds. She values it highly because it cost almost a fortune. She keeps it locked in a safe when not in use, and bestows great care upon it. But ah! the price of the human soul is above rubies. The cost was the life-blood of the Son of the Eternal. Then can we do less than to exercise the kindest hospitality toward those precious ones for whom such a price has been paid?

Have you ever called at certain homes, and, altho an entire stranger, felt such a kindly feeling of hospitality in the very air, that it was with regret that you left the house? But alas, it is not often so. Even the little children partake of the spirit of the home.

One day I remarked to a friend—a dear, warm-hearted, sensible, little body,—"I think I would teach a child to discriminate between a decent, cleanly person and a tramp."

I shall never forget her noble reply:

"O yes; but, my dear, even the poor tramp has a soul, and it might be the touch of baby's pure little lips that would save that soul for whom Christ died; and so, should my child incline to kiss even a ragged beggar, I could not forbid her."

My eyes filled with tears; and to-day, I say, God bless that noble little woman.

O, we can find room in our hearts and homes for our own, but it is hard to remember that we are all brethren.

More than fifty years ago a very sad tragedy occurred in western New York. It was related to me a number of years ago, by a friend who was an eye-witness of the affair, and I was so deeply impressed with his recital, that I penned the following lines. Ah! if we would only learn to use hospitality one toward another, without grudging:

I saw a lone wanderer, wretched and old, As on through the shadows he pressed, The bleak winds of winter were cheerless and cold As the day king surrendered his chariot of gold, And sunk in the shadowy west. I saw him again in the darkness of night, As he wearily tottered on, He had seen the gleam of a friendly light Which shone like a star on his failing sight, When his courage was almost gone. I saw him again, as with trembling form, He stood at the rich man's door, Within, there was nourishing food so warm, Without, there was darkness and pitiless storm, O, how could he wander more? Within was life, and without was death; For the wintry blast was cold; Without was the storm king's angry breath,— "O give me shelter!" the old man saith, "I am weary and poor and old." But the rich man turned with a cruel stare, And a cold and pitiless tone, Not a crust from his bountiful board could spare, Not a crumb for the perishing soul to share, For his heart was as hard as stone. I saw him again, as with tottering feet, And with wild eye fierce and bright, He sunk to rest, and his rest was sweet, And the spotless snow was his winding sheet, On that terrible winter's night. When earth in her springtime robes was dressed, And the wintry storms were o'er, They found him where he had sunk to rest, With his Bible clasped to his frozen breast, He slept to wake no more.