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Naming is deeper than labeling. It includes the labels we give to things and people, but it is primarily a matter of the heart. Names are given in the heart and then embodied in words and actions. Names are first and foremost expressions of relationship. Embedded in our words and actions are the names we give to and receive from others. Gestures of value, nods of recognition, glances of curiosity, looks of compassion and signs of paying attention build up one another. Alternatively, when negative words and actions combine, naming can strip or even threaten a person’s life.

My childhood home was a row house (what we would now call a townhome) with seven people—five children and two parents—with five bedrooms and one bathroom. Our living quarters were full. One would not expect such an already crowded home to welcome guests, and certainly not overnight visitors. But it did.

I liked the idea better when it was only talked about in the leadership meeting. Putting it into action was difficult. That idea, the “three-minute guideline,” suggested that in the last three minutes before the church service began and in the first three minutes after it ended, leaders would greet only people we didn’t know. While I’ve always felt empathetic toward newcomers, I found I really just wanted to talk to the people I knew. It was . . . easier, more fun.

Henri Nouwen remains one of the most prolific and insightful writers when it comes to spirituality and ministry. In this combined field, the recurring theme of hospitality stands out as a key focus in a number of his works. Much has been written on the topic of hospitality and how it figures within the broad umbrella of spiritual ministry. Henri Nouwen’s unique take on it is hailed by many as the most nuanced, if not the most substantive, in this area of study. The sheer expansiveness of his treatment of the subject is unparalleled, although his conclusion is strikingly plain and simple: ministry is all about hospitality, and real hospitality is what embodies an authentic ministry.

Christianity is more than a way of thinking; it is way of worship and a way of life. Christianity derived patterns of thinking, worshipping, and living through sustained reflection on scripture. In the patristic era ethics, spirituality and theology were grounded in biblical interpretation. Consequently, the best method to explore the spiritual and theological implications of the practice of welcoming the stranger is to consult the central biblical texts on the subject. The locus classicus of biblical notions of hospitality include two Old Testament examples—Abraham and Sarah receiving the three strangers (Genesis 18), Lot’s welcoming the two angels at the gate of Sodom— and two New Testament passages—Christ’s declaration, “I was a stranger, and you took me in” (Matthew 25) and the exhortation to “show hospitality to strangers” in Hebrews 13:2. 

To walk up to the Homeboy Industries building in the shadow of Los Angeles City Hall is to find yourself in the middle of a community with surprising similarities to a monastery. There, in gang-neutral territory, former gang members dressed in various colored T-shirts with the slogans “Jobs, not Jails” and “Homeboy Industries” sweep the sidewalks, step aside to let you pass, and say, “Hello, Ma’am” or “Hello, Sir.” As you open the door, you are greeted by a 20-something male receptionist who smiles and speaks to you more politely than the teen who lives next door to you ever has.

The 2008 American Religious Affiliation Survey made headlines (and the cover of Newsweek) with the announcement that the single fastest-growing category of American religious life is “no affiliation.” In less than twenty years, the percentage of people who listed “none” as their faith identity nearly doubled, from 8% to 15%.  This category has grown so quickly that it now outnumbers all but two Christian denominations. The percentage of people who call themselves Christian has dropped 11% in the same period. Meanwhile, affiliation with virtually every major Christian denomination plunged.  The “nones” appear to be beating the “nuns,” noted author Stephen Prothero, although he demurred somewhat from the conclusions generally drawn from the survey.

As I join this conversation about mysticism, I think it best to confess, at the outset, a certain awkwardness. Adding my voice to a
discussion on this topic generates within me an emotion similar to what I imagine a guest at a formal dinner party might feel if
he arrived wearing torn jeans and a badly stained shirt. Other contributors are better equipped than I to describe and draw you into
experiences of prayer, meditation, and sacred reading that can satisfy the deep hunger in your soul for communion with God. Integrity
requires me to focus more on the hunger than its satisfaction.

After performing at the Ozark Mountain Folk Fair in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, in 1973 John Michael Talbot began to reconsider his life. What seems so remarkable about this was his age—nineteen—and the fact that most would say he was on top of the world. After all, he and his brother, Terry Talbot, were the heart of a country-rock group known as Mason Proffit, which had fronted for some of the biggest acts of that era, including the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin. Nonetheless, John Michael had the sudden revelation that his life
was empty and sad.

Mystics have ears and hearts turned to another world, that of the Divine.  Amidst my busy modern life, I’ve tried to keep turning and tuning my heart to God.  However, one practice that the Holy Spirit quickened off the pages of a book fifteen years ago changed my spiritual life forever:  the night watch.