Ok, if you know me, you know me. I don’t just walk into a room, I arrive. Big personality, big presence, and yes, I absolutely love to take control of the space. If I’m there, you’re getting a story, a joke, a full-blown production if the mood strikes. I live for the energy, the laughter, the connection. That’s my element, that’s my arena, (enter a quote from gladiator) “Are you not entertained?”

But if you really know me, you also know that sometimes, out of absolutely nowhere, I get hit with a freight train of anxiety that don’t make a lick of sense. Now, let me be crystal clear: I do not have anxiety. Nope. Not claiming it, not giving it an inch. But every now and then, I wrestle with it like I’m in the final round of a no-holds-barred cage match.

And here’s the cosmic joke of it all, I love running a room full of people, but I also hate being in a room full of people. Makes no sense, right? One minute, I’m holding court like a king, and the next, every fiber of my being is screaming at me to get out now. So, like any self-respecting large man with a talent for survival, I do what I have to do, I push through, play it cool, and then when I hit my limit, I shoot my wife the look. You know the one. The silent S.O.S. that says, if you love me, distract them while I disappear into the night like Batman.

Most of the time, I pull off the ol’ Irish Goodbye like a seasoned pro. One second, I’m there, the next…poof! Gone. No awkward explanations, no fuss. But every now and then, I get caught. Someone stops me at the door, someone asks the wrong (or right) question, and suddenly, I’m face-to-face with a decision: do I let the panic take the wheel, or do I stand my ground, take a deep breath, and lean into the one thing that’s never failed me, hospitality.

And let me tell you something, every single time I choose to shake off the weight of my own nonsense and just focus on serving, that anxiety? It evaporates. Like it was never there. Why? Because when we stop making it about us, our fears, our insecurities, our spiraling thoughts, and we step into what we were made to do, God shows up. And when He shows up, the battle is already won.

It’s almost funny how simple it really is. When we let go of our own weakness, our own doubt, our own fear, and just let God work through us, we realize something, we were never supposed to carry all of that in the first place.

So yeah, I might have my moments. I might disappear now and then. But when I let God’s strength override my own, when I stop overthinking and start doing, that’s when I remember why I love being in the room in the first place. Because it was never really about me at all.

Now picture this! Israel is in rough shape. The Midianites have been running them ragged, stealing their food, wrecking their crops, and making life miserable. It’s like living in a house where every time you stock the fridge, your freeloading cousins show up and clean you out. That’s where we find Gideon…hiding out, trying to thresh wheat in a winepress, just hoping to scrape by unnoticed.

Judges 6 hospitality isn’t just about being polite, it’s a full-on symbol of trust, reverence, and being ready (even when you’re not) for a divine encounter. Gideon’s story shows us that sometimes, the simplest acts of welcome can become doorways to the supernatural.

Out of nowhere, the angel of the Lord appears and greets Gideon with what might be the most ironic introduction in the Bible: “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior!” (Judges 6:12). Gideon, who is literally hiding. Gideon wanted no part of this battle. He had known that it was people had brought this on to themselves. So, what did he do? he Pulled a Irish Goodbye. (A man after my own heart) You know when this angle called him out, he probably was looking around saying in a De Niro voice, “You talking to me?” with the angle looking up and responding in the same voice, I don’t see anyone else here so I must be. But look at this, despite his doubts, something in him recognized that this moment is bigger than him, or any feels he may have been feeling.

So, what does Gideon do? He shifts into host mode. Even in the middle of scarcity, he prepares an offering, bread and goat meat, because he knows that hospitality isn’t about abundance or how much you may or may not want to; it’s about the heart behind the gesture (Judges 6:17-21). He doesn’t even realize he’s serving a divine guest, but he does it anyway, showing that true hospitality isn’t transactional; it’s an act of faith.

Sometimes, God shows up in the middle of our mess, and our willingness to welcome Him; through a meal, through an open heart, through a simple act of kindness, can turn an ordinary moment into something holy.

Before Gideon’s angelic encounter, Israel had been on a spiritual rollercoaster. They turned their backs on God, got themselves into trouble, and then, surprise! They needed His help again. And instead of saying, “Oh, now you want Me?” God, in His relentless hospitality, sends a deliverer to bring them back (Judges 6:1-10).

This is divine hospitality at its finest: mercy when it’s undeserved, an open door when it should be shut, and a welcome-back party instead of a cold shoulder. God doesn’t just tolerate His people; He invites them back in, over and over. If God can keep His arms open for us, even when we’ve royally messed up, we can learn to extend grace to others. Real hospitality isn’t just for the people who are easy to love, it’s for the ones who need it the most.

Later, when Gideon calls for troops to fight the Midianites, something amazing happens; people actually show up. Not just a few, but thousands. These men weren’t coming for a feast; they were coming for a fight. And yet, this is hospitality in action, people rallying together, sharing resources, and supporting each other for a greater purpose.

Hospitality isn’t just about setting a nice table; sometimes, it’s about standing shoulder to shoulder with the people who need you. It’s about showing up, investing in community, and realizing that unity is its own kind of feast. Opening our doors is great, but opening our lives, our time, our resources, our support, is where hospitality really changes things. Sometimes, hospitality looks like a meal. Other times, it looks like having someone’s back when the battle gets tough.

After his encounter with God, Gideon does something that seals the moment, he builds an altar and names it “The Lord is Peace” (Judges 6:24). In the middle of chaos, fear, and uncertainty, he carves out a space to acknowledge God’s presence.

And isn’t that what hospitality is all about? Creating space for God and others, making room in our lives for peace, for grace, for something bigger than our immediate circumstances. Hospitality isn’t just about what’s on the table, it’s about the kind of space we create in our hearts and homes.

Like Gideon’s altar, we can create sacred spaces in our lives, through prayer, through generosity, through simply making room for God’s peace to settle in.

Judges 6 isn’t just about Gideon’s battle; it’s about how hospitality weaves through every part of life. Gideon’s offering, God’s mercy, the unity of Israel, and the altar of peace all point to one truth: hospitality; true, deep, sacrificial hospitality, is about more than food. It’s about faith. It’s about welcoming God and others, even when it’s inconvenient, even when resources are tight, even when we feel unprepared. Because in the end, those small acts of welcome? They have a divine weight.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Hospitality isn’t just about inviting people to the table, it’s about making space. For God. For others. For grace to move in unexpected ways. Gideon didn’t feel like a mighty warrior, but God saw something in him that he couldn’t see in himself. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the lesson for us too.

Because let’s be honest, most of us have had our winepress moments. Hiding out, hoping to get by unnoticed, feeling like we’re just trying to make it through the day. And then God steps in, calling us to something bigger, something bolder, something that requires us to open our hands and our hearts when we’d rather close them.

So, whether it’s serving a meal, standing by someone in battle, or just showing up when it’s easier to slip away, hospitality isn’t about what we have, it’s about what we’re willing to give. And when we give, when we step out of our own fear and into our calling, we find something Gideon found too: that God’s presence changes everything.

So yeah, I might be the guy who commands a room one minute and vanishes the next, but when I lean into what I know I was made for, connecting, feeding, welcoming, standing in the gap, I remember what it’s all about. Not me. Not my anxiety. Not my comfort. But a God who calls us out of hiding and into purpose. A God who invites us to the table, not just to sit, but to serve.

Stay Salty my Friends