A few years ago, the whole world got tossed into a blender, and someone hit “frappé.” The COVID-19 pandemic turned everything upside down, and for a brief moment, we all heard the same chorus: “We’re in this together.” It was the battle cry of the day, stand shoulder to shoulder (well, at least six feet apart) and look out for each other. And at first? We actually did. Neighbors checked in on each other, folks dropped off groceries to shut-ins, churches set up food banks; there was this real sense of community, of people coming together in a crisis.

And then, well… something happened.

The so-called miracle drug showed up, promising to fix everything and let us all hug our grandmothers again. But there was a catch. Just take the shot, and we can all be together again. Now, I’ve read a history book or two, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the government doesn’t exactly have a spotless track record when it comes to telling the whole truth. So, like many others, I made the personal decision to say, no thanks. And that’s when I got to see firsthand what “we’re in this together” really meant: We’re in this together…as long as you agree with me.

Suddenly, people I had known for years were looking at me sideways. My body, my choice? Apparently, that only applied in certain situations. I watched my hometown unravel, not because of the virus, but because we disagreed on something. Friendships broke apart, family gatherings got tense, and the whole idea of unity cracked like a cheap plate dropped on a tile floor.

But the real heartbreak? That came from people inside the church.

At the time, I was a lead cook at a private school. One day, they announced that all employees had to get the shot if they wanted to keep their jobs. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the rule itself. Lets be honest institutions love their policies. What shocked me was the reaction of my brothers and sisters in Christ. These were people I had stood beside in worship, people who had prayed over me, people who said they believed in standing firm in faith and conviction. But when it came to this? Folded like a lawn chair in a hurricane.

Some told me to just give in, “Come on, man, don’t make this a big deal.” Others agreed with me in private but wouldn’t dare say a word in public. And the ones who did speak? They stood with the school, not with a fellow believer trying to walk in conviction. That was a hard pill to swallow.

And that’s not just a pandemic problem…that’s a Church problem.

Too often, we see believers shrink back when it’s time to take a stand. Someone feels called to a mighty work of God, but if it gets too uncomfortable, or if it rocks the boat a little too hard, suddenly, people get real quiet. Or worse, they start flipping their stance faster than a politician in an election year.

But biblical hospitality isn’t just about opening your home or sharing a meal. It is about standing with your brothers and sisters. It’s about supporting the things of God, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it’s uncomfortable. Hospitality means more than offering a seat at the table, it means having someone’s back when the fight gets tough.

And let’s be clear: we don’t blindly support people just because they say they’re doing God’s work. If someone is walking in rebellion or twisting Scripture, that’s a whole different conversation. But when a brother or sister is standing firm in truth, we have a responsibility to stand with them.

The church isn’t meant to be a gathering of fair-weather friends. We are supposed to be a family; not the kind that smiles for the Christmas photo but secretly can’t stand each other, but a real, unshakable family that supports each other in truth and love.

So, let’s do better. Let’s be the kind of people who don’t just talk about hospitality but live it. Be the one who stands up, stands firm, and takes a stand together. Because if we’re really in this together, it better mean more than just words.

In Judges 9, we get a front-row seat to the drama of hospitality, or the shocking lack of it; set against the backdrop of loyalty, betrayal, and what happens when community support goes awry. The chapter revolves around Abimelech, Gideon’s son, and his ambitious climb to power, highlighting how hospitality (or the absence of it) can change the game in a community faster than you can say “family drama.”

Picture this; Abimelech decides it’s time to step into his father Gideon’s shoes and declares, “I want to be king!” After Gideon’s funeral, he heads straight to the people of Shechem and pulls out the classic “we’re family” line: “You are my brothers, and I am your flesh and blood” (Judges 9:2). It’s like he’s trying to sell them on a family reunion, but instead of barbecue and potato salad, he’s offering a crown.

 True hospitality starts with recognizing our shared humanity and connections. Abimelech’s appeal is a reminder that building relationships on mutual understanding can foster a sense of community, provided you’re not just angling for power, of course.

Despite Gideon saving their skins in the past, the folks in Shechem decide to throw in their lot with Abimelech. Talk about a plot twist! This betrayal isn’t just a disappointment; it’s like spitting in the family photo after Thanksgiving dinner (Judges 9:3-6). Instead of honoring Gideon’s legacy of unity, they pick a guy whose motives scream “self-serving opportunist.”

This chapter serves as a cautionary tale about misplaced hospitality. When community members ignore genuine relationships and rally behind someone who’s all about personal gain, it leads to division faster than you can say “who’s got my back?”

Enter Jotham, Gideon’s youngest son, who manages to escape Abimelech’s mass murder spree. He climbs Mount Gerizim to deliver a spicy little parable, warning the Shechemites about their poor choice to support Abimelech. He likens Abimelech to a thornbush, while the other trees represent noble leaders who actually want to do good (Judges 9:7-21). It’s like a cautionary tale wrapped in a fable, reminding everyone that not all that glitters is gold.

Jotham’s parable emphasizes the need for discerning hospitality. It’s not just about throwing your support behind anyone waving a shiny banner. Choose leaders who genuinely care for the community and aren’t just there for the free snacks.

As the plot thickens, Abimelech’s reign becomes a mess of violence and betrayal, culminating in a dramatic downfall when a woman drops a millstone on his head (Judges 9:50-57). Talk about poetic justice! This outcome serves as a strong reminder that unearned authority and a lack of real hospitality lead to chaos instead of community harmony.

Abimelech’s fall from grace reminds us that hospitality must be genuine and rooted in caring for others. Leaders have a responsibility to foster unity and goodwill, and when they fail to do so, it can lead to a whole lot of mess for everyone.

In Judges 9, hospitality is a mixed bag, woven with themes of loyalty, betrayal, and the dire need for genuine community support. Abimelech’s desperate plea for kinship highlights our need for connection, while the betrayal of Gideon’s legacy serves as a warning against misplaced loyalty. Jotham’s parable reminds us to think carefully about whom we support as leaders. Ultimately, this chapter illustrates that when hospitality is rooted in genuine care and wisdom, it can build thriving communities, but when it’s lacking, it can lead to a whole heap of trouble. So let’s choose our hospitality wisely, keep our eyes open, and avoid any family feuds!

At the end of the day, hospitality isn’t just about setting a nice table or making sure there’s enough food to go around…it’s about showing up. It’s about standing firm when the heat gets turned up, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it costs something. We’ve seen what happens when people choose self-preservation over community, when loyalty gets traded for convenience, and when the Church decides to play it safe instead of standing on conviction. Judges 9 paints a picture of what goes wrong when people extend hospitality to the wrong leaders and turn their backs on those who should have their support. But here’s the thing, real hospitality isn’t just about who gets a seat at the table; it’s about who you’re willing to stand beside when things get tough. So, let’s be the people who don’t just talk about unity but actually live it out. Because if we’re truly in this together, PROVE IT!

Stay Salty