Two years.

It’s been two whole years since I’ve had good Chinese food. Not “passable,” not “well it’ll do,” but real, sit-down, don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-eating Chinese food.

Now, as many of you know, my family and I packed up our lives in the mountains of Vermont about three years ago and traded snow shovels for sand between our toes. We moved down to the coast of Savannah; beautiful, warm, and full of Southern charm. But let me be clear:

There are two major differences between Vermont and Georgia:

Georgia has beaches.

Vermont has good Chinese food. Georgia… does not.

Let the record show.

This week, I found myself driving up the East Coast to give a training on biblical hospitality (which you can check out in our site menu… shameless plug over). In the days leading up to and on the trip, I hadn’t really eaten much. Not on purpose, I was just too focused on the prep and the travel and the “gotta get there” of it all.

Now I know some of you are sitting there thinking, “Andrew, you? Forget to eat?”

Yes. I know. Shocking.

But ask my wife. It happens more than you’d think.

(Although, once the hunger hits, it does feel like a semi-truck rear-ended my stomach.)

So here I am, rolling up the I-91 corridor, the cold mountain air coming in through the window, and all of a sudden it hits me like divine revelation: I’m near Brattleboro. I’m near The Panda North. Now, if you’re not from the area, let me educate you.

The Panda North isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a legend. It’s my hometown spot. The place that has white tablecloths, polished chine, garnishes that look like they came out of a Food Network competition, and staff who actually make eye contact and care that you’re breathing. Black vests. Big smiles. It’s the kind of hospitality that says,

“We’ve been expecting you.”

And no joke, I walk in, and before I even hit the hostess stand, I hear a voice:

“My friend! We haven’t seen you in a long time.”

It was the same sweet woman who’s been working that front desk for years. Still there. Still warm. Still making people feel like family. That, my friends, is hospitality.

I sat down. The waitress hands me a menu I didn’t need (because when you know, you know). I look up, smile, and say:

“Kung Pao Chicken. Extra. Extra. Spicy.”

But not just the menu is spicy.

I look at her dead in the eyes and say,

“Don’t let my skin color fool you. I don’t want it to be “White Spicy’, I want it how the kitchen crew eats it.”

She squints at me.

“Are… you sure?”

I grin.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

She walks off, and a few minutes later the food hits the table, steaming hot, smelling like heaven, and laced with extra dried peppers. But then… she did something that stopped me in my tracks.

She gently sets down a small bowl beside my plate.

“This,” she says, “is what the kitchen crew puts on theirs. But be careful, it’s very spicy. Like, painful spicy. If you want the full experience, go for it. But it might hurt. Use it at your own risk.”

Now let me tell you something, that was real hospitality. She didn’t just throw it in my food without warning. She didn’t talk me out of it like I couldn’t handle it. She gave me the full experience, but she gave it with a warning and a choice.

So of course I dumped it on. And oh yeah… it hurt. Halfway through the dish, I bit into a dried pepper soaked in that hot oil and, friend, I saw every sin I’ve ever committed. It was that kind of hot. My face turned red, my ears were ringing, and I’m pretty sure I saw into the spirit realm. But I also couldn’t stop eating. Because it was that good. It was painful, but it was worth it.

And while I’m sitting there, sweating through my shirt and thanking God diet coke, it hit me: That’s the same kind of hospitality Jesus offered James and John. Let’s be real: if church ads were honest, they’d probably say something like,

“Following Jesus: It’ll cost you everything you thought you wanted… but give you everything you actually need.” Instead, way too often, we hand new believers a spiritual brochure that sounds more like a vacation resort pitch:

“Come to Jesus! Endless peace! Eternal happiness! No suffering! Great views!”

Then, when the first storm hits, BAM!, they’re shipwrecked wondering if they got sold a bad deal. But Jesus? Jesus never did that. He gave out the real invitation: hospitality with a warning label. James and John: The Sons of Thunder Walk Into a Bar…

Let’s talk about Mark 10:35–45.

Picture this: James and John, these two fiery brothers (nicknamed “Sons of Thunder,”  you know they were a handful), roll up to Jesus and ask Him for something huge: “Hey, when you’re King, can we sit right next to You in glory? One on Your right, one on Your left?” In today’s terms, that’s like applying for CEO and Vice President before the company even launches.

Now, if it were me, I might’ve laughed, rolled my eyes, or sent them to HR.

But Jesus?

He shows hospitality. He welcomes their question. He doesn’t shame them. He doesn’t yell, “Who do you think you are?” Instead, He does what real hospitality always does: He invites them into truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. The Cup and the Baptism: Not Exactly Room Service

Jesus answers:

“You don’t know what you’re asking. Are you able to drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I’m baptized with?” (Mark 10:38, my paraphrase.) And they, bless ‘em, say, “Sure, Jesus! We got this!” Spoiler alert: they had no idea what “the cup” or “baptism” meant.

Here’s the breakdown: Cup (Greek potērion, Strong’s G4221) wasn’t a fancy goblet filled with sweet wine. It was the cup of suffering, the destiny of hardship and sacrifice, straight from Isaiah and Jeremiah. Baptism (baptisma, Strong’s G908) wasn’t sprinkling a little water and calling it a day. It was full-body immersion into overwhelming trials. Jesus wasn’t handing out perks.

He was handing out reality: Following Him meant dying to themselves. It meant suffering. It meant laying down dreams of status and glory. Hospitality, real hospitality, doesn’t sell you an easy ride. It says: “Come on in. You’re welcome. But bring your cross, it’s going to get heavy.” Context Clues: Read the Room Leading up to this moment, Jesus had just told the rich young ruler, “Sell everything and follow Me.” And guess what? The rich guy walked away sad. (Mark 10:22) Right after James and John’s little request? A blind man named Bartimaeus cries out, not for glory, but for mercy. (Mark 10:46–52) James and John wanted thrones. Bartimaeus wanted sight. Guess who walked away healed?

The point?

Jesus never promised perks. He promised a Person. Himself. He didn’t sugarcoat the cost of following Him, He spelled it out in neon lights. The Church Today: Selling Jesus Like a Timeshare Somewhere along the way, modern church culture decided to play PR manager for Jesus: “Come to Jesus and your business will double!” “Find your breakthrough!” “Your best life now!”

Listen.

Following Jesus is absolutely the best life, but it’s not the easiest one. If you follow Him thinking it’s all blessing and no blood, you’re going to get knocked flat when life punches you in the mouth. The problem isn’t Jesus. The problem is false hospitality, pretending the cross is made of marshmallows. True Christ-like hospitality is: Telling the truth in love. Welcoming people into the family and into the fight. Preparing them to carry their cross, not just their blessings.

Real Hospitality: Welcome to the Party… Bring Your Cross, When James and John asked for crowns, Jesus offered them crosses. And He didn’t say it with bitterness. He said it with love. He showed them, and shows us, that the greatest in His Kingdom aren’t the ones who sit on thrones. They’re the ones who kneel, serve, suffer, and sacrifice. Because spoiler alert again, Jesus Himself served. He suffered. He gave His life as a ransom for many. (Mark 10:45) If we want to follow Him, we’re signing up for the same. And the most hospitable thing we can do is invite others into the whole truth, not just the good feels and pretty Instagram quotes.

Final Thoughts: Be a Good Host, if you’re leading someone to a stronger relationship with Christ, if you’re discipling, mentoring, welcoming someone new into the fold, tell them the truth. Tell them: “You’re loved.” “You’re welcome.” “It’s going to hurt at points.” “It’s going to be worth it.” Because hospitality isn’t just about offering a seat at the table. It’s about telling them what dinner really costs. And the Host of Heaven is still saying: “Come. Bring your cross. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Stay Salty