There was a couple from a local church, God-loving folks, full of heart, big family, the whole nine yards. They had a house already bursting at the seams with kids, noise, and barely enough peace to finish a sentence before someone spilled something or started crying over a stolen toaster waffle.

One day, a teenage girl from the youth group needed a place to stay. She was sweet, but life had roughed her up. She didn’t just need a bed, she needed healing, guidance, support, and probably a counselor or three. The couple, doing what they thought was right, welcomed her into their home. They believed love would be enough.

At first, things seemed fine. She helped around the house, went to church, seemed grateful. But over time, cracks started to form. She began spending more and more time talking with the husband, one-on-one, and not including the wife. Not necessarily scandalous, but enough to start whispers, enough to cause distance in the marriage. The wife noticed, tension grew, and eventually the peace in that home unraveled. The girl moved out, but the damage was done. The marriage continued to wear down over time until it finally broke. And though there were many reasons for the collapse, the wife always pointed to that season, the decision to take that girl in, as the beginning of the end.

Another family from a different church saw a struggling family in their community and decided to help. They jumped in with food, money, rides, the whole package. Their hearts were in the right place, but their preparation wasn’t. They didn’t pray first. Didn’t ask God if they were the right ones to step in. And before long, the family they tried to help ended up draining their finances, sowing tension in their marriage, and pushing them to the edge. They weren’t ready for the spiritual, emotional, and financial weight of what they were trying to carry.

These remind me of a story; there’s this old story about a farmer. The town had been in a drought for months, everything dry as dust. While most folks sat around waiting for rain, this old guy was out in his field, plowing like the harvest was coming tomorrow. People thought he was nuts, why waste the energy? But he said, “If I wait for the rain to start getting ready, I won’t be able to do it in time. Better to work the land now so I’m ready when the rain comes.”

He wasn’t crazy. He was wise.

You see, all those families had good intentions. They genuinely wanted to help. But they weren’t equipped they weren’t ready to help. They stepped into a deep calling without armor, without backup, and without checking in with the One who sends the rain in the first place. And when things got heavy, they didn’t ask for help, they just tried to muscle through. And that never ends well.

That’s why it matters that we prepare. That we study, train, pray, and do it with purpose. Because hospitality isn’t just about making someone feel welcome. It’s about carrying them when they’re tired, guiding them when they’re lost, and protecting your house while you do it.

If you try to serve a full-course meal with an empty pantry and no recipe, don’t be surprised when things fall apart.

So plow your fields now. In the dry season. When no one’s looking. Get ready before the need shows up at your door, because when it does, you won’t have time to scramble. You’ll need to be ready to serve, love, and lead well.

Hospitality is holy ground. Treat it like it.

Let’s be honest, most of us have hosted like the overzealous Pinterest mom on espresso shots. We see a need, feel a tug in our spirit, and next thing you know we’re biting off more than we can spiritually, emotionally, or financially chew. All in the name of “being hospitable.”

But hospitality, real hospitality, ain’t about jumping in headfirst without checking if the pool’s got water. That’s not brave, that’s a concussion waiting to happen. And when it comes to the things of God, jumping in without Him? That’s how you end up in a mess, with your spiritual casserole burning and the guests wondering what they just walked into.

Picture this; The Ark of the Covenant had been crashing on the Philistines’ couch for a little too long, and let’s just say… it wasn’t exactly the kind of houseguest you gently nudge out with hints and passive-aggressive coasters. This was God’s presence, and it came with power, and plagues. Lots of them.

The Philistines, after breaking out in tumors and divine regret, decide, “You know what? Maybe we weren’t ready to host the living God.” Ya think?

So, in an oddly charming act of divine Doordash, they load up the Ark on a cart, pair it with a guilt offering of golden tumors and rats (because nothing says “our bad” like gold-plated vermin), and send it back to Israel with two untrained cows as chauffeurs.

Even these idol-worshipping Philistines had the sense to say, “We’re out of our league here.” That’s not weakness, it’s wisdom. They showed more reverence by admitting their limits than some churches do trying to fake strength.

Now picture this: two mama cows, freshly separated from their calves (mooing their little hearts out), are set loose with the Ark. Everyone’s watching, thinking, “There’s no way they make it to Israel.”

But lo and behold, they trot straight down the road to Beth Shemesh like Uber drivers on a holy mission. No GPS. No map. Just divine guidance,  

“We’re on a mission from God” – Elwood Blues.

Here’s the point: even cows had enough sense to obey God without needing a committee meeting or a twelve-week discernment class. Maybe, just maybe, if we let go of our instincts and lean into the Spirit, we could follow the path too.

The folks in Beth Shemesh? Elated. God’s presence is back! Time to celebrate! They throw the first BBQ sacrifice party using the cart and cows, 10/10 on enthusiasm.

But then someone says, “Hey, let’s take a little peek inside the Ark. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Spoiler alert: mass casualties.

It’s like throwing a welcome home party for your boss and then lighting his desk on fire for laughs. Hospitality without reverence isn’t just tacky, it’s dangerous. God’s holiness isn’t something to be trifled with, and treating sacred things like party favors never ends well.

Knowing When to Say, “This Is Above My Pay Grade”

The people of Beth Shemesh, having just learned that lesson the hard way, basically wave the white flag and call up the guys in Kiriath Jearim to come take the Ark off their hands. Was it embarrassing? Sure. But it was also the smartest thing they could’ve done.

They weren’t equipped. And rather than fake it and keep causing damage, they humbled themselves and asked for help. That’s hospitality with wisdom. That’s ministry with maturity. That’s faith with discernment.

See, all of this wildness teaches us a key truth: we don’t just wake up ready to host the presence of God or care for His people.

That’s why we train.

That’s why we study.

That’s why we practice.

That’s why we pray with purpose.

Because hospitality, whether it’s toward man or God, requires preparation. Not perfection, but preparation. So that when the moment comes, when the Ark is heading your way, when someone in need knocks on your door, when God whispers “now”, you’re not scrambling to fake it, you’re standing ready to offer real rest, healing, and honor.

It’s not just for Sunday morning greeters or potluck coordinators. This applies to every part of life. Parenting. Leading. Pastoring. Serving. Living. True hospitality isn’t performance… it’s practiced obedience wrapped in humility.

So What’s the Takeaway, Chef?

Here’s the spiritual mise en place:

Don’t invite guests, especially the Holy One, into a space you haven’t prepared.

Don’t say yes to things God never asked you to do just because you want to help.

Don’t go solo. Hospitality is a team sport, and the Holy Spirit is the MVP.

Train. Study. Practice. Pray. On purpose. With purpose.

Know when to cook the meal and know when to pass the apron.

We are called to be people of welcome, healing, rest, and growth. But you can’t offer those things if your spiritual kitchens on fire, your soul’s running on fumes, and you’re trying to serve filet mignon when all you’ve got is instant noodles and pride.

True hospitality requires God’s guidance, Spirit-led limits, and the humility to say, “I need help.”

And that’s not a sign you’ve failed.

That’s the moment you’ve finally started to get it right.

Stay Salty