There was a season in my life where I did everything in my power to not end up in ministry. You ever white-knuckle your way through disobedience? That was me. I was Jonah with a GPS and a gas card, running hard in the opposite direction of Nineveh. Every time someone said, “You should be in ministry,” I’d smile, nod, and mentally yeet the idea straight into the sea like unwanted cargo… NOPE!  I didn’t want the weight. I didn’t want the responsibility. And, let’s be honest, I didn’t want the church drama.

But what I didn’t realize was that by rejecting God’s calling on my life, I wasn’t just saying no to a job title, I was saying no to healing. No to purpose. No to peace. No to my identity. And things stayed hard. My relationship with God felt distant. My marriage was strained. My kids got the leftovers of a man battling himself. All because I was trying to live a life that looked good on paper, instead of living the one God actually designed me for.

Then one day, someone saw through all of it. They didn’t flatter me. They didn’t coddle me. They didn’t hand me a mic and say, “You’re amazing.” No, they stood in biblical authority, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “You are called. Stop running. God is telling you it’s time crap or get off the pot. If you wont do what God has called you to do he will find someone else and its never good when God lifts his calling from your life. ”

And that… that was hospitality.

Not the kind that hands you sweet tea and a welcome packet. The kind that hands you a sword and says, “It’s time to fight for who you are.” The kind that says, “I’m not affirming who you think you are, I’m calling out who God says you are.”

This is the kind of hospitality we see explode to life in 1 Samuel 16. This chapter isn’t just about leadership transition or prophetic obedience, it’s about empowering someone to walk in their God-given identity. It’s about making room, not just at the table, but in the story. Real, biblical hospitality says: You belong here because God made a place for you.

God opens the chapter by asking Samuel a question that slices deep: “How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel?” (v. 1). Translation: Stop crying over what I’ve already moved on from.

God’s next instruction is hospitality in action: “Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.”

This isn’t just a leadership pivot. It’s God actively preparing a space for healing and redirection. Samuel is being invited to participate in the restoration of Israel by identifying and empowering the right man, David. Hospitality, in its truest form, always begins with God’s invitation and our willingness to respond.

Picture this: Samuel doesn’t exactly hop in an Uber chariot and rush to Bethlehem. He’s afraid. Saul is still king, still dangerous, and still unpredictable. Samuel says, “How can I go? If Saul hears about it, he will kill me.”

Ever notice how hospitality often asks us to risk something? Our comfort, our safety, our reputation? Samuel obeys, but it’s an obedience soaked in risk. That’s real hospitality, it doesn’t always feel safe, but it is holy.

Samuel shows up in Bethlehem, and the elders are shaking in their sandals: “Do you come in peace?” That’s code for, “Is the judgment of God about to drop here?”

Samuel reassures them. He creates space, consecrates Jesse and his sons, and invites them to sacrifice and worship. In doing so, he transforms a fearful environment into one that is ready to receive the move of God. Again: Hospitality is not about keeping people comfortable. It’s about preparing hearts for transformation.

Jesse brings in his older sons first. Tall, impressive, strong. Surely these are king material, right?

But God tells Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height… The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

And here it is… the mic-drop moment. Every person Samuel sees gets passed over. Until they run out of sons. Or so it seems.

Samuel asks, “Are these all the sons you have?” And Jesse’s like, “Well… there’s the youngest. He’s out with the sheep.

That sentence wrecks me every time.

David wasn’t even considered worthy enough to be invited to the ceremony. His own father didn’t see his potential. That should tell you something:

Just because someone doesn’t see your worth doesn’t mean God doesn’t.

Samuel says, “We will not sit down until he arrives.” Boom. Biblical hospitality. Making space for the one the world left behind.

David walks in smelling like sheep, with dirt under his fingernails and divine destiny on his shoulders. God says, “Rise and anoint him; this is the one.”

And right there, in front of everyone who underestimated him, David is empowered.

That oil wasn’t just tradition. It was identity. It was purpose. It was God saying, “I’m calling you into something bigger than you ever imagined.”

This is hospitality at its deepest: Calling someone into their God-given purpose, even when they don’t look the part, feel ready, or meet anyone’s expectations.

Here’s the hard truth, you can’t grow into who God made you to be while fighting the identity He gave you.

You can chase dreams the world handed you, you can try to become someone that gets applause, but if it’s not rooted in His design, it will not produce life. It will drain you. It’ll hurt your relationships. It’ll leave you bitter.

That was my story. Every step I took away from my calling was a step toward chaos. But the moment I surrendered, when someone had the boldness to speak truth and not just “nice words”, everything changed. I stopped striving and started walking. I stopped pretending and started living. Now did that mean everything became perfect and easy? Far from it. a lesson that David will learn too but those are stories for later.

That is the heartbeat of biblical hospitality: Creating an environment where people can stop fighting and start healing. But that healing can only happen when we’re aligned with the identity God has placed on us.

After David’s anointing, the Spirit of the Lord came powerfully upon him. And while the text doesn’t detail the party afterward, we know biblical culture well enough to assume, there was a celebration.

Because when someone steps into their God-given identity, the community gets stronger.

When a father rises up into his calling, the family gets healthier.

When a mother walks in her purpose, the home becomes peaceful.

When a young man or woman stops running and starts serving, the church comes alive.

Hospitality is not just about inclusion. It’s about igniting the calling in someone else so that everyone can benefit from what God placed inside them.

Too often, modern hospitality gets confused with affirmation. “You’re valid. You’re amazing. Be your truest self.

But that’s not the hospitality of the Bible. God didn’t tell Samuel to affirm Eliab’s muscles. He didn’t say, “David, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

No, God looked at the heart and called out destiny. Biblical hospitality isn’t about affirming every identity, it’s about inviting people into the right one. The one God knit into them before they were born.

It’s not about making people feel comfortable in their dysfunction; it’s about calling them into alignment with God’s purpose so they can heal and flourish.

That’s what happened to me. That’s what happened to David. And that’s what can happen in our homes, churches, and communities when we stop playing nice and start walking in truth.

So maybe the next time we think about hospitality, we don’t picture throw pillows and casseroles. Maybe we stop imagining it as potlucks and polite smiles at the door. Maybe instead, we picture a trembling prophet with a flask of oil in his hand, standing in obedience. Maybe we see a forgotten shepherd boy smelling like sheep and rejection, being pulled from the sidelines and crowned with purpose. And maybe, just maybe, we see a God who refuses to let His children stay stuck in someone else’s shadow, shackled by expectations that never came from Him.

Hospitality isn’t soft.

It’s not fragile.

It’s not about appearances or making people “comfortable.”

Real hospitality is strong. It stands in the tension between who someone is and who God says they are, and it calls them forward.

It’s honest. It doesn’t flatter. It tells the truth, even when it costs. It says, “I see who God made you to be, and I’m going to walk with you until you believe it, too.”

It’s holy. Set apart. Sacrificial. It looks like making room at your table and in your heart. It looks like obedience when it’s awkward. It looks like anointing someone no one else even invited to the lineup.

Hospitality, done right, doesn’t just make people feel welcome.

It makes them feel known.

Chosen.

Sent.

And if we really understand that, if we get this right, it’ll change how we raise our kids.

It’ll change how we lead our churches.

It’ll change how we love the hurting, how we disciple the struggling, and how we steward the people God has trusted us with.

Hospitality isn’t about giving people what they want.

It’s about making room for who God created them to be.

And when we start offering that kind of hospitality?

We’re not just hosting people.

We’re hosting revival.

Stay Salty