There’s a pastor I know, humble, wise, kind of a dork (but we love him for that) but deeply committed to his calling. Not flashy, not loud. Just steady. Faithful. The kind of man who doesn’t chase platforms but chases God. He found himself in the middle of a church situation that was handled poorly. Not just poorly, it was a mess. It lacked biblical wisdom, grace, and honestly, any ounce of the Holy Spirit. He did his best to offer guidance, to pull things back toward Scripture and away from pride. But the leadership at the top? Too busy looking at their own reflection to see God in it. It would have been easy for him to walk away. He thought about it. But instead of reacting, he pulled back. He went to the Lord, asked what to do, and waited.

And in that waiting, God reminded him of something simple but profound: He made a covenant. A commitment. Not just to a role or a job, but to a church body, to a people. So he stayed. Not because it was easy. But because obedience isn’t always easy. And that, friends, is hospitality. Biblical hospitality isn’t just about a casserole or a greeting at the door, it’s standing in the gap, even when the gap is full of fire.

That pastor reminds me of Jonathan in 1 Samuel 18.

We often reduce hospitality to food and shelter, a home-cooked meal, a warm bed, a smile at the welcome center. And yes, that’s a piece of it. But 1 Samuel 18 shows us something far deeper. This chapter is thick with drama: deep friendship, dangerous jealousy, schemes, songs, and spears. But running through it all is a thread of radical, sacrificial hospitality, the kind that shows up when someone commits not just to a person but to the will of God itself.

Jonathan, the king’s son, had every reason to resist David. By all accounts, Jonathan was next in line for the throne. David was the shepherd boy turned giant-killer, the rising star in Israel. Anyone with a taste for power would’ve seen David as a threat. But Jonathan? He saw a friend. More than that, he saw the Lord’s anointed. And he chose loyalty to David not because it made sense politically but because it aligned with the heart of God.

Verse 1 says Jonathan loved David “as his own soul.” That’s not casual affection. That’s covenant language. That’s “your pain is my pain, your success is my joy, your future is my priority” kind of love. And then, in verses 3-4, Jonathan makes it official. He strips himself of his royal robe, his armor, his sword, his bow, and his belt, the very symbols of his status and authority, and gives them to David.

That wasn’t just friendship. That was prophetic hospitality. That was Jonathan saying, “What I’ve been given, I lay down for the sake of what God is doing.”

This wasn’t a one-time gesture, either. Jonathan continued to defend David, support him, and speak truth in hard places, even as his own father turned darker and more desperate. Jonathan knew what most of Israel didn’t yet realize: God had shifted the line. The throne was no longer in Saul’s house. It was moving to David’s. And instead of fighting against that, Jonathan honored it.

He didn’t just show hospitality to a friend; he showed hospitality to the future. He opened his hands to what God was doing and said, “Yes, even if it costs me everything.”

That’s rare. But it’s needed.

We have Jonathans sitting in our pews every week. Men and women who quietly say yes to God’s plan, even when it costs them their comfort, their preferences, or their position. People who welcome others into roles they once held. People who cheer on those rising behind them. People who know that following God isn’t about preserving your name, it’s about exalting His.

This message isn’t a condemnation for those who have struggled to do that. Let’s be real… we’ve all had our Saul moments. We’ve all clenched our fists around something we were supposed to surrender. We’ve all side-eyed the person God is raising up next to us, wondering why it isn’t us.

This isn’t a rebuke. It’s a reminder.

A reminder that none of us are perfect, but all of us are invited to do better.

Jonathan could have chosen resentment. He could have let the whisper of pride sink in and tell him he deserved the crown. He could have tried to sabotage David just like Saul did. But he didn’t. He showed us that real hospitality is about laying yourself down for the sake of something bigger.

He made room for someone else’s calling.

And in doing so, he honored the heart of God.

Hospitality isn’t always flashy. Sometimes it looks like sticking it out in a tough ministry season when walking away would be easier. Sometimes it looks like advocating for someone God is clearly using, even if they make others uncomfortable. Sometimes it looks like laying down your sword and saying, “You first.”

And let me just say this to every weary soul who’s doing that day in and day out, we see you. We are praying for you. You may not get a song sung about you like David did. You may not get a robe and a ring. But God sees every moment you choose humility over pride, service over status, obedience over ego. And He is well-pleased.

I know ministry can be hard. Church can be messy. People can be fickle. But we need Jonathans. Desperately. We need people who will be the quiet voice of reason in a loud room. We need those who will stay when it gets hard, not because they’re stubborn, but because they’re faithful.

We need those who will stand in the gap and say, “Y’all may do the easy thing, the selfish thing, but not me. Not today.”

Jonathan didn’t just love David, he loved Israel. He wasn’t acting out of sentiment or some personal bond alone; he saw the bigger picture. He recognized that David’s anointing wasn’t just about replacing Saul, it was about restoring God’s heart to the throne. Stepping aside wasn’t just a gesture of friendship; it was an act of obedience for the sake of an entire nation. His loyalty to David was ultimately a loyalty to God’s plan, and his hospitality, the laying down of his rights, position, and future, was a gift to everyone who would one day thrive under David’s leadership.

And that brings me right back to my pastor friend, the one still faithfully serving in a church where some leaders can’t seem to pull their eyes off the stage long enough to look for God’s heart. Just like Jonathan, he’s choosing to stay. Not for applause, not for position, but because he sees the people. He sees the flock. He knows that his obedience, his staying, his praying, his steady voice of truth, isn’t just for now. It’s a gift to the congregation’s future. He’s standing in the gap, not because it’s comfortable, but because it’s right. That’s hospitality. That’s leadership. That’s the kind of heart God uses to shift things, for a church, for a city, for a generation. That’s the kind of hospitality that shifts generations

It’s the kind of hospitality that echoes into eternity.

And we can walk in that, too.

So maybe the challenge for us today isn’t just to open our homes or share our tables (though we should). Maybe it’s to open our hearts to the uncomfortable work of letting go. Maybe it’s to support the next leader instead of competing with them. Maybe it’s to stay when you want to quit. Maybe it’s to be the one who doesn’t throw a spear, even when one’s thrown at you.

Hospitality, at its core, is about making room. Room in your life, room in your heart, room in your ministry, room in your future. And it’s not always easy. But it’s always worth it.

Because when we make room for what God is doing, we find ourselves swept up in something so much bigger than us. Something holy. Something eternal.

I look at my pastor friend, still standing firm in the gap, and I can’t help but say, I want to be more like him. Faithful. Humble. Obedient. Willing to stay when it’s hard, speak truth when it’s costly, and love people even when they can’t see the full picture. Because that’s what hospitality looks like in real life, and that’s the kind of disciple I want to be.

We all need to take a lesson from my friend… He’s still there 100%. Still loving. Still praying. Still guiding. Still standing in the gap. And when you look at his life, you don’t see bitterness. You see peace. The peace that comes from knowing you didn’t run. The peace that comes from keeping your covenant.

That’s hospitality.

That’s Jonathan.

That’s the heart of God.

So, wherever you find yourself today, leading, following, fighting discouragement, or just trying to hang on, know this: you are not alone. You are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, both in heaven and here on earth, who are cheering you on. Keep going. Keep serving. Keep loving.

And above all, keep making room.

Because the King is coming. And He’s bringing a Kingdom that’s built not on pride, but on people like Jonathan.

People like you.

Stay Salty