I talk about her often, but I’m going to brag for a second on my sister Robyn. She’s a Bible teacher, a podcaster (catch her on Blooming in a Cage, available wherever you listen), a mom, a wife, and an OK-ish sister (she’d say the same about me being a brother). But beyond all that, she’s a powerhouse of gospel-centered hospitality.

She lives with a rare and painful condition called EDS, which basically means her body hates her. And yet, she runs the mercy ministry at our home church, a role passed down from our spiritual grandparents, Juanita and Ken Lane.

She doesn’t travel far physically. But spiritually, emotionally, and relationally? She goes miles.

As a dyed-in-the-wool New Englander, she’s got a huge heart for people… she just doesn’t necessarily like being around them. She’s not the hug-first, cry-on-my-shoulder type. She’d rather serve quietly, from behind the scenes. But every week, she shows up at church, face-to-face with hurting people. People who haven’t bathed. People who are angry. People who are broken. Not to mention probably drunk or using…

She listens to them. Learns their needs. Loads food in her car from different donation sites, delivers it to the church , sets it up, prays over it. And when needed? She hugs the stinky ones.

That’s hospitality. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s holy. Because she gets biblical hospitality.

Most weeks she’s in so much pain afterward that her body feels done. But by God’s grace (and a little…… lot bit of Tylenol), she’s back the next day building relationships, teaching others, helping them bloom in places that feel like cages.

Far too often, when it comes to showing biblical hospitality, its like the worship team is harmonizing with Meatloaf: “I would do anything for love… but I won’t do that.” And that’s sad. For the church world, that “that” might look like: talking to someone outside our comfort zone, serving in a rough part of town, or hugging someone who smells like a 3-day-old tuna sandwich left in the sun.

We want to serve… until it’s inconvenient.

We want to love… as long as it’s not messy.

We want to help… if it fits our schedule and doesn’t challenge our boundaries.

But here’s the truth: Biblical hospitality doesn’t stop at the door of comfort. It marches straight through it.

She’s not singing “I won’t do that.” She’s singing “I’ll do anything for love, and I’ll do that too, if it means someone meets Jesus.” That’s Jonathan-level hospitality.

Her actions remind me of Paul’s words in Galatians 6:2, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” What Robyn does week in and week out isn’t glamorous, but it is powerful. It’s love made visible. Her willingness to step out of her comfort zone, to move past preference and into obedience, shows the kind of hospitality that brings heaven to earth.

She embodies Isaiah 58:10 “If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday.” That’s the kind of light she brings to our church family. Even in her own pain, she chooses to pour out her strength for others. And that’s a holy kind of hospitality.

But beyond the food and hugs and planning, there’s something even deeper happening, discipleship. Robyn doesn’t just feed bodies, she plants seeds. She believes that the same way she blooms through her own pain, others can bloom in their bondage. She sits with people in the trenches of addiction, mental health, trauma, and poverty, not as a fixer, but as a faithful presence. She isn’t trying to be a hero. She’s just showing up with her broken body and saying, “I’m still here. God is still good. Let’s find healing together.”

That kind of presence echoes Jesus Himself, who was often found reclining at tables with the outcasts, the lepers, the overlooked. Robyn’s life whispers to the forgotten, “You’re still seen. You’re still worth showing up for.”

Let’s zoom in on 1 Samuel 23 a chapter where David is literally running for his life. And in the middle of betrayal, ambushes, and divine plot twists, we see hospitality show up in powerful, unexpected ways.

Picture this: David has just saved the town of Keilah from the Philistines. You’d think the people would be grateful and offer him safety. But when Saul shows up with a death warrant, the same people David rescued are ready to hand him over. Hospitality, for them, had a limit.

Contrast that with Jonathan. Saul’s son. Next in line for the throne that David’s destined to take. And yet, he shows up in the wilderness to strengthen David’s heart. He speaks hope. He reminds David of God’s promise. He goes the distance, not for power, but for friendship. For covenant. For God’s plan.

That’s hospitality. It’s not about the table, it’s about the risk.

And that risk often calls us to reach beyond our preferences. It demands presence over performance. Jonathan didn’t just send a message. He showed up. There’s something sacred in showing up. Jesus showed up in our world, not in palaces or popularity, but in stables and suffering. He didn’t wave salvation from a distance; He entered the mess to bring the message.

Hospitality isn’t always a casserole and a warm welcome sign. Sometimes it’s:

Showing up in someone’s wilderness.

Taking a late-night phone call from a friend on the edge.

Driving across town to help someone who can’t pay you back.

Giving your energy, your money, your time, and getting no recognition.

Sitting in silence with someone whose grief has no words.

Hospitality is often inconvenient. But it’s never insignificant.

Think about the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). Jesus makes the radical outsider the hero of the story, not the priest, not the Levite. The Samaritan goes to the injured man, bandages him up, puts him on his own donkey, pays for his care. That’s not a drive-by kindness. That’s full-throttle, all-in, sacrificial love.

How far did the Samaritan go? Far enough to make a difference.

Or how about Ruth? You remember her right? She followed Naomi to a foreign land, left her people, her comfort, her everything, and said, “Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” (Ruth 1:16) That wasn’t hospitality from the comfort of her kitchen. That was hospitality on the road, fueled by loyalty, wrapped in faith.

Or consider Elisha and the Shunammite woman in 2 Kings 4. She didn’t just provide a meal or a place to rest, she built him a room. She prepared a permanent space for the prophet of God to find shelter. That’s the kind of forward-thinking, intentional hospitality that invites the presence of God. And guess what? Her generosity didn’t go unnoticed. Her barren womb was opened and her life changed.

When we go the extra mile in love, the ripple effect is eternal.

In the same chapter (1 Samuel 23), you’ve got the Ziphites. These guys offer David what looks like help, only to turn around and betray him to Saul. It’s fake hospitality, inviting someone in just to get something out of it.

Let’s not pretend we don’t do the same thing.

Sometimes we serve just to be seen.

Sometimes we give just to feel good.

Sometimes we welcome just to say we did it.

But true hospitality isn’t performative. It’s transformative. And not just for the guest, for the host too.

Don’t miss this: the final act of hospitality in 1 Samuel 23 doesn’t come from a person, it comes from God. Saul is closing in, David’s trapped, and then suddenly… bam! A message arrives: the Philistines are attacking, Saul has to pull back.

God Himself throws David a lifeline. Not because David earned it. Not because he begged for it. But because God is the ultimate host, protector, and provider.

Psalm 23 says, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” That’s divine hospitality. God doesn’t wait for your life to be perfect, He sets the table right in the middle of the chaos.

And isn’t that what Jesus does for us? Romans 5:8 says, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” He didn’t wait for us to get cleaned up or religious or respectable. He went the distance, all the way to the cross. That’s what divine hospitality looks like: sacrificial, unstoppable love.

So… How Far Are You Willing to Go?

Because hospitality isn’t about how far you drive, it’s about how far you’re willing to go out of your way for someone else’s good.

Would you:

Invite someone into your space who makes you uncomfortable?

Serve someone who can’t say thank you?

Show up for a friend when it costs you rest, money, or your pride?

If the answer is “yes, but only if…” then it’s time to let God stretch your hospitality radius.

Because when we open our homes, hearts, and hands—even in our weakness, even in our pain, we echo the heart of Christ Himself.

Jesus didn’t just go out of His way. He left heaven. Walked through rejection. Endured betrayal. Washed the feet of the man who would sell Him out.

And then He fed him.

That’s hospitality. That’s the Kingdom. That’s our calling.

If you want to measure the health of your faith community, don’t look at how many events you host, look at how far people are willing to go for each other.

How far are you willing to go?

Are you singing “I would do anything… but not that,” or are you willing to walk into someone’s wilderness and bring the presence of God with you?

Because when we do that, when we go far enough to love people where they are, no matter how broken, they just might start to believe that God loves them too.

And friend, that’s when the Church starts to look like Jesus.

Stay Salty