Let’s be real, we’re not exactly good at reconciliation these days. If someone even looks at us wrong, we’re ready to write them off. And if they actually hurt us, or worse, used to walk with us but then turned against us, we put their name on the “do not invite” list faster than a toddler says “no.” It’s wild, because half the time it’s not even over something big. Politics? Boom, friendship over. A spat in the family? Forget about Thanksgiving, we’re eating alone. I’ve even seen churches split over the dumbest arguments, like mid-rapture versus post-rapture. (I wish I was kidding. Imagine breaking fellowship because someone’s timeline didn’t match yours!)

But the truth is, reconciliation isn’t optional for us as believers. It’s not a nice extra. It’s not for the “super spiritual” Christians who love the idea of peacemaking. No, reconciliation is at the very heart of the gospel. God sent His Son not just so we could have our sins forgiven but so that we could be reconciled back to Him. That’s the good news. And if He could reconcile with those who hated Him, cursed Him, spat on Him, and nailed Him to a cross, then we can’t justify holding grudges.

And I’ll be honest with you….. I’ve had to live this out.

We have two friends who, to put it simply, went through more hardship than most people face in a lifetime. They carried a weight so heavy it would crush most, and in the middle of that pain, they said and did things that deeply hurt my family. And listen, I get it, hurt people hurt people. But that didn’t make the sting any less real. The damage was done, and not long after, ties were cut.

For years, nothing. No contact. Not a word spoken. On the rare occasions we crossed paths, it was icy silence, nasty looks, and whispered comments. The relationship was dead, and honestly, I thought it would stay that way, and was kind of ok with it.

But a couple of months ago, one of them approached us. Now, at that moment, we had a choice. Based on their past actions, no one would’ve blamed us if we brushed them off and left the relationship severed. But we didn’t. Instead, we made room. We gave time. We spoke life. We didn’t demand repayment for old wounds.

And something surprising started to happen, the relationship began to heal. Slowly, yes. Messily, absolutely. But it’s better than it was. They even came out of their way recently to support me while I was preaching. That meant more than they’ll probably ever know.

Is the relationship back to where it once was? Nope. But it’s moving in the right direction. And I believe with all my heart that through hospitality, through creating space, extending grace, and choosing to reconcile, we’ll eventually get back to a place of supporting one another and pointing each other back to Christ.

You might ask, Why start here, my story isn’t that unique. We’ve all got people like that. People who were once close but now feel like enemies. People who used to be at our table but now sit at a distance, arms crossed, glaring across the room. And the temptation is always the same: to leave it that way. To justify the brokenness. To say, “They don’t deserve another chance.”

But if we’re going to live out biblical hospitality, reconciliation has to be on the table. Always.

And one of the best pictures we get of this is in 2 Samuel 3.

This chapter is better than reality TV. You’ve got betrayal, shifting alliances, egos bigger than the Empire State Building, and a good old-fashioned revenge plot. If Netflix picked this up, you’d binge it in a weekend.

Picture this: Saul is dead. David’s ruling over Judah in the south. Meanwhile, Saul’s son Ish-bosheth (who gets the award for second worst name to pronounce in the Bible) is trying to hang on to the throne up north. The kingdom’s split like a tug-of-war rope that’s about to snap.

Enter Abner. He’s Saul’s former military commander, loyal to the old regime, a man with blood on his hands, and not exactly David’s BFF. But Abner is tired of Ish-bosheth’s nonsense and decides, “You know what, David’s the guy. Let’s join forces.”

Now pause for a second. If you’re David, this is the man who’s been hunting you, who fought on Saul’s side against you, who once stood for everything that opposed you. And now he’s knocking on your door asking for a seat at the table. What do you do?

Most of us would say, “Forget it. Go pound sand.” Or at the very least, “Prove yourself first, then we’ll talk.” But David doesn’t. He sees an opportunity for reconciliation.

David welcomes Abner. Not grudgingly, not with a side-eye, not with a suspicious “I’ll let you in but I’m watching you.” He welcomes him openly. They sit down, they talk, and then David does something radical, he throws a feast.

Think about that. Food is powerful, y’all. Sharing a meal in that culture wasn’t casual. It was covenantal. It was saying, “I’m not against you anymore. We’re bound together now.” David is offering reconciliation not just with words but with hospitality. He doesn’t shame Abner. He doesn’t bring up his past failures. He doesn’t say, “Remember that time you tried to kill me?” No, he gives him a seat, fills his plate, and starts fresh.

Hospitality becomes the bridge where enemies can meet without swords drawn.

Cue Joab, David’s hot-headed general. Joab doesn’t care about peace. He doesn’t care about reconciliation. He wants revenge because Abner killed his brother in battle. And instead of celebrating the peace table David set, Joab flips the table, pulls Abner aside, and kills him.

It’s ugly. It’s dishonorable. And it shows us something about reconciliation: not everyone will cheer when you make peace. Some people thrive on division. Some people want blood. And they’ll whisper in your ear, “Don’t reconcile. Don’t forgive. Don’t open that door. They don’t deserve it.”

But David won’t let Joab’s spirit win. He makes it clear: “This isn’t on me. This isn’t what I stand for.” David mourns Abner’s death publicly. He proves that reconciliation and hospitality aren’t just convenient moves, they are part of his character, his commitment to God’s way.

Let’s get honest again. We’re not that different from Joab. We’d rather see someone get what’s coming to them than sit at the table with them. We’d rather protect our pride than risk being betrayed again. But if we want to live out biblical hospitality, we have to embrace reconciliation, even when it feels impossible.

It’s easy to invite your friends over. It’s easy to show kindness to people who agree with you. But biblical hospitality goes further. It’s about making room for people who once opposed you. That neighbor you haven’t spoken to in years? That sibling who betrayed you? That church member who voted against you in the business meeting? Hospitality says: pull up a chair.

David didn’t just say, “We’re good now.” He backed it up with a meal. He built a bridge of trust. We can’t reconcile with lip service alone. We have to embody it, through invitations, through generosity, through actually sharing life again. You MUST silence the voices that resist reconciliation.

David had Joab. You and I have our own “Joabs”, people who fuel bitterness, who remind us of the wounds, who whisper, “Don’t let them back in.” True hospitality means shutting down those voices. You can’t host reconciliation at your table if bitterness is running the kitchen.

At the end of the day, reconciliation isn’t our idea. It’s God’s. He gave His Son so we could be reconciled. He hosted the most expensive banquet in history, the marriage supper of the Lamb, and sent out invitations to people who didn’t deserve it. If He can do that, then surely, with His Spirit, we can set one extra place at the table for someone who hurt us.

I’ve seen too many relationships end over things that don’t matter. I’ve seen churches split over theology debates that won’t make a bit of difference when we’re all standing before Jesus. I’ve seen families go years without speaking because of a misunderstanding that could have been solved in five minutes around a dinner table.

But what if we changed that? What if we lived like David, choosing hospitality as the road to reconciliation? What if instead of sharpening our swords, we sharpened our carving knives and said, “Come eat with me”?

Hospitality through reconciliation doesn’t just heal relationships, it shows the world what the gospel looks like. It tells our neighbors, our kids, our communities: “This is how God loves. This is how God welcomes. This is how God forgives.”

So maybe the challenge today is simple: who have you written off? Who’s on your “do not invite” list? Who’s the Abner in your life, the person who used to stand against you but might just be waiting for a chance to be reconciled?

The Lord is all about reconciliation. Always has been. Always will be. He didn’t reconcile with us when we deserved it, He reconciled with us when we were His enemies. That’s the gospel. And if we’re going to carry that gospel, then our tables have to be places where enemies can sit down, feast, and walk away as brothers and sisters.

So maybe it’s time to set the table. Maybe it’s time to pull up a chair. And maybe, just maybe, that act of hospitality will change history, just like it did in David’s day.

Stay Salty