As I opened The Rule of Benedict this morning, I saw a tiny chapter, and wondered whether its text would elicit any thoughts and guide me to amend my life in any way. On first glance, I wasn’t sure. But the more I pondered the few lines of the text, I began to see how I might be changed by it. Here’s what Saint Benedict writes about “The Table of the Abbot&#8221:

The table of the abbot should always be with the guests and the pilgrims. But as often there are few guests, he shall have the power to invite whomever of the brothers he pleases. One or two seniors, however, should always be left with the brothers for disciplinary purposes (RB 56:1-3).

A parade of tables marches by in my memory, reminding me of times that I have been welcomed as a guest and times when I have welcomed others as guests. Both of these experiences are halves of the ministry of showing hospitality to “guests and pilgrims.” Both help me to be reminded that practicing hospitality is a fundamental part of living out my Christian faith. Welcoming others is a proclamation of my faith through action, while receiving another’s hospitality is an act of openness, of receptivity, of submitting myself to God as he shares himself through the actions of others.

I remember the times, as a visitation pastor, when I would visit people in nursing homes. When it came time to share Holy Communion, a chair sometimes turned into an improvised table, holding the Eucharistic elements. In those moments, God became our abbot and the chair his table, as we sat together as guests and pilgrims.

One summer when I was in high school, I went to a poetry camp at Lebanon Valley College. I was one of eleven in the camp. Rather than split into two groups at meals, we always pulled three additional chairs to a round table in the cafeteria. This inspired us to name the journal of poetry we produced at the end of the week, calling it Eleven at a Table for Eight. No abbot was visible. We were all pilgrims. But even though we probably could not have articulated an ethic of hospitality, we practiced fraternity.

My academic adviser in seminary was Dr. Robert W. Jenson. He was rather brusque in the classroom, but when he and Blanche, his wife, opened their home to students, a different side of him emerged. He was a man of gracious hospitality, who made me feel at ease and welcomed in their home.

At some point over the last several years, I can’t recall exactly when, Anne and I served as hosts for a gathering of all of the participants in “The Shepherd’s Table” from our parish. We opened the door to forty-some people, who experienced an evening of good food, energetic conversation, and that hard-to-define warmth that comes from sharing a meal around a table—actually several tables—with friends.

How can I live by the spirit of the Rule? This is the question I turn to. Just these few memories, jogged by this little chapter, remind me of the restorative power of the experience of being made welcome at the table as a guest and pilgrim. This is the feeling I need to keep in mind when I am tempted to feel put out or put upon or displaced when the times come to welcome others to our table. It helps to recall the apostle’s words:

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it (Hebrews 13:2, NRSV).

Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.