How Our Stories Shape Our Hospitality

“Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 10:19)

This simple command, repeated throughout the Old Testament, contains a profound insight about hospitality: our capacity to welcome others is directly connected to our memory of our own experiences as outsiders.

The Power of Remembered Vulnerability

I’ve been reflecting on the Jewish Passover tradition and how it intentionally preserves the memory of vulnerability. During the Seder meal, Jews don’t just commemorate their ancestors’ liberation from Egypt-they personally identify with that experience. “We were slaves in Egypt,” they declare, even thousands of years later.

This collective remembering serves a purpose beyond historical education. It creates a foundation for ethical action. Because they remember what it was like to be outsiders, they are commanded to welcome the outsider among them.

The bitter herbs that bring tears, the unleavened bread of haste, the charoset that resembles the mortar of slavery-each element of the Passover meal engages the senses to cement this memory. And from this memory flows a moral imperative: “You shall not oppress a sojourner, for you know the soul of a sojourner, having been sojourners in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9).

Our Forgotten Stories

We all have experiences of being outsiders, though we may have forgotten them:

• The first day at a new school, scanning the cafeteria for a friendly face
• Moving to a new city where we knew no one
• Attending a gathering where everyone else seemed connected
• Being the newcomer in a workplace where inside jokes and established relationships made us feel excluded
• Visiting a church where the unwritten rules and rhythms were foreign to us

These experiences shape us. Yet it’s remarkable how quickly we can forget them once we’ve found belonging. We become insiders and sometimes pull the drawbridge up behind us, forgetting what it felt like to stand outside the walls.

Hospitality Rooted in Remembrance

Biblical hospitality isn’t primarily about etiquette or entertaining skills. It’s about empathy born from remembrance.

When we remember our own experiences of exclusion, marginalization, or need, we develop what theologian Henri Nouwen called “wounded hospitality” a welcome that flows not from abundance or superiority but from our own healed wounds.

This kind of hospitality doesn’t say, “I have it all together, so let me help you.” Instead, it says, “I know what it’s like to be where you are, because I’ve been there too.”

The Church’s Memory

The Christian church has its own collective story of exclusion and welcome. “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy” (1 Peter 2:10).

We were strangers to the covenant, outsiders to God’s family. But Christ has welcomed us to God’s table at immense personal cost. Our very identity is built on having been welcomed when we had no claim to belonging.

How, then, could we fail to extend that same welcome to others?

Yet we do fail. Churches become comfortable enclaves of the like-minded, forgetting our story of being welcomed as strangers. We create insider cultures with unspoken rules and expectations that make newcomers feel perpetually off-balance.

Maybe we need our own version of the Passover’s bitter herbs—regular practices that help us taste again what it was like to be outside looking in, so that we never lose our motivation to welcome.

Practical Remembering

How can we strengthen this connection between memory and hospitality? Here are a few practices that might help:

1. Share your story of welcome. When did someone’s hospitality make a difference in your life? Telling this story keeps the memory alive and reminds you of your own journey from outsider to insider.
2. Put yourself in outsider situations. Occasionally place yourself in contexts where you don’t know the culture, language, or expectations. This renews your empathy for those navigating unfamiliar territory.
3. Ask for feedback from newcomers. After welcoming someone new to your home, church, or community, ask them what made them feel included or excluded. Their fresh perspective can reveal blind spots in your hospitality.
4. Celebrate your community’s story of welcome. If you lead a church or organization, regularly retell the stories of how various members came to belong. This reminds everyone that the community exists not for itself but for those not yet included.
5. Practice deliberate remembrance. Like the Passover Seder, create rituals that help you remember your own experiences of exclusion and welcome. These might be as simple as a prayer before hosting that recalls God’s welcome to you, or as elaborate as an annual gathering that celebrates your community’s journey.

The Memory That Shapes Our Welcome

I’m convinced that the difference between mere entertaining and true hospitality lies in this connection to memory. Entertaining can be done from a position of abundance and security. Biblical hospitality flows from remembrance of our own need and God’s generous welcome.

This doesn’t mean weaponizing our past struggles with guilt-inducing statements like, “I went through this, so you should too.” Rather, it means allowing our wounds—now healed—to create space for others still in pain.

It means saying, “There’s room at this table because someone once made room for me. There’s a place for your questions because someone once welcomed mine. There’s space for your difference because someone once embraced mine.”

When we forget our own stories of exclusion and welcome, our hospitality becomes shallow. When we remember, it takes on depth and authenticity that no perfectly arranged table setting or gourmet meal can provide.

The Jewish people have kept the memory of Egypt alive for thousands of years because they understand this truth: remembrance is the foundation of ethical action. Their example challenges us to keep our own stories of exclusion and welcome alive, not as tales of the past but as living memories that shape how we make room for others today.

What’s a meaningful experience of welcome that has shaped how you practice hospitality? Or what practice helps you remember what it’s like to be an outsider? Share your reflections in the comments below.