There is a well-known story about a lawyer who came to Jesus and asked, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” The lawyer answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.” Jesus replied, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”
But the lawyer, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbour?” To answer the man, Jesus then told a parable we have all come to know very well (Luke 10:25–37). He told the story of a man going down from Jerusalem to Jericho who “fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead.”
Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw [the man] he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.
But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, “Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.”
After telling the story, Jesus asked the man, “Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?” The lawyer said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”
A Samaritan would have been looked down upon by the Jews. They were seen as unclean and religiously compromised. And yet, in the parable, the Samaritan is the true neighbour. He shows mercy to a man who likely would not have considered him worthy of association. Jesus’ answer to the lawyer is clear: your neighbour is not defined by proximity, ethnicity, or preference, but by need.
In 1 Timothy 3:2, we are told that an overseer must be hospitable. The word translated “hospitable” carries the idea of being a lover of strangers. Although this qualification is given particularly for overseers, it reflects a virtue that all Christians are to pursue.
But what does it truly mean to be hospitable?
To be a lover of strangers is not merely to be socially warm or generous with meals. It is to be a lover of strange souls. The Samaritan recognised the wounded man as his neighbour and acted accordingly. He did not measure his compassion by convenience. He moved towards the man in mercy.
Christian hospitality goes further than attending to physical needs, though it certainly includes that. It reaches for the soul. True Christian hospitality has soul-winning or soul-refreshing in view. It is not less than practical care; it is more.
This is precisely how Christ has treated us.
Colossians 1:21–22 says, “And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him.”
We were not neutral strangers. We were alienated and hostile. Yet Christ did not pass by on the other side. He did not avert his gaze. He did not keep his distance. He came near.
He loved our strange souls by laying down his life to make our dead souls alive. He pursued us in our deadness. He reconciled us to God. He brought us into his household. He gave us eternal life. He gave us the Spirit—the Comforter. He gave us power to fight sin. And ultimately, he restored us to the Father.
Christian hospitality flows from this gospel reality. When we encounter a stranger, our reasoning should be sober and deliberate: I want this soul to receive from Jesus what I have received from him.
So who are these strangers?
There is a common misconception that hospitality is limited to inviting someone into your home for a meal. But food and location are only means to an end. If you invite someone over and do not love their soul, it is not Christian hospitality.
Consider five kinds of strangers.
First, estranged members within your own congregation. There are people sitting among us every week whose stories we do not know, whose burdens we have not asked about, whose spiritual state remains a mystery to us. They are strangers in our midst. Hospitality begins by drawing near to them—by seeking to know their souls.
Second, strangers who want to join. Many enter church services longing to belong to a spiritual household. They may stand alone during fellowship time, uncertain and hesitant. Hospitality means approaching them, welcoming them, asking questions, and helping them understand what it means to be part of the body of Christ.
Third, strangers who do not intend to join but are present. Visitors attend for many reasons. Some may not even understand what is happening in the service. Hospitality means explaining, gently and clearly, why we gather: we are worshipping our Creator as he has instructed us. We seek to help them understand the gospel and the purpose of our gathering.
Fourth, strangers outside the church altogether. These are those who do not yet belong to Christ. Hospitality extends beyond our buildings. It moves into the world. We love their souls and seek, by word and deed, to invite them into the household of God.
Fifth, strange believers—Christians we do not yet know well. Missionaries, guest pastors, and travelling saints may be unfamiliar to us, yet they are family. They may need encouragement, prayer, refreshment, and support. Hospitality towards them strengthens the broader body of Christ.
In all of this, we remember the command of Jesus: “You go, and do likewise.”
Christian hospitality is not merely opening your door; it is opening your heart with gospel intent. It is loving strange souls because Christ first loved ours. When we remember that we were once alienated and have now been reconciled, we will not pass by on the other side.
About the author
Tommie van der Walt is an elder at Brackenhurst Baptist Church and the ministry director of Imprint. He is a husband to Allison and a father to three children.
