Most of us can name a house where we always left feeling better. It may not have been grand. Often it was not. Perhaps it was an aunt’s place with a zinc roof and a verandah that caught the evening breeze, where somebody always put a cup of mint tea in your hand before you had fully sat down. Perhaps it was a flat in Leeds or Queens where the door was never quite shut and the kitchen smelled of thyme and escallion.
And most of us can name the other kind too: the beautiful house where you sat on the edge of the settee, afraid to put your glass down, and came home oddly tired.
What is the difference? It is rarely money, and it is not really about the furniture. It has more to do with what the people inside believe a home is for.
A man whose house refreshed the saints
Paul’s short letter to Philemon is mostly about a runaway slave, Onesimus, and Paul’s appeal for him to be received as a brother. But near the start is a line about Philemon himself that is easy to pass over. Paul writes that he has great joy and comfort in Philemon’s love, “because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed by you, brother” (Philemon 7, NKJV).
We know from the letter that a church met in Philemon’s house. People came and went. They ate there, prayed there, and presumably argued there too. And the thing Paul chose to remember about that household was that people left it refreshed.
That is a remarkable thing to be known for. Not a fine house. Not a well-run one, though it may have been. A refreshing one.
What drains people
It is worth being honest about what makes a home tiring to visit, because most of us do some of it without noticing.
- Performance. When the house is on show, guests become an audience. Every new tile and appliance needs to be admired.
- Tension. Visitors can feel an unresolved quarrel between hosts within minutes, even if nothing is said.
- Correction. Take off your shoes, not that chair, mind the cushions, don’t let the children touch that. Some rules are needed; a house that is all rules makes people anxious.
- Comparison. Conversation that circles round who has built what, who has bought where and whose children went to which school leaves everyone measuring themselves.
What refreshes them
The refreshing houses have their own patterns, and they are mostly simple.
Somewhere to sit that is not precious. A verandah chair, a bench under a tree, a sofa that has seen children and dogs. When guests can relax their bodies, they can relax the rest of themselves.
Attention. The host who asks how you are and then waits for the real answer. Who remembers that your mother was in hospital last month. Who turns the television down.
Something to eat or drink, without fuss. In many Caribbean homes this is almost a reflex, and it is a good one. It does not have to be a meal. A glass of cold water on a hot afternoon is hospitality.
Permission to be ordinary. The refreshing house does not pretend. The dishes may be in the sink. There may be a bucket under a leak in the corner. The hosts are not embarrassed, and so the guest does not have to be.
Peace between the people who live there. Nothing refreshes a visitor quite like being in a home where the family actually likes one another.
The one who waters
Proverbs puts it simply: “The generous soul will be made rich, and he who waters will also be watered himself” (Proverbs 11:25, NKJV). Anyone who has had a busy, worn-out week and then spent an evening welcoming someone else knows this can be true. You expected to be more tired. Instead you went to bed lighter.
That does not mean every household must be open every night. Some seasons call for closing the door and resting. Carers, shift workers and parents of small children may have very little to spare. A refreshing home is not measured by how many people pass through it, but by what happens to the ones who do.
Starting where you are
You do not need a bigger house to do this. Consider a retired man in a one-room flat who keeps two extra cups by the kettle and a folding chair by the door. Neighbours drop in because they know they will be welcome and not interrogated. His home is small; its effect is not.
A few questions might help any household:
- Where in our home can a guest sit comfortably without worrying about damaging something?
- What do people usually feel when they leave here?
- Is there tension between us that visitors can sense?
- Who do we know who is weary and would benefit from an afternoon on our verandah?
Jesus invited the weary to come to Him and find rest. Our homes cannot replace that, but they can reflect it. When people leave our gate a little lighter than they came, the house is doing what it was meant to do.
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