Our model of hospitality works, we believe, because humans are inherently resilient, and humans in community thrive. Aydan is the one who worked the late night shifts at Red Robin, saved diligently, and purchased a car. He is the one who wrote practice essays, studied slopes and ratios, and refused to give up. Our part was to offer a home, where he knew he mattered, where he knew he was loved.

Despite the vast destruction our illusory hungers inflict, the trees still call to us—the flowers, grasses, forests, rivers, oceans, deserts, even the green leafy vine hanging from the ceiling over my desk as I write: our precious Earth. Call it love if you will, this constant invitation to release our destructive patterns and find nourishment in our sacred bonds with one another and with all creatures.

What if we, like the first followers of Jesus, decided today to live as if all beings mattered? What if we, too, set about the task of creating multitudes of small communities where we sheltered immigrants and the unhoused, in our spare bedrooms and empty church buildings?