COMMENTARY: I was a stranger, and you welcomed me

CHICAGO — The ancient Greeks believed that hospitality was sacred. They called it “xenia,” the word from which we get “genial” in English. Showing hospitality to strangers and those far from home was a form of worship to the god Zeus, who was the Greek god of, among other things, travelers. In the religiosity of […]

CHICAGO — The ancient Greeks believed that hospitality was sacred. They called it “xenia,” the word from which we get “genial” in English.

Showing hospitality to strangers and those far from home was a form of worship to the god Zeus, who was the Greek god of, among other things, travelers.

In the religiosity of xenia, the host was obliged to care for the guests, the guests were required to respect the host, and when the guests left, the host gave them a gift as an expression of what an honor it had been to host them.


Hospitality is a spiritual discipline. In India, for instance, there is a saying: “atithi devo bhava,” meaning, “the guest is God.” Likewise, in his great Rule, St. Benedict emphasized the importance of hospitality in a life of faith, saying, “Let everyone that comes be received as Christ.”

While the Ronald McDonald House is not a house of worship, nor aligned with any spiritual tradition, it is very much a sacred space, extending hospitality in a powerful and tangible way to the weary families of sick children.

When my husband and I brought Vasco to Hope Children’s Hospital for heart surgery in June, the thought of staying at the McDonald house had never crossed our mind. We figured we’d take turns sleeping on a chair in Vasco’s hospital room while the other drove home for the night.

But at the end of a marathon couple of days with Vasco, the 10-year-old AIDS orphan from Malawi we hosted while he underwent life-saving treatment at Hope, one of his nurses asked us, “Why don’t you stay at the McDonald house?”

After a quick call, we had a private room — with two beds and its own bathroom — for as long as we needed it. It was hard to step away from Vasco’s bedside, but walking across the street for a quick nap or a shower was much easier than driving the 45 minutes home and back.

I had no expectations when I walked in to the McDonald house late one afternoon, exhausted. A staffer met me at the door, shook my hand, offered me a cool bottle of water, and guided me to a wood-paneled room with comfy green velvet chairs while he went to get our paperwork.


This particular McDonald house opened last December and is very much a house — not an antiseptic institution or an impersonal hotel. It’s beautiful, well-appointed, and inviting.

We got a tour of the 16-bedroom house, which is set back from the street by a circular driveway and a stand of old-growth trees. The house’s two wings were designed to look like arms reaching out, welcoming families in.

When we walked into the kitchen — a fully stocked, enormous kitchen with wood floors and expansive counters — I began to cry. The staff had thought of everything a stressed-out family might need or want. All the house asks is a $10 donation per night, if you can afford it.

I could not have felt more welcome. I could not have been more relieved and blessed to be there, in the company of other families who were going through similar trials, although ours was short by comparison.

There were other families who were repeat visitors, coming to stay for a few days or a week or a month at a time while their child endured surgery or chemotherapy or testing or rehabilitation. I didn’t know most of their stories, but I recognized that look in their eyes: the weariness, the fear, the hope and the love.

When Vasco was released from the hospital, we took him to see the house. “Oh … beautiful!” he squealed, pointing at the fireplace and the tall spiral staircase that form the hearth and heart of the house.


Before we left, Vasco was invited to choose a gift from an immense toy closet. He chose a Tonka helicopter.

The McDonald houses will forever be my charity of choice for donations large and small. A visit to http://www.rmhccni.org lists all sorts of opportunities to help, from collecting soda tabs to a wish list of things the house needs — plastic to-go containers, gallon jugs of vinegar, portable DVD players, boxes of cereal.

These people are doing God’s work. We — and so many others — were strangers and they took us in.

(Cathleen Falsani is the author of “Sin Boldly: A Field Guide for Grace” and the upcoming “The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers.”)

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