Radical Hospitality - Part One
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By Prudence Groube
The last job I had before I decided to return to bartending as a professional vocation, was serving as the church secretary for an Episcopalian church in Santa Barbara, CA. It is the best job I have ever had, aside from being a bartender, of course. When I tell people this, their reaction is invariably of surprise and then of equational-imbalance: “Does not compute. How on earth does X =[Become] Y?”
The answer to this question is simple, no calculator required. Most simply put: being a church secretary is in fact, the same job as being a bartender. In mathematical terms: X = [Is] X. As you raise that skeptical eyebrow, allow me to tell you a rambling tale of empirical proof.
There are three essential things that serving as a church secretary and serving as a bartender have in common:
First: Both engage with, and serve people from a diverse cross section of backgrounds, communities, and cultures.
Secondly : Both deal with spirits.
Third: (This one is the most important) Both invite their communities in to share communion.
To be in communion is to be in a state of intimate fellowship or rapport. When you think about it, there is little that is more intimate than the act of ingestion. We take something that is “alien” to our bodies and bring it in. This acceptance of that which is outside of ourselves is essential to our continuing existence. The point of entry into a state of communion is often symbolized through the breaking of bread – a tradition stemming from the biblical story of the last supper. What most people don't realize, however, is what a radical act this was in the historical time and place in which Jesus & co. lived.
The history of the region at that time is a fascinating yet complicated one. For brevity's sake, we just need to understand that the BC-Universe was still largely tribal. Its culture and laws effectively were caste and purity-based. Adherence to the law was overseen by politically appointed “religious” leaders who had little incentive to question the spiritual certitude of such a status quo that kept them comfortably elevated in their society. Fraternization with people (let alone cooking dinner for) outside of one's tribe or caste was not just a gross corruption of the moral standards of the time, but a direct challenge to the authority of the clerics and the government they served.
Fast forward: Jesus wanders all over the Arabian Peninsula (and potentially the Indias and the Asias); makes all kinds of “weird” friends; gets all kinds of crazy ideas about equality; and decides to live out his new-found philosophy of “oneness” primarily through feeding people. He turns water into wine manifests a feast for hundreds out of scarcity, hosts a crazy diner party for his besties (aka. the last supper). This is how Jesus ends up on death row, and his surviving followers become “aliens” in their own land(s).
Adherence to the radical hospitality espoused by the philosopher Jesus, and its inherent threat to the authority of the ruling class, forced the first disciples of Jesus into hiding. They met secretly in caves, as a diverse group of activists, and there they founded the ritual of communion. The promise of communion is not a cannibalistic overture. It is a ceremony of both welcome (hospitality) and acknowledgement of our inherent oneness as humans, and the subsequent obviousness of the right to equality for all:
“My flesh is your flesh; My blood is your blood.”
Not only was this a ritualized expression of a spiritual faith, it was a defiant political and social act.
From August into September in 2019 I walked 174 miles across Portugal and Spain, as a pilgrim walking the Caminho De Santiago with my mother and sister. Meeting in Lisbon, then traveling up to Porto from where we began our walk northwards along the coastline (Camino Literal) before crossing the river border at Caminha on a little speed boat into Spain, then continuing on to Santiago where the remains of St. James the great are interred in The Compostela. (Yes, the etymology is hilarious, but they are not actually composting St. James, apparently he is “preserved.”)
Now, I'm not really sure that St. James was so great. He looks more like a murderous bully (like the early church he served) in much of the religious art one finds along the way of The Camino - however, somehow his story has inspired this tradition of pilgrimage, beginning in the 9th century. Every year more and more Peregrinos (Pilgrims) set out to undertake this journey, starting from various points around the European continent; hiking through towns, nature, and borders; all with a white shell emblazoned with a red cross dangling from their packs.
In the 9th century, pilgrims would set out on their journey with little more than the clothes on their backs and a white shell into which people would place “offerings” of food and drink that would sustain them along their way. Pilgrims were received as honored guests of whichever town they were passing through: no matter how they may have looked, and no matter where they might have come from. A radical act of hospitality in the fractious times of 9th century Europe.
In the 21st century, Peregrinos have air BnB’s and abundant bars/restaurants in which to take nourishment and respite from the journey. Our shells are simply a sign of respect to the tradition of the pilgrimage rather than a functional item. I showed up functionally to walk for my mom, not for faith.
As I told my sister:
“Just point in a direction and tell me to walk, and then just tell me when to stop. I can believe in that.”
I was utterly unprepared for the radical hospitality that the people of Portugal afforded my mother, my sister, and me, as Peregrinos. My experience of the power of their hospitality has changed me for the better, potentially, even changed my capacity for faith.
Bar supervisor at SEAMORE'S (Chelsea). Slayer of Mojitos and bad playlists at 230 Fifth - Rooftop. Co-Founder The Last Word, NYC - cocktail consultancy.
Exhibiting painter and illustrator, published poet and writer, Prudence finds the pathway to storytelling through the consumable [s]CUL[p]TURE of cocktails.
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