The Woman Wearing a Hat

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I dreaded writing this blog, but I thought perhaps it would resonate with others who have had similar experiences. Recently, I attended a conference about how modern science has deepened our appreciation for God. At the end, the presenter asked us what signs of God’s presence did we see around us. I blurted out the word “hospitality.” Then he asked us to get into pairs to share a final activity. My wife noticed a woman sitting by herself across the room. I noticed her at lunch because she was the only person wearing a hat. My wife suggested that she would go over to pair up with her while I talked to the woman next to me, whom we had talked to earlier. I wasn’t up for talking alone to this person, so I said, why don’t you stay here and talk to the person next to us, and I’ll just listen. I caught the eye of the woman in the hat but made no move toward her, and my wife continued to talk to the woman next to us. When I looked back for the woman with a hat, she was gone.

I immediately began to ask myself: Why didn’t I encourage my wife to talk to her or go over to her myself? Why was my response “no” when “yes” would have been so simple and so obviously the right, that is, hospitable, response. No doubt, it would also have likely been refreshing for one of us to meet a new person. I immediately began to imagine that the woman felt rejected that no one stepped out of their comfort zone to talk with her and so left a few minutes early, and I could have prevented it. I’ll never know. I do know that I left bothered by what I had done or, in this case, not done. Wasn’t the message of Jesus that we are supposed to be bothered by people around us in need? Didn’t he tell us that no one is to be left out? And I gave voice to that message when I called out “hospitality” as being a sign of God at work within the human community. Five minutes after saying the word, I failed miserably at this gospel mandate.

I tried to console myself in multiple ways. I looked for solace in the words of St. Paul: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). I tried to convince myself that if the great St. Paul didn’t always do what he knew to be right, who am I to think that I too wouldn’t fall short at times? And what about St. Peter? When faced with the opportunity to admit being a follower of Jesus, he denied even knowing him—not once, but three times! I thought of all the times Jesus said to people he encountered, “Go in peace. Your sins are forgiven.” I needed to hear these words, but it was a challenge to take them to heart. I tried a psychological approach. I reminded myself that my unthinking response in that situation reflected a strongly entrenched character trait within me and that this failure could serve as a catalyst for dedicating myself to making slow, sputtering changes when faced with similar future situations. Jesus, who cast out demons in his day, is ready and willing to help us cast out the demons we carry today.

I read that Bart Ehrman and other scripture scholars have discovered that the great story of Jesus and the adulterous woman about to be stoned told in John’s gospel was a later addition to the gospel as originally written. Thank goodness it made it into our scriptures. Clearly, Jesus views the men about to stone the woman as the real culprits in the story. Their sin? Lack of hospitality. Lack of compassion. A failure to recognize their own sins and failings and being quick to judge another. I can imagine Catholics who go to confession confessing the sin of adultery. I wonder how many confess to the sin of inhospitality? Hospitality was an essential virtue in the ancient middle east, and Jesus would have decried its lack when he saw it. Travel to a country such as Turkey and other parts of Western Asia today, and you are likely to discover that most people there still value hospitality highly. We need that quality in so many places in our world today, especially given the number of people displaced by violence, unsettled political circumstances, and the lack of basic necessities due to climate change. The epidemics of loneliness, depression, and anxiety in our country today also call out for us to respond with hospitality to friends and strangers alike. I write those words humbly as one who has fallen short in living up to that gospel message but who recognizes how transformative hospitality can be personally and globally. I admire those people for whom hospitality seems to come naturally, such as my wife, who thought to reach out to the woman in the hat when no one else did.

Meanwhile, I will contemplate the maxim most of us heard as a child: To err is human; to forgive divine. Sometimes forgiving ourselves is the hardest of all. Jesus tells us that God forgives. Surely, taking a cue from God is always lifegiving; and the challenge to reach out in love of ourselves and others remains.