America loves to think of herself as the biggest, the brightest, and the strongest. To be sure, there are many aspects of that sentiment that are true.

But we have a problem plaguing our nation, preventing us from being who we ought to be.

We are afraid.

*****

I pastor a church in Houston. Houston is the most ethnically diverse city in the United States. Houston is home to the second-most Muslims in the United States, next to Dearborn, Michigan. I drive past a mosque every time I go to my church’s building.

In 2014, I realized I knew precisely zero Muslims in my own city. I was driving to work that morning, passing the mosque, when I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit, “Go in there. Meet the imam. Love your neighbor.”

And, against logic, I pulled in and walked into the mosque. I introduced myself to a very kind man named Mohammed, and I asked if I could meet the imam.

*****

Xenophobia is the fear of strangers. It is the disease plaguing America.

We are afraid of people we do not know. We are afraid of those who are a different religion. We are afraid of those who are a different ethnicity. We are afraid of those who have different political opinions. We are afraid of those who live next door but come home and quickly pull the door closed. We are isolated and afraid.

Why are we afraid? Perhaps we fear conflict. Perhaps we fear we will be seen “supporting the enemy.” Perhaps we fear that we will have nothing in common. I imagine there are many reasons we are afraid.

It has been this way for much of my life. The pandemic made things even worse. Stuck in our homes, we gorged on the news, finding more and more reasons to fear our neighbors, imagining them to be grotesque of mind and motive. It seems we are more suspicious of the “others” in our lives than we have ever been.

This is not unique to us, however. Humans have always been suspicious creatures. This is why the term “xenophobia” appears in Ancient Greek texts. In their pluralistic culture there were always reasons to be suspicious of unknown groups. I imagine they were afraid for many of the same reasons we are afraid today.

And yet early Christians insisted that xenophobia would not work. Instead, the New Testament specifically commands xenophilia—the love of strangers. Your English Bible likely translates the term as “hospitality” (in verses like Romans 12:13). But the literal word is much stronger, starker. It means to love the people you do not know. When Jesus said to love your enemies, early Christians took it to heart. They opened their homes and loved in a way that almost seemed foolish.

They had a conviction: Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

If you have ever been to the Middle East, you know what I am describing. Hospitality is deep within the culture. And it has been part of the mindset of those who follow God for some time, at least in that part of the world.

*****

I did, indeed, meet the imam at my local mosque. After some phone calls and curious questioning, he agreed to meet me. I assume he was as nervous as I was. We set an appointment for tea and naan, and, in time, we became friends. After some time, that imam moved to Dallas, and I became friends with the next imam.

That’s when things became interesting.

As I began to ponder what it meant to practice xenophilia, to truly be hospitable, I heard something on the radio that startled me. I have not verified it, but this is what I remember: The vast majority of individuals who live in America but have been born outside the United States have never been invited into the home of an Anglo American. If you’re a white American, think of the people in your life who have come to the US from another nation, for whatever reason. If you live in a city, you likely know several of them. And, statistically speaking, they have never been invited into the home of someone like you.

That startled me. And I decided we needed to raise our hospitality game.

I wanted to embody the same conviction: Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

We hosted the board members of the mosque and their spouses in our house. We took the imam deer hunting (yes, seriously). We invited the imam to a Q&A at our church. I would text my new Muslim friends regularly. They invited us to break fast with them one night during Ramadan. When our church was flooded in Hurricane Harvey, they came to help us. When we heard that their mosque had caught fire, we called to see how we could help. On Easter of 2019, 30 or so Muslims came to our service and stayed for a bunch to ask questions about the Resurrection. We have laughed, talked about our families, encouraged one another, helped one another, and served one another.

They do not agree with my beliefs on Jesus. I do not agree with their beliefs regarding Mohammed.

But I love them. And they love me.

*****

I have only told you about my friendship with one group who is different from mine. I could have told you the same story, but with my new Jewish friends. Or with my brothers and sisters at the predominantly Black church down the road.

God has been teaching me the same lesson over and over since coming to Houston:

The more you love, the less you fear.

The more you love, the more you show Jesus.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

I am not afraid of Muslims, because I have become friends with them. They are no longer caricatures in my mind. They are real people with real families and real dreams.

The same is true with so many other groups in my city. I have been surprised at how excited they are to see me extending a hand of love. I have been surprised at how eagerly they reciprocate.

I have now talked openly about my faith in Jesus in both a mosque and a synagogue. I understand more about the faith of my Jewish and Muslim counterparts than ever before. I have deep friendships with those in all sorts of groups now—groups that I once would have assumed to be either enemies or, at the very least, uninterested in being my friends.

And that’s where xenophobia begins—assumptions.

We are afraid because we are making assumptions about people instead of getting to know them.

*****

My life changed when I stopped talking about Muslims and started talking to them. This was the case every single time I decide to stop wondering what a group of people was like and instead spent time building bridges, working together, listening, and, along the way, becoming friends—different religions, ethnicities, political persuasions, whatever.

I think it would change your life, too. I think it would change entire churches.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

What would happen if you hosted your Hindu neighbor for dinner? What would happen if you asked your political opponent to share a meal and to begin with the posture of seeking to understand instead of argue? What might transpire if you asked your neighbor of a different ethnicity to come and talk about her lived experience and how it is different from yours?

Would anything bad come from such a decision? Perhaps a few ruffled feathers. More likely: We would learn deeper love of neighbor, and we would find innumerable opportunities to share the Reason for our love.

So let’s practice xenophilia.

Let’s meet people for tea and naan and talk to them.

Let’s stand up for those who are on the outside looking in.

Let’s work together and learn what makes us different—and the same.

Let’s love so boldly that when we speak of our faith it is compelling.

Let’s stop operating from fear and start living from love.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.