Hospitali-tea

I remember my first day in College. It is over a year ago now, but I maintain a vivid memory of a certain friendly young man offering to make me a cup of tea. I made a mental note - what a nice guy, to offer to do that for me. That was before I learned that offering people cups of tea is simply what is done here. It's not extra special to do so, it is more likely to be considered somewhat gauche not to.

While I was back across the pond over Christmas, I had occasion to visit with many people. A few welcomed me into their homes, but most met me at a restaurant or a coffee shop and generously bought me the food or drink items of my choice. I was expecting this, given the large number of persons who had indicated an interest in seeing me, and it was a matter of course that we would go out in most cases. It wasn't until I visited one elderly lady in her home on a Monday morning that I was forcibly struck by the difference. I felt out of place, a bit awkward, and the omission of an offer of tea seemed positively glaring. It was formal almost to the point of being artificial, but I persevered, imagining myself on a pastoral visit. (hmm, what would Graham do?)

The whole visiting thing seemed much more formal to me in the States. Partially this was because of circumstances - I had many people to see in a small space of time. Some days I actually had 'meetings' for breakfast, lunch and dinner! But some of these visits were strikingly different than others. Too often I had the feeling that I had been scheduled in (with a shoehorn be it understood) for an hour (or perhaps an hour and a half), just enough time to get the obvious things said, to show affection, to say how much we miss you, good luck, goodbye.

Then there were the people who did schedule me in with difficulty, but spent the time with me as if they meant it, not as if they were checking a box, but the best ones . . . they were the ones who spent hours and didn't notice. They were the ones who listened as well as talked, who talked as well as listened, who offered vulnerability and answered with vulnerability, the ones with whom I could freely give and receive love, and it is those chats that I remember with a small ache in my heart. What did I ever do to deserve such firm and beautiful friendships?

Today I was sitting down in the College while a few others were eating lunch. After making cups of coffee for himself and the other person present, he suddenly remembered me. "Oh, I'm sorry, Robyn - would you like a cup of tea?" I was startled. I had forgotten all about the ritual, and the small feeling of specialness involved in the rite of giving and receiving tea. "Yes, thank you. I would like a cup of tea."

In church yesterday two separate people told me the hoped to get me 'round soon for a meal - not to take me out, to welcome me into their home and share with me their table as so many others have. Such meals are rarely pretentious, occasionally slightly slapstick, and nearly always delicious, but they are so special because these people are sharing themselves with me. Perhaps it is more their culture; perhaps it is just their way, and I in no way wish to indicate that I do not (and did not) appreciate the money and time spent on me by my friends in the States, but I treasure the handmade cup of tea, the free and generous "welcome to my home," the precious ministry of hospitality.