By Mary Morrell
Columnist
Stop by anytime, we’ll leave the light on for you
“For I was . . . a stranger and you welcomed me . . . “ — Matthew 25:35
At every change of season, I like to change the welcome sign on my front porch. This year, as I changed from fall to winter on what seemed more like a balmy summer night, my son turned on the porch light overhead. The warm yellow glow reflecting off the new sign brought back memories of a similar night several years ago.
My husband and I and a few of our children had made ourselves comfortable in the living room to watch a movie. It was around 10 p.m. and some of us, including the dogs, had begun to doze. The night was warm so the front door was open to let fresh air in through the screen.
Without warning the screen door opened and a young, attractive woman stepped into the living room. “Is this the country club?” she queried enthusiastically. Within seconds she realized her mistake.
Half asleep and without moving a muscle from my chair I said with a smile, “I wish.”
Startled, everyone began laughing, astounded at the late night visitor, but not concerned enough to move from their spots — sort of like that watchdog we put so much faith in who opened one eye at the intruder and offered a half-hearted yawn.
“I’m so sorry,” she stuttered embarrassedly as she backed out onto the porch, “but you have a welcome sign and everything.”
Escorting her back to her friends who waited in a running taxi, my husband directed them to the nearby Elks Club assuming by their dress that is where they intended to go. When he got back to the house we continued to laugh, not just at the ridiculousness of the situation, but at our reactions.
In this day and age it is expected that we be at least cautious, if not fearful, of strangers, and I suppose there is wisdom in that. But we have become so accustomed to “drop-in” visitors that we would be more likely to invite them in for coffee than lock the door between us.
It must be the corner location, or maybe it’s the charism of the large, rambling house, if there is such a thing, but without fail we have unexpected visitors every month. Some need to use the phone, report an accident, borrow a gas can — hopefully with some gas in it — ask directions, inquire about lost pets, wait out a storm, get a drink of water, ask for a ride or even borrow money.
In this age of cynicism, we are repeatedly touched when strangers repay such small acts of neighborliness with bags of pre-worn clothes for our children, jars of peanut butter and bricks of cheese, fresh pumpkins and cut flowers or simply a hand jotted note tucked in our door.
There is no substitute for an experience of welcome, of being wanted and cared for.
Coming home from school on a dark winter’s night and making the long walk down my street from the bus stop, I had those warm feelings of welcome, of comfort, whenever I saw the amber glow of the living room lamp through the frosted windows. I guess that’s why I got hooked by the Motel Six commercial, “We’ll leave the light on for you.”
That motel served as our place of welcome as we traveled across the country in the worst of weather and, believe me, I was lad to see that light burning when hurricane force winds threatened to blow us into the next state.
Over the years I have come to see these experiences in the light of what it means to be Church.
Jesus extended the invitation, saying, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men . . . Come, all you who are weary and I will give you rest . . . Come, follow me.”
He hung out a welcome sign and never shut the door in anyone’s face. He taught us how to be hospitable, to be a people of welcome, to open our doors and our hearts to those who would seek entrance.
What I learned from my parents was to always leave the light on. You never know who might need a place of welcome. What I learned as a Christian is that the light needs to shine through the eyes of the soul, as well.
So if you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop in. With a house full of people there’s always a light — or two or three — burning in the window.
*The attached/referenced article was originally published in The Catholic Spirit, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Metuchen, and is protected under U.S. and international copyright law