Risky Hospitality (and Its Rewards)
"As evening turned to night, I began to feel like a woman in some horror movie haunted, not by a stalker or monster, but by the needy person at her doorstep."
You’re reading CW Reads, the special long-read edition of the Roundtable newsletter.
Perhaps no book of the Old Testament is more suited to the Catholic Worker than the Book of Tobit, that strange cautionary tale about the Works of Mercy. In the opening of the book, Tobit tells us that he “had performed many charitable deeds” for his kindred, giving bread to the hungry and clothing to the naked and burying the dead.
What does that get him? Blinded by bird droppings, destitute, and mocked by his neighbors, that’s what. “Where are your charitable deeds now?” his wife asks as he mopes over his turn of fortune. “Where are your righteous acts?”
Spoiler alert: All turns out well, but not before many dramatic twists and turns involving a cagey angel, a jealous demon, and miraculous fish gall.
Which brings us to the essay Claire Schaeffer-Duffy wrote for the latest issue of The Catholic Radical, newsletter of the Sts. Francis & Therese Catholic Worker (Worcester, Massachusetts). It is a story about hospitality and its limits—and unexpected reversals. It even includes a callback to Tobit…although there’s no miraculous fish gall, sadly, only some organic produce.
Also in this issue: What would it be like if Catholics (or people in general) dared to practice this kind of risky hospitality? In a series of Easy Essays he addressed to the U.S. Catholic bishops in the fall of 1933, Peter Maurin pleads his case for why Christians ought to do more to practice “the duty of hospitality.”
Enjoy the issue!
—Jerry
An Unexpected Visitation
by Claire Schaeffer-Duffy
reprinted from the January 2025 issue of The Catholic Radical
It was after midnight when I located CM. The town of Webster’s only homeless person that night, she was easy to spot, even in the darkness, sitting there in a canvas lawn chair on the sidewalk outside the police station, heavily blanketed with her legs outstretched and feet resting on the statue of a lamb. “I am sleeping beside it for protection,” she told me.
CM had stayed with us at least twice before. An attractive woman in her early sixties, she was pious, pro-Trump, and maddeningly hapless. Like some directionless bird, she flitted from place to place, pursuing plans that were far-fetched and unachievable. By her own telling, CM had endured abuse as a child and sexual violence as an adult, experiences that affected her ability to provide for herself. “You need to focus,” I’d tell her. She dressed well and had the tastes and habits of someone who once lived comfortably; yet whenever we spoke, I suspected there were details in her life she had deleted or refused to acknowledge. Quite a few people, including her family and at least one priest, have closed their doors to her.
“We can give you one night of rest,” I said as CM got into the car. Two or three weeks later, she was at the front door again, this time thrusting a heavy box of food into my arms. “A gift for the house,” she said. “Lots of organic stuff in there. You’ll love it.” Behind her on the sidewalk, I could see four or five 30-gallon black trash bags bulging with clothes. Piled atop these were the canvas lawn chair, now folded, a collapsible garment bag also full, and a rolled-up, quilted blanket. She had crammed all of it into the Uber she took from a women’s shelter in Ashland, a town some twenty miles away from the Catholic Worker. Although CM never asked outright, I knew she was hoping for a bed. Her presumption angered me, and I was secretly relieved we had five guests staying in the house and could offer nothing. I thanked her for the food and retreated into the kitchen. She’s a survivor. She’ll figure something out, I thought.
But CM did not leave. Seeing her and the bulging, black trash bags still on the sidewalk fifteen minutes later, I stepped out onto the front porch to scold her away. “This is so manipulative,” I said. “What were you thinking hauling all this stuff from Ashland and showing up here?”
“It’s a holy place,” CM said. Unmoved, I told her if she ever pulled a stunt like this again, I would call the police. Then back into the kitchen I went. Twenty minutes passed and the doorbell rang. CM wanted me to know that while she was praying the rosary, a practice she had not been doing of late, our Brazilian neighbor had said maybe she could put her stuff in his pick-up truck parked across the street. But within the hour, the neighbor’s wife came out to say there would be no storing of things in her husband’s truck, because it was full. CM and her stuff remained on the sidewalk.
As evening turned to night, I began to feel like a woman in some horror movie haunted, not by a stalker or monster, but by the needy person at her doorstep. Peering furtively through the curtains, I saw CM blanketed and hunkered down for the night in the canvas lawn chair, her feet resting on the rotting beam of our rail fence.
“You can’t sleep on the sidewalk,” I said, popping out onto the porch again. “This isn’t Webster, you know. There are lots of people out here on the streets in Worcester.”
Beneath the white light of the street lamp, CM’s ordinarily pretty face looked pale and worn. “Please, don’t call the police,” she said. Back in the kitchen, a nagging debate began within me. I couldn’t let a woman my age spend the night out on the sidewalk. At some miserable, dark hour, she would ring the doorbell to ask for a blanket or use of the bathroom. Scott was in bed with a terrible cold, and I was heart-tired. Hours of scrolling through ominous assessments of the recent presidential elections had left me feeling jittery and despairing about the future. I yearned for the oblivion of sleep.
The wealthy Israelite Tobit succumbed to despair, so the story goes. And who could blame him? He was held captive in the city of Nineveh where he became impoverished and blinded by disease. “What joy is there for me?” he said to the angel Raphael. “I can no longer see the light of heaven.”
“Take courage,” Raphael said. It’s the message we hear throughout Advent: Watch for the light in the darkness. Trust in the vulnerable one. Infant. Lamb. Take courage which can sometimes come to us haplessly.
It was after 10 p.m. when CM and I pulled up to the entryway of the Hilton Gardens Hotel where I had booked her a night’s stay. My plan was to drop her at the front door and head home for bed, but there was all of her stuff in the back of the car. After I had unloaded the last of it onto a luggage trolley, CM asked if we could pray the Memorare. She wanted to offer up to God her sufferings of the present for our Catholic Worker house, for Scott, and our two guests who were also sick.
“Sure,” I said. “It will be the first prayer I’ve prayed this day.”
“Oh, but there’s your work,” CM said. “Remember what Saint Benedict says? ‘Ora et labora.’” Standing in the brightly lit hotel entryway, we bowed our heads while CM recited aloud the ancient Marian prayer: Remember, O most gracious Virgin, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided...
“Amen,” we both said, then I hugged CM, grateful for the first bit of peace felt that day.
PRAYER TO ST. RAPHAEL
from The Catholic Worker, January 1945
O RAPHAEL, lead us towards those we are, waiting for, those who are waiting for us:’ Raphael, Angel of happy meetings, lead us by the hand towards those we are looking for. May all our movements be guided by your light and transfigured by your joy. Angel, guide of Tobias, lay the request we now address to you at the feet of Him on whose unveiled face you are privileged to gaze. Lonely and tired, crushed by the separations and sorrows of life, we feel the need of calling on you and of pleading for the protection of your wings, so that we may not be as strangers in the province of joy, all ignorant of the concerns of our country. Remember the weak, you who are strong, you whose home lies beyond the region of thunder in a land that is always peaceful, always serene and bright with the resplendent glory of God.
Our final selection on the theme of hospitality is Peter Maurin’s collection of Easy Essays published in the October 1933 edition of The Catholic Worker. It is reprinted here with the original introduction included.
To the Bishops of the U.S.
A Plea for Houses of Hospitality
By PETER MAURIN
(The following is an address by Peter Maurin, one of the founders of The
Catholic Worker, to the unemployed, at a meeting held last month at the
Manhattan Lyceum, and is reprinted here at his request in order that it may
be sent to all the Bishops and Archbishops meeting at the National Con
ference of Catholic Charities in New York these first days of October, 1933.)
THE DUTY OF HOSPITALITY
People who are in need
and are not afraid to beg
give to people not in need
the occasion to do good for goodness’ sake.Modern society calls the beggar
bum and panhandler
and gives him the bum’s rush.But the Greeks used to say
that people in need are the ambassadors of the gods.Although you may be called bums and panhandlers
you are in fact the Ambassadors of God.As God’s Ambassadors
you should be given food, clothing and shelter
by those who are able to give it.Mahometan teachers tell us
that God commands hospitality.And hospitality is still practiced
in Mahometan countries.But the duty of hospitality
is neither taught nor practiced
in Christian countries.
THE MUNICIPAL LODGINGS
That is why you who are in need
are not invited to spend the night
in the homes of the rich.There are guest rooms today
in the homes of the rich
but they are not for those who
need them.And they are not for those who need them
because those who need them are
no longer considered as the Ambassadors of God.So people no longer
consider hospitality to the poor
as a personal duty.And it does not disturb them a bit
to send them to the city
where they are given the hospitality of the “Muni”
at the expense of the taxpayer.But the hospitality that the “Muni”
gives to the down and out
is no hospitality
because what comes from the taxpayer’s pocketbook
does not come from his heart.
BACK TO HOSPITALITY
The Catholic unemployed
should not be sent to the “Muni.”The Catholic unemployed
should be given hospitality
in Catholic houses of hospitality.Catholic houses of hospitality
are known in Europe
under the name of Hospices.There have been Hospices in Europe
since the time of Constantine.Hospices are free guest houses;
hotels are paying guest houses.And paying guest houses or hotels are as plentiful
as free guest houses or hospices are scarce.So hospitality like everything else
has been commercialized.So hospitality like everything else
must now be idealized.
HOUSES OF HOSPITALITY
We need Houses of Hospitality
to give to the rich
the opportunity to serve the poor.We need Houses of Hospitality
to bring the Bishops to the people
and the people to the Bishops.We need Houses of Hospitality
to bring back to institutions
the technique of institutions.We need Houses of Hospitality
to show what idealism looks like
when it is practiced.We need Houses of Hospitality
to bring Social Justice
through Catholic Action
exercised in Catholic Institutions.
HOSPICES
We read in the Catholic Encyclopedia
that during the early ages of Christianity
the hospice (or the house of hospitality)
was shelter for the sick, the poor,
the orphans, the old, the traveler
and the needy of every kind.Originally the hospices (or houses of hospitality)
were under the supervision of the
bishops who designated priests
to administer the spiritual and
temporal affairs of these charitable institutions.The fourteenth statute of the so-
called Council of Carthage held about 436
enjoins upon the bishops
to have hospices (or houses of hospitality)
in connection with their churches.
PARISH HOUSES OF HOSPITALITY
Today we need houses of hospitality
as much as they needed it then
if not more so.We have Parish Houses for the priests
Parish Houses for educational purposes
Parish Houses for recreational purposes
but no Parish Houses of hospitality.Bossuet says that the poor
are the first children of the Church
so the poor should come first.People with homes should have a
room of hospitality
so as to give shelter to the needy
members of the parish.The remaining needy members of the
parish
should be given shelter in Parish
Homes.Furniture, clothing and food
should be sent to the needy members of the parish
at the Parish House of Hospitality.We need Parish Homes
as well as Parish Domes.In the new Cathedral of Liverpool
there will be Home as well as
Dome.
HOUSES OF “CATHOLIC ACTION”
Catholic houses of hospitality
should be more than free guest houses
for the Catholic unemployed.They could be vocational training schools
including the training for the priesthood
as Father Corbett proposes.They could be Catholic reading rooms
as Father McSorley proposes.They could be Catholic Instruction Schools
as Father Cornelius Hayes proposes.They could be Round-Table Discussion Groups
as Peter Maurin proposes.In word, they could be
Catholic Action Houses
where Catholic Thought
is combined with Catholic Action.
About us. Roundtable covers the Catholic Worker Movement. This week’s CW Reads was produced by Jerry Windley-Daoust; art by Monica Welch at DovetailInk. Roundtable is an independent publication not associated with the New York Catholic Worker or The Catholic Worker newspaper. Send inquiries to roundtable@catholicworker.org.
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