Entertaining Strangers
photo by Laurie Shaw
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares” (from The Epistle of Paul to the Hebrews, 13:2).
I think a lot about this quote, one much admired by my father and a frequent topic of conversation for us. The passage often comes to mind because crossing paths with “strangers” plays a consistently uplifting part in my life.
What about this strange word stranger? I turned to my hefty Merriam-Webster dictionary and found this assortment of definitions: “alien, foreigner, guest, visitor, intruder…acquaintance who has been long absent…one who is not in the place where his home is…a person or thing unknown.” They all felt wrong except the last one, which I would edit to read: “a person or thing yet unknown to me.”
In the above photograph, two heretofore strangers converse at Thanksgiving about Scottish vs. Irish bagpipes. Though separated geographically and by seventy years, and likely unable to hear every word due to the festive noise, each made a place for the other in their lives. Sitting across the table from them, I thought they looked kin to angels.
This morning I thought of recent moments when I’ve entertained strangers while also being well-and-highly entertained by them. These are the moments that connect the dots of our not-really-separate lives. When we pay attention to even our most casual interactions, we feel more a part of the world—we lose any notion that I or you or we or they are “ an alien or intruders.”
Here are but a few of my greatest hits.
Hearing a number of people yet unknown to me remark, on separate occasions, “you must be tired!” startled me at first. Is it that obvious? Do they know each other? I am tired, but…. I get it! As weeks wore on, I looked forward to yet another Washington Nationals fan’s greeting upon seeing my Nats’ hat, and we reveled in the emotional toll of rooting into the wee hours for our home team.
Oh, the uproarious laughter on the phone shared with an employee in the billing department, at our discovery that the same wrong bill had come my way once again, same amount and same time of year, like clockwork. We made plans to meet again by phone, promising to mark our calendars.
“Don’t you love your Hyundai?” asked a woman in the parking lot of the grocery store. She took me over to look at hers, and she mused that at her age this would likely be her last car purchase. We discussed our first auto purchases, gas mileage, and side mirrors. She took the lead and I followed, my only addition to our car talk my father’s lesson on how to eyeball low tire pressure.
Ah, then the grocery store presented surefire “stranger” opportunities. Standing in the express line, holding cherry tomatoes and bleach, I felt the hovering line behind me lengthen as the person in front of me painstakingly placed one and then another of at least 25 more items on the conveyor belt. Turning and seeing my two purchases, she said: “You can go ahead of me if you like.” Her delivery of this tardy offer was priceless, as was the cashier’s expression, and well-meaning laughter erupted behind me. We chatted as my predecessor’s groceries collected in her cart, eventually waving her on her also laughing way.
Swaying and singing at a concert, the shoulder-rubbing strangers seated in the same row, and the fans cheering in the rows in front of and behind us, shook hands and hugged as we deliriously applauded Gladys Knight as she strode off stage. We’d all ridden with Gladys on “The Midnight Train to Georgia.”
The tellers at the bank asking where I’ve been… browsers at the bookstore sharing their favorites… restaurant goers recommending the soup… the postal worker debating whether I should get the Elvis or Marvin Gaye stamps…. Persons no longer unknown.
Taking a walk on Christmas Day, the sight of this community of trees brought the quote to mind again. I absolutely do not want to be a stranger to those majestic beings. They are no longer things unknown to me. I look up to them.
My hope for 2020? Less strangeness. Massive amounts of less strangeness. How chip away at it? Being not forgetful.
Every one of us has some entertaining to do. Happy New Year.
Told with McCarty’s characteristic wisdom, marvel, exuberance, and good will, Leaving 1203 is about navigating that way through. The author draws on all available resources—friends and strangers, food and laughter, life lessons learned in the very house she now empties, and, not least, her newly-inherited West Highland terrier, Billy. McCarty simultaneously learns and deftly teaches the fine arts of remembering, letting go, and holding on to what matters most. She not only finds the way through, she shows the way.
the greatest gift an author could give a reader… lessons of a universally philosophical and existential kind… a touching journey… a welcome, upbeat ride
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