A Bishop, Genie, and Biblical Hospitality
In Les Misérables, Victor Hugo paints one of the most moving scenes in all of literature—a moment where grace shatters the chains of judgment and kindness breaks through years of rejection.
The Bishop of Digne, with quiet power and divine compassion, welcomes Jean Valjean—a man fresh from prison, worn by the harshness of the world, and turned away at every door because of his past. He is a man society has cast out, but the bishop sees more.
Someone suggests he try the bishop’s home, and when he does, he is not only let in—he is embraced. The bishop, seated near this broken soul, touches his hand and says words that thunder with mercy:
“You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house; it is the house of Christ. It does not ask any comer whether he has a name, but whether he has an affliction. You are suffering; you are hungry and thirsty; be welcome… This is the home of no man, except him who needs an asylum… What need have I had to know your name? Besides, before you told me, I knew it.”
Jean Valjean, stunned, can hardly believe it when the bishop then calls him “My Brother”.
Brother.
This moment—this radical act of unconditional love—echoes the words of Scripture. Hebrews 13 urges us to practice hospitality, reminding us that in doing so, some have unknowingly welcomed angels. And in Matthew 25, Jesus tells us plainly: when we welcome the stranger, we welcome Him.
We can’t afford to forget this truth when we encounter someone who doesn’t look like us, speak like us, or share our history. Whether their skin is a different shade, their passport is from another country, or their story is marked by struggle, remember: they are our brother. They are our sister.
And as I look back over my life, one person continually stands out as a true embodiment of biblical hospitality—my wife, Genie. Her heart for others, her open door, and her unwavering generosity have spoken louder than any sermon I could ever preach.
Just after we were married—over 44 years ago—there was a young woman in need of a place to stay. Without hesitation, Genie welcomed her into our small two-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t spacious, it wasn’t fancy, but it was full of love. That was only the beginning.
Later, during our college ministry days at the University of South Carolina, a young man who had just joined the staff found himself without a home. Again, Genie opened our doors. He stayed with us for several months until he could get on his feet. Then there was a young woman from England who had come to faith in Christ under miraculous circumstances. She was alone and far from home—and once more, Genie extended the invitation: “Come stay with us.”
In those years, our home became a place of refuge and discipleship. At one point, we had 13 college and career-age students living with us in a shared house, all while ministering to the student body at USC. It wasn’t always easy, but God was in it. Our doors remained open, and our lives were deeply intertwined with theirs.
In the early ’90s, the Lord gave us the opportunity to start a ministry called Crossroads through Calvary Baptist Church. We did a lot—events, outreach, Bible studies—but I truly believe one of the key reasons it flourished was Genie’s gift of hospitality. Students weren’t just taught the gospel—they saw it lived out in our home. They watched our family in both success and struggle. They saw faith in action at the dinner table, in the kitchen, during late-night conversations, and in the daily ups and downs of raising children.
Even now, decades later, Genie’s heart hasn’t changed. Just this year, we had over 30 people in our home for both Thanksgiving and Easter. The food was abundant, but more importantly, the love was real. There’s something sacred that happens when people gather around a table. Hospitality creates space for connection, healing, and gospel witness in ways few other things can.
Biblical hospitality isn’t about having the perfect house or flawless meals. It’s about offering what you have, with open hands and an open heart. And that’s exactly what Genie has done, year after year—quietly, faithfully, and with great love.
Let our homes, our churches, our hearts be like the bishop’s and like Genie’s—places where no one has to prove they belong to be loved. Places where mercy speaks louder than fear. Where grace has the final word.
