I was at a wedding in February up north. The couple were lovely —congratulations, Sarah and Tim! — but I most enjoyed meeting so many people.

Weddings — especially Catholic weddings — are great mixers. I danced with a friend of the Catholic Worker house in Brisbane. I swam in bioluminescence with my friend’s flatmate while we talked about her community. I got a ride with someone from the South Island and talked about activism in Wellington, mountains and belonging. I talked about what I’m learning at university with someone who recognised me from this very magazine. I heard about the father of the bride’s recent trip to India.

It was a wedding where every guest was interesting and had something to say. Or maybe it’s that I was more ready than usual to listen. I felt connected to everyone: we were brought together to witness a commitment, and we found other connections and commonalities among us as well. I felt expansive with the possibility of conversations, journeys and dances with the new people around me.

I’m well-known in my everyday life. I have neighbours, church friends and regular rhythms to sustain me. But sometimes I feel anxious being away from the familiar — like going to the wedding. It’s like the uncertainty when you need Google Maps to navigate to a new place. But I found I was met with grace at the wedding.

I was not an important wedding guest. I’m a friend from the wider circle of Sarah and Tim’s community. As we gathered to witness their vows — their courage to hold fast to each other against the unknown future — I was reminded that my idea of community is more than geographic location. Those who offered to pick me up from the bus stop in Whangerei, those who made sure I was fed, did so because I was present, not because I had a special role.

And then I returned home. I thought I might feel let down — I was certainly exhausted. But instead I felt exhilarating joy. I returned with a little more perspective on my own community. Sometimes I narrow down to whom and where I belong. But when I experience hospitality such as at the wedding, I’m reminded that when we invite people into our lives, we are trying to know them as they are known by God. Opening my table, or house, or life isn’t because I need to feel special, it’s an act of inclusivity. Just to be willing to listen, to make an effort for others is to act against the alienating influences in our world.

I’m reflecting now on how to make the hospitality I felt at the wedding a source of inspiration for a new practice in my life — to have an attitude of inclusiveness. It’s in the practice, I guess, that I’ll learn.

In the Prayer of St Francis we hear that we should not seek so much “to be loved as to love”. I felt that kind of love and joy at the wedding. And I want to grow into this kind of love and develop this kind of joy in my everyday life.

Tui Motu Magazine. Issue 247 unpublished April 2020: 27