Shirley Baker Can’t Read

Rethinking the Pillar of Hospitality

Do we sometimes make the pillar of hospitality harder than it needs to be?

Often when we talk about hospitality, it falls into one of two categories: the hospitality industry, or the parish version—also known as donut Sunday. While those things have their place, what if hospitality is meant to be something broader, simpler, and more deeply human?

I was watching a movie recently (A League of Their Own), and one scene stayed with me. A character named Shirley Baker is standing in front of a list of players who made the team. She stares at it helplessly, tears filling her eyes. The camera lingers on her face for what feels like a long time—until another player gently steps in and asks, “Can you read?” She then helps Shirley find her name on the list.

That moment is quiet. There’s no applause. No announcement. Just dignity.

The movie is full of moments like that. A team owner gives a coach another chance despite his flaws. Two players refuse to join the team unless a less popular teammate is also recruited. A coach demands compassion from a postal worker who must deliver devastating news to a player about her husband's death in action.

When I think of hospitality, this is what comes to mind.

Jesus didn’t overcomplicate hospitality either. In the Gospel, He meets people where they are—at a well, on the road, at a wedding, or lying wounded on the side of the road. He speaks with the woman at the well with respect and honesty, restoring her dignity rather than condemning her. He welcomes the prodigal son home before a single word of apology is finished. He lifts up the Good Samaritan, whose simple act of mercy becomes the model of love of neighbor.

These are not grand gestures. They are ordinary moments filled with compassion.

So yes—if this coming Sunday is donut Sunday, indulge. Have an extra. Enjoy the fellowship. But on the way home, think about hospitality beyond the table in the parish hall.

This week, look for the Shirley Bakers around you. The quiet ones. The struggling ones. The overlooked ones. Hospitality doesn’t always mean doing more. Often, it simply means noticing—and choosing kindness.

That’s where the Gospel lives.