In an electronic, need-for-speed, overnight-delivery age, the more personal the invitation the better. A visit is more personal than a call; a call is more personal than a letter; a letter is more personal than e-mail—a letter with six people’s names on it is less personal than one addressed to one person, and an e-mail is about as impersonal as it gets. We are so flooded with e-mails and the medium is so senseless that I have come to believe that in the rank order of inviting, e-mails don’t count. But all are better than lying in bed at night waiting for the universe to provide.*
Okay, it’s time to make the invitation… How will you do it? You have what you’ll invite people to. You have the list of people. How can you make the invite?
Is there someone you can ask to share this risk with you? To ask you about the invitation or to come with you to make the invitation? Remember, as soon as someone says yes, they are sharing the responsibility for the gathering’s possibility with you.
Next we’ll talk about the setting for the meeting, which will influence whenand where.
Block, Peter. Community: The Structure of Belonging (p. 122). Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Kindle Edition.
There are certain properties of invitation that can make it more than simply a request. In addition to stating the reason for the gathering, an invitation at its best must contain a hurdle or demand if accepted. This is not to be inhospitable, but to make even the act of invitation an example of the interdependence we want to experience.
Too often we dilute the transformational possibilities of groups by asking too little or expecting too little. A transformational invitation includes cost, and opens the inviter into a vulnerable posture.
In the wilderness, the stranger becomes a neighbor through the vulnerable act of hospitality. Such hospitality is not reserved to tea on the front porch or holiday suppers (though these are great). Wilderness hospitality is an act of calling forth possibility by accepting the leadership of convening.
The great “triad of vulnerability” in the book of Deuteronomy identifies widows, orphans, and immigrants as needy members of society who are without protected rights…. It is no stretch at all to see that on Sabbath day these vulnerable, exposed neighbors shall be “like you,” peaceably at rest. In this interpretive tradition, Sabbath is not simply a pause. It is an occasion for reimagining all social life away from coercion and competition to compassionate solidarity. Such solidarity is imaginable and capable of performance only when the drivenness of acquisitiveness is broken. Sabbath is not simply the pause that refreshes. It is the pause that transforms. Whereas Israelites are always tempted to acquisitiveness, Sabbath is an invitation to receptivity, an acknowledgment that what is needed is given and need not be seized.*
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