Many years ago, a little girl named Sarah lived in a home for unwed mothers. She was not one of the clients; her mother was the cook there. Sarah had grown up in the home, and was the special pet of all the girls who came there. One day, a new girl, young and pregnant had come to the home. As she sat on the bench, waiting for her intake interview with the director, she wept. Sarah, now about twelve or thirteen years old, had seen many girls come and go by then, and she knew most all of them had the same look of despair when they arrived. Sarah took pity on the girl, who was not far from her own age. She began talking, and as she did, the girl stopped crying. Then Sarah began to offer some advice on how to answer the standard questions, particularly the one about the father of the baby, "When she asks you who the father is, don't lie, she hates it when you lie, and, what ever you do, don't say he's dead, everyone says he's dead." The girl looked at Sarah, and much to her surprise, asked her, "So what did you say when she asked you?" 

Sarah froze; she was horrified that the girl had mistaken her for one of them. She loved and cared for those girls, but in her mind there had always been a careful separation between them and her. She could love and support them, but she could not be one of them. That, I guess is the difference between God's hospitality and ours. God chose to be us. "Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness." (Phil. 2:5b-7)