the grass

This is an excerpt from a book I'm reading about Benedictine monks and hospitality. The book is by Homan and Pratt, called "Radical Hospitality: Benedict's way of love." This kind of hospitality is exemplified in the story I want to share.

"Father Noel and Father Dan were taking a walk on the monastery grounds one day. It was the kind of day made for a walk with a friend. A group of eleven- and twelve-year olds from an institution for troubled children were on a tour of the monastery. They had arrived by hay wagon, pulled by horses with a couple of young drivers, probably in their late teens. Acres of rolling grass invite you to stretch out on a sultry summer day and enjoy the soft grass and warm earth. The monastery grounds are well groomed, but the place doesn't feel like an institution...The two monks were enjoying one of those warm days of late summer. Guests were not as common in those days, but when they showed up they were welcome. Occupied in conversation, Father Dan did not notice the hay wagon drivers until they came within a few yards. "I was stopped in my tracks," he remembers. "Right there on the yard in front of us, the two wagon drivers were passing a joint back and forth, looking completely at home, as if this was the most natural thing to do at a monastery. In case you're wondering, it isn't." Father Noel, born in Italy and a monk all of his adult life, had never seen marijuana. he was not a naive or stupid man; such a thing simply was not part of his experience. Father Dan was a street-smart kid raised in Detroit. Before he could demand an explanation, Father Noel spoke up.
"Young men," he exclaimed with wide-armed relish, "we are so glad that you are with us today to enjoy the grass."
What if Christian communities were like that? Can it not be transformative to receive grace, when you know full well you are doing something wrong? What the world needs is more grace. More grace. A generous welcome. An outstretched hand. Radical hospitality that crosses barriers. Grass.