Hospitality as Earthiness a Devotional for the Via Positiva

As the Third Quarter Moon rises, we walk the Via Positiva awakening, blessing, and beholding the sacred in all things.

Invocation

Holy One, Root and Source of All,
You who stretch the heavens like a tent
and spread the Earth as a feast for every creature,
teach us to welcome as You welcome.

Ground our hearts in the soil of Your love.
Let our hands be open as rivers,
our words as nourishing as bread,
our presence as sheltering as ancient trees.

Forgive the walls we have built in fear.
Uproot the weeds of prejudice and greed.
Plant in us the seeds of compassion and courage.

May we see each stranger as kin,
each creature as family,
each breath as a gift shared from the same Spirit.

As the Earth is generous and fierce,
so make us:
generous in our welcome,
fierce in our protection of the vulnerable.

In Your name,
the One who dwells in every living temple,
we pray.

Amen.

The Sacred Moment

Today, the third quarter moon rises, opening the middle way between light and darkness. May we feel the call to awe, to cosmic hospitality, to the art of savor, and to the kin-dom of God here and now. In the sacred light of the Third Quarter Moon, we walk the path of the Via Positiva: the way of wonder, the dance of delight, courage to speak the living Word of God into form. Our souls ache for blessing and community as we gather to taste the sweetness of life and share the joy with each other.

This is a moon to awaken, to bless, to behold.

Theme: Hospitality as Earthiness

The third quarter moon hangs in the sky like a curved sickle, calling us to harvest what is good and release what is no longer life-giving. This is the season when we gather in our kin for the dark nights ahead, when we store up the fruits of our labor and prepare to share them. But it is also the time when we must let go, casting away our inhospitality, our prejudices, our selfishness, so that we can live the grace we are called to embody.

The Earth herself is our teacher. She welcomes all without question. She lays her table in wildflowers and wheat fields, in orchards heavy with fruit, in rivers that pour themselves out without tallying who drinks. She gives without demanding repayment. She shelters without drawing lines between native and stranger. She is nurturing and life-giving, and she is fierce, sending storms to cleanse the air, fires to renew the forest, and winds to scatter seed into forgotten places. Her hospitality is not indulgent; it is balanced, rooted in the rhythms that make life possible.

The Psalmist sang this truth long before we found the language of ecosystems:

Psalm 104 (WEB)

Bless Yahweh, my soul.
Yahweh, my God, you are very great.
You are clothed with honor and majesty.
He covers himself with light as with a garment.
He stretches out the heavens like a curtain.
He lays the beams of his rooms in the waters.
He makes the clouds his chariot.
He walks on the wings of the wind.
He makes his messengers winds,
and his servants flames of fire.
He laid the foundations of the earth,
that it should not be moved forever.
You covered it with the deep as with a cloak.
The waters stood above the mountains.
At your rebuke they fled.
At the voice of your thunder they hurried away.
The mountains rose,
the valleys sank down,
to the place which you had assigned to them.
You have set a boundary that they may not pass over,
that they don’t turn again to cover the earth.
He sends springs into the valleys.
They run among the mountains.
They give drink to every animal of the field.
The wild donkeys quench their thirst.
The birds of the sky nest by them.
They sing among the branches.
He waters the mountains from his rooms.
The earth is filled with the fruit of your works.
He causes the grass to grow for the livestock,
and plants for man to cultivate,
that he may produce food out of the earth:
wine that makes the heart of man glad,
oil to make his face to shine,
and bread that strengthens man’s heart.

This is the soil in which we are planted; love, compassion, and justice are our spiritual nutrients. Without them, we wither and die. In the Via Positiva, we are invited to root ourselves in joy, in the delight of being alive, in the awe of creation’s abundance. But joy is not meant to be hoarded. It grows when it is shared.

God’s call to hospitality is not optional; it is woven into the law itself.

Leviticus 19:33–34 (WEB)

If a stranger lives as a foreigner with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong.

The stranger who lives as a foreigner with you shall be to you as the native-born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you lived as foreigners in the land of Egypt. I am Yahweh your God.

The kin-dom of God is within us. God dwells in every living being. When we welcome the stranger, we welcome Christ. When we feed the hungry, we feed Him. And when we abuse the poor, exploit the refugee, or desecrate the Earth, we crucify Him again. Like the Romans before us, we are choosing to kill the Christ rather than follow His wisdom.

Hospitality is not sentimentality; it is a radical stance of solidarity. It requires opening our hands and our doors not only to those who look like us, think like us, or speak like us, but to all: because all are kin. It means seeing the Earth herself as our family. The river is our sister, the soil our mother, the wind our cousin. It means treating the refugee as our sibling, the hungry as our own flesh.

We are living in a time when gates are rising higher, when wealth buys favor and the poor are trampled. Nations turn away the displaced, churches lock their doors to the unhoused, and corporations strip the land bare for profit. In doing so, we are barring ourselves from the gates of heaven. The measure we use for others will be used for us, and our inhospitality will leave us empty in the days when we need each other most.

The third quarter moon reminds us: now is the time to gather in the good and cast out the rot. We must harvest compassion, courage, and community, and we must release the poisons of greed, fear, and exclusion. Like the Earth, we must be both generous and fierce. Our welcome must be wide, and our protection of the vulnerable unwavering.

Hospitality as earthiness means getting dirt under our fingernails: feeding bodies, mending wounds, listening without judgment. It means planting seeds of justice and pulling the weeds of prejudice. It means standing in the storm when the balance of creation is threatened and offering the shelter of our lives to those battered by the winds.

Be the soil in which love grows. Be the table where all are fed. Be the hearth where strangers become kin. Welcome as the Earth welcomes, with abundance, with delight, with fierce protection. For in welcoming one another, we welcome God. And in welcoming God, we discover the fullness of life that no darkness can overcome.

Practice: Becoming the Earth’s Welcome

A quiet space, seated comfortably with feet on the ground or sitting on the earth if possible.

1. Grounding Breath

Close your eyes. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose for a count of four, feeling your belly expand. Hold for a count of two.

Exhale slowly through your mouth for a count of six. Repeat three times, letting your shoulders drop and your jaw soften.

2. Rooting in the Earth

Feel the weight of your body connecting to the ground beneath you. Imagine roots growing from the soles of your feet or the base of your spine, sinking deep into the soil. With each breath, feel those roots drawing up the Earth’s steady strength, nourishment, and welcome.

3. Welcomed by Creation

Picture yourself in a wide, sunlit meadow. Around you, the Earth has set a table: flowers, fruits, bread still warm from the oven, cool water flowing nearby.

Feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, the breeze on your face, the scent of life all around you. Let yourself feel welcomed here, completely accepted, without condition.

4. Extending the Welcome

Now imagine people approaching: some you know and love, others you have never met, some who are different from you in every way.

See yourself smiling, rising, and making space for them at the table.

As each one sits, you place before them food, drink, and the comfort of your presence.

In your heart, repeat:

“You are my kin. You are welcome. You are loved.”

5. Fierce Protection

See dark clouds gathering in the distance, storms that threaten to scatter your guests. Feel the Earth rise within you, steady and strong. You become a shelter: your arms wide, your presence unshakable.

Repeat silently:

“I will protect the vulnerable. I will guard life.”

6. Planting the Seed of Action

After the clouds pass, see a small seed in your hand. This seed holds your commitment to live out hospitality as earthiness in word, deed, and spirit.

Plant it in the soil before you, and see it begin to grow, nourished by the love you offer and the justice you live.

7. Returning with Intention

Begin to draw your awareness back to your breath. Feel your body rooted and steady. Wiggle your fingers and toes. When you are ready, open your eyes.

Whisper to yourself:

“As the Earth welcomes, I welcome. As the Earth shelters, I shelter.”

Closing Blessing

Go now as the Earth’s own welcome.

Let your roots drink deep from the well of divine love.
Let your branches stretch wide to shelter the weary.
Let your table be set for friend and stranger alike.

Stand firm when storms rise,
for you are soil rich with justice,
you are a hearth warmed by compassion,
you are the living temple of God’s hospitality.

And may the Creator who shaped the mountains,
the Christ who walks among the poor,
and the Spirit who breathes through all creation
bless you and keep you in the way of welcome,
now and in every season to come.

Amen.