The Practice of Unreasonable Hospitality
August 4th marked Jeff's and my 30th wedding anniversary, and we decided to celebrate in style. I joined him in Washington, DC, after one of his business trips for a long weekend. We enjoyed the National Art Gallery, a tour of the Capitol, the water taxi on the Potomac, and more than one mid-afternoon nap.
But the highlight was dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
Jeff and I fancy ourselves foodies, and our staff has been inspired all year by Will Guidara's book "Unreasonable Hospitality." So, I went in curious to experience firsthand the kind of world-class hospitality these places are known for.
We were not disappointed.
When I got back to the office on Monday, I told the staff about the personal selection of chopsticks and how my napkin was replaced within five seconds of my leaving the table. I spoke of the 1996 vintage poured in honor of our anniversary that brought me to tears, and the QR code slipped beside my plate linking to a 90s hip-hop playlist. And, of course, I described the final flourish of a black gift box of mother-of-pearl spoons handed to us on our way out.
Truly, the food was divine, the pairings impeccable, the desserts delicious. But it was the service—the surprise, the attention to detail—that left the deepest impression. That's the kind of care, the unreasonable hospitality, we want every guest to experience here at St. Mary's Sewanee. It's the both/and of spiritually transformative programs and delicious rest and comfort.
As a staff, we set our aspirations high, which is exactly why a disappointing review last spring hit so hard. A guest driving across several states on her way home from a loved one's funeral had chosen St. Mary's Sewanee as her overnight stopover. She checked in exhausted and settled into her room. But a plumbing issue kept her awake all night with a knocking sound, and the next morning she told us, gently but honestly, that she was leaving sadder and more tired than when she'd arrived. It gutted us.
Our program staff responded right away: a free night's lodging, and a hopeful invitation to return. We found the source of the noise and had it repaired within the week. And she did return. This time, her stay was everything we'd hoped it would be for her the first time.
Making sure every meeting room, sleeping room, common space, and inch of these grounds is comfortable, inviting, and restful is our highest priority, because excellent hospitality is what allows a guest to be fully present in a retreat. It's what lets someone rest enough to process what brought them here and find the spot for journaling, meditating, or praying.
And this community makes it possible:
New split units in the bluff-side rooms of St. Mary's Hall.
Hammock swings and a fire pit. Lights along the walkway.
Fresh sheets, a new sound system in the common room, fresh flowers.
Newly stained rockers on the porch.
We agree with Will Guidara: "Excellence is the culmination of thousands of details executed perfectly." We strive for that kind of excellence, so that the same unreasonable hospitality marks your next visit here.
PRACTICE: A Simple Examen
Reflecting on our anniversary celebration has allowed me to savor the details of the day. Tonight, before you sleep, take five minutes and walk back through your day, the way I did, retracing the chopsticks, the wine, the playlist tucked beside my plate. This ancient practice, called the Examen, invites you to notice where grace showed up in the ordinary moments.
Settle. Take a breath. Notice you are in God's presence.
Give thanks. What are you grateful for today? It can be something small.
Review. Walk through your day. Where did you feel most alive? Most drained?
Sit with one moment. Choose the moment that stands out. Stay there. What is it teaching you?
Look ahead. As tomorrow comes, what do you want to carry forward?
You don't need a Michelin-starred evening to practice noticing. Grace tends to hide in the ordinary: a poured cup of coffee, a lit path, a friend who remembered. The Examen simply asks us to look.
