Hospitality and inclusion are important to the Church. Monastic communities are held up as a model, opening their doors to those who need a place to rest. But they also place boundaries on that hospitality, asking guests to observe house rules, and maintaining a cloistered area where guests are not permitted. "Good fences make good neighbors," wrote Robert Frost. Drawing on her training as a biologist and church consultant, Caroline Westerhoff explores the theological questions raised by boundaries. Filled with stories of actual families and communities, this book is excellent reading for church leaders and for individuals who want to be inclusive and yet maintain boundaries in their lives. John Westerhoff's study questions make this a helpful resource for parish study groups. "In a narrative liberally laced with anecdotal stories, Westerhoff establishes . . . the obvious but too frequently neglected "boundaries"-the boundedness-of our lives. . . . [This book] is a worthy partner in the ongoing conversation we Christians must continually engage on the paradox of hospitality at the heart of our faith, as we seek to lose ourselves for the sake of the gospel." ― Anglican Theological Review "A well-written book, with much to say about boundaries and spiritual deepening." ―The Rev. Roy M. Oswald, Congregations Caroline Westerhoff, formerly Canon for Congregational Life and Ministry and a consultant for the Alban Institute, is a writer and retreat leader. Her other works include Good Fences, Calling, and Transforming the Ordinary. She lives in Georgia. GOOD FENCES The Boundaries of Hospitality By Caroline A. Westerhoff Church Publishing Incorporated Copyright © 1999 Caroline A. Westerhoff All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-8192-2140-7 Contents PROLOGUE LinesONE Inside and OutsideTWO WelcomeTHREE ConnectionsFOUR Closed and OpenFIVE Moving and ChangingSIX Neighborhoods and NeighborsEPILOGUE Good FencesQuestions for Discussion Excerpt CHAPTER 1 Inside and Outside Boundaries are lines that afford definition, identity, and protection—-forpersons, families, institutions, nations. They can be tangible, like the wallsof a room; intangible, like the bonds that encircle a family or a community; orthey can defy ordinary description altogether. A boundary gives us something towhich we can point and ascribe a name. Without a boundary, we have nothing towhich we can invite or welcome anyone else. It was my year for a sabbatical leave, and I decided to begin with a three-daysilent retreat at a monastery. I had never done anything like that before: asolitary venture of extended silence in the domain of God. The idea to head offinto some kind of self-imposed wilderness was one of those inspirations thatseemingly come out of the blue. It just struck me as the way to begin what Ihoped would be three months of creative thinking and writing. I know I wasanxious about backing out, because I saw fit to declare my intention right awayto anyone and everyone who showed the slightest interest in my summer plans. Howcould I later admit to all those people that the retreat never happened, that Ihad been such a wimp? Yet the prospect of sitting with God for threedays—and especially for three nights—gave me cause for dread.Suppose God were to say things I did not want to hear? Or worse, suppose Godsaid nothing at all? Suppose the silence went both ways? I chose the Abbey of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit, a Roman Catholic religioushouse, for my retreat. It seemed like the right place. I think I was very tired,and what appealed to me first and foremost was its convenience. This time, I didnot want to struggle to the airport and get on a plane and fly far away. Thistime, I did not want to drive in my car for even two or three hours. This time,I just wanted to arrive, enter, and begin as simply as possible. Located about thirty-five miles from where I live and work, the monasteryoffered a soothing modicum of familiarity to me. I had been there on a fewoccasions over the years for a variety of meetings and remembered the lovelygrounds that provide opportunity for walking and peaceful lakeside sitting. Iknew that the stark, white stone church would offer a steady setting forperiodic prayer and worship with the monks. Still, this is not to say that allmy memories of the place were good ones. I remembered making a degrading trekback into town to a motel bed, before women could stay the night in the retreathouse. But that was a long time ago, and the brochure now makes it plain thatwomen and men of different religious backgrounds are welcome as guests.Nonetheless, I knew the monastery would afford me a measure of dissonance. I,the welcome guest, would be stepping into a religious tradition with which I wasnot in communion—although we hold many of the essentials in common. Iwould be leaving home, crossing into another country of sorts. It would beimportant to guard against becoming too comfortable and taking too much