The Spare Chair

Some homes always seem to have a spare chair.

Not because they are large or wealthy or endlessly prepared, but because somewhere in the life of that house there is still room for one more. One more cup of tea. One more conversation. One more person who arrived tired, late or unsure whether they should have come at all.

A spare chair is a small thing. Easy to overlook. Yet it says something.

It says that not every corner of life has been handed over to efficiency. It says that usefulness has not crowded out kindness. It says that the people who live here still believe interruption may be one of the ways grace enters a room.

The modern instinct is to fill every place. Every seat has a purpose. Every hour has a task. Every plan is tight and carefully held. We grow skilled at fitting life together like a set of closed drawers. Nothing loose. Nothing delayed. Nothing unexpected.

But Christian faith does not grow especially well in a life with no spare chair.

The Lord Jesus was never ruled by the cold logic of interruption. Children were brought and He did not wave them away. The weary came and He received them. The ashamed came and He did not close the door. Blind men cried out and He stopped. A woman with twelve years of sorrow touched the hem of His garment and He made time in the middle of a crowd.

Again and again, grace made room.

That does not mean Christian love is disorderly or foolish. It does not mean every knock must be answered or every request agreed to. But it does mean we should beware of building lives so tight and guarded that mercy has nowhere to sit.

Sometimes the spare chair is literal. A place at the table. A seat in the lounge room. A quiet invitation after church. Sometimes it is less visible than that. It is the pause before hurrying away. The willingness to listen when someone begins to speak awkwardly. The choice to make tea and stay a little longer. The decision not to treat another human being as a delay in your real day.

Hospitality is not all polished cutlery and well-timed meals. Often it is simpler than that. Often it is just room made in the heart before it is ever made in the house.

And perhaps that is why the image matters.

A spare chair quietly asks whether grace has left us any margin. Whether our homes and habits still carry the shape of welcome. Whether our Christianity is only correct in principle or open in practice.

After all, the gospel itself is not the story of a closed circle protecting its comfort. It is the news that in Christ the undeserving are welcomed, the far-off are brought near and those who had no claim to a seat are invited to sit down and receive mercy.

People who have been given that kind of welcome should not live with bolted hearts.

So keep a spare chair somewhere.

If not in the dining room, then in your schedule. If not in your schedule, then in your conversation. If not in your conversation, then at least in your heart before the Lord.

Because one of the quiet signs of grace at work in a life is this, there is still room for one more.