Climate Hospitality

Last year, I gave a talk to a group of churches in Black Mountain, NC, a beautiful small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains, right outside of Asheville. I shared with them that their region is generally considered a “climate refuge,” shielded from the worst effects of climate change. Hurricane Helene shattered that illusion, claiming 115 lives in North Carolina and leaving thousands without basic necessities.

The increasingly-dire climate crises unfolding around us have led me to think about the role of churches and institutions of faith in this moment. How can we help our communities weather the physical, social, and spiritual storms of the climate crisis? In the midst of this question, I have found my way to the idea of "Climate Hospitality"—the work of creating space for thriving in a world increasingly disrupted by climate change. As storms intensify and ecological challenges deepen, churches stand uniquely positioned to offer more than temporary shelter. They can provide a transformative vision of a world where all creation has the opportunity to not just survive, but truly flourish.

Christine Pohl, in Making Room: Hospitality as a Christian Tradition, reminds us that “hospitality is a personal but institutionally rooted practice.” It thrives in places with a shared identity, purpose, and capacity—places like churches. Yet hospitality is not merely parochial; it is also political. As hurricanes and wildfires displace more people and disrupt ecosystems, hospitality becomes a way to resist the forces that divide us, whether they are physical walls, xenophobic policies, or cultural apathy.

It invites us to imagine the church not only as a shelter in the storm but as an agent for justice, helping to reshape the systems that leave so many vulnerable.

Climate hospitality challenges us to reimagine our relationships with both people and the rest of creation. It is a recognition that the climate crisis is not only ecological but social and spiritual. The displacement of people mirrors the displacement of animals and ecosystems. As Patrick Chamoiseau writes, “The apathy, suspicion, and disdain with which the foreign refugee is seen is a sign that humanity is slipping into ‘dishumanity.’” The work of hospitality, then, is to see all displaced beings—human and nonhuman—as neighbors rather than threats.

This is where the turn toward political hospitality becomes urgent. While churches can—and should—practice acts of immediate care, true climate hospitality requires addressing the systems that create displacement and destruction. Political hospitality calls us to advocate for systemic changes, such as climate policies that prioritize equity, funding for resilient infrastructure, and legal protections for both vulnerable people and endangered ecosystems. It invites us to imagine the church not only as a shelter in the storm but as an agent for justice, helping to reshape the systems that leave so many vulnerable.

In this work, the church has a rich tradition to draw upon. The prophets called for justice to roll down like waters, and Jesus modeled a kingdom where the last are made first. To practice climate hospitality in a political sense is to extend these calls into the Anthropocene. It is to recognize that the church’s mission is not limited to its walls but includes shaping the structures of society to make room for the flourishing of all creatures.

In this political moment, the invitation of climate hospitality feels more urgent than ever before; the invitation to meet the immediate needs of those displaced by climate change while working to transform the conditions that make displacement inevitable. It is the work of opening our doors—and our hearts—while also knocking on the doors of power, demanding a world where no one, human or nonhuman, is left out in the storm.

For resources on how to build climate resilience and hospitality in your community, visit creationjustice.org/resilience.

Photo by Andrew Neel: https://www.pexels.com/photo/mountain-at-daylight-2679224/