I married a woman who doesn’t care about jewelry, status symbols, or cars. She loves experiences. Travel is a hunger that she shares with her family of missionary kids. So our pattern is to save for those experiences, and then she will research for months to understand the culture and history of a place and people before we go. My own effort toward that is to learn some of the language of a place. To ask a host of a rental apartment, “Prenotatsione, per favore?” invites more than just a transaction; it invites connection. And I delight in those connections.

But over the years I have noticed a developing trend that I call “narcissistic tourism.” I watched with alarm the pattern of people standing in the presence of priceless art who were focused on their selfie composition, and only appreciating the art as a backdrop. Ancient streets that hosted kings and queens become only glorified “runways” for their prancing TikTok videos. The people of those places are only servants whose stories, experiences, and culture are simply commodities to be purchased and used.

In contrast, we walked into a shop where an artist was selling her creation, and we struck up a conversation. She was delightful. She talked about what it was like to actually live in this town, what it meant to her, how she got started in her craft, and how she has raised her family in that culture. It was delightful. And as the conversation was unfolding, I realized that our experience was similar to being a guest in someone’s home here in Texas. We don’t go into a home just to consume the food they serve; we go there to know them, appreciate them, and enjoy them. I knew we would never visit that place again, but for 10 minutes, we connected. SHE MATTERED.

I wondered, “If this is how we related to other cultures and people when we’re tourists, how firm is the boundary between our “narcissistic tourism” and how we relate to people at home? Is this where our sense of community is heading?”

I was reminded of the “each other” passages in Jesus’ teaching, and in Paul’s and Peter’s teaching. Serve one another, bear with one another, consider the interests of others. So when we are on the road, does our ethic of hospitality and mutual concern cease to be relevant? Are we not always representatives of Christ? I expect a person who does not know Christ, whose life has never been transformed by grace, to operate in rather narcissistic ways. “It’s about what I want or need,” is an expected mantra. But for followers of Christ, we have a different ethic, a different value system.

I thought about the artist — a citizen, a resident, a neighbor, a mother and grandmother, and a person with a beautiful gift — and hoped that our departure from her little shop left a “pleasant aroma” of grace in our wake. After seeing self-focused tourism in a caricatured expression, I wondered if we think enough about our influence of grace where we live, work, and play.

Will you think about it more and make different choices because of WHOSE you are?