The Paradox of Inclusion: Who Shouldn’t Be Welcomed?

At our church, we have this thing we say: “All are welcome.”

It‘s written in big letters on a sign out front, and we repeat it like a mantra. We say it with our whole hearts because we mean it — or at least, we think we do.

It sounds so good, so holy. All are welcome. No matter your sexual orientation, gender identity, ability, class, culture, or past mistakes. Come in, beloved. Have some coffee. A cookie. We saved you a seat.

But there’s a problem because I know — deep down, if I’m really being honest — that not everyone is actually welcome.

If someone came into the sanctuary wearing a swastika, throwing up a Nazi salute, and spewing hate speech, would I greet them with a warm smile and hand them a bulletin?

Absolutely not.

Would I, in fact, tell them to leave? Yes. Probably with some choice words that would have made my Grand-mère clutch her pearls and stage an intervention involving a bar of Ivory soap.

So what does that mean? What does it mean when we say, “All are welcome,” but we don’t really mean all? And is that okay? Where is the line where hospitality turns into self-destruction? Where does inclusion become something that needs to be protected?

Radical Hospitality: The Dream

Radical hospitality is a beautiful idea. It’s the notion that we should throw open the doors, make space at the table, and welcome our neighbors with extravagant enthusiasm. But more than that, radical hospitality means allowing ourselves to be shaped by those who take a seat. That the established way be informed by the wisdom of the new. And hopefully, somewhere, we emerge with a greater holy wholeness. It’s deeply embedded in the teachings of Jesus — who, let’s be honest, was always eating with the “wrong” people: tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, people society wanted nothing to do with.

My congregation tries to live this out. We affirm LGBTQ+ folks. We make our building accessible to those with disabilities. We work to ensure that people of all races and economic backgrounds feel like they belong. We don’t always get it right. We are a work in progress even as we work towards progress. But we keep trying.

And we should. If we claim to follow Jesus, then we need to take inclusion seriously.

Miroslav Volf, in Exclusion and Embrace, argues that true hospitality means embracing the other — even when it is uncomfortable. He writes, “To welcome the other, I must relinquish my own self-sufficiency and allow myself to be changed.”

That sounds beautiful. It also sounds terrifying. Because sometimes, openness to change might mean letting in people who want to burn the whole place down.

When Inclusion Becomes Dangerous

The problem is that some people don’t just want to be included. They want to dominate. They want to destroy. And when we say “all are welcome,” we run the risk of inviting those who would do harm.

Philosopher Karl Popper called this the Paradox of Tolerance: a society that tolerates everything — even intolerance — will eventually be destroyed by it. In other words, if we keep the doors wide open, we may find that the people who walk in don’t believe in doors at all. They believe in smashing things, in reshaping the space to fit their vision — one where some people (the vulnerable ones, the marginalized ones) are no longer welcome.

It’s the dinner guest who, instead of sitting down and breaking bread, throws knives at the wall shouting about how everyone else is eating wrong. The person who insists they should be allowed in the house but doesn’t actually believe the house should exist in the first place. They don’t come to belong; they come to despoil.

We’ve seen this play out in real life. Online spaces that began as forums for free speech became hotbeds for extremism when there were no boundaries. Social movements that prided themselves on inclusivity have found themselves hijacked by people who do not actually believe in inclusion at all. Even churches have been infiltrated by those who, under the guise of “dialogue,” seek to erode the very foundation of welcome.

And here’s where it gets tricky: hospitality and safety are not the same thing. You can put out an extra chair, offer someone a meal, try to see the divine in them — but if they’re insisting you pass the salt while waving a loaded gun, you have to ask yourself: Am I being hospitable, or am I endangering the dinner party?

So where is the limit? When do we say, “Actually, no. You are not welcome here”?

The Ethics of Exclusion

We have to be careful. There’s a difference between excluding someone because of who they are and excluding someone because of what they do. We do not exclude people for their identity. We do, however, set boundaries on behaviour.

For example, if a white supremacist walks in, do we reject them immediately? Maybe not. Maybe we try to talk to them, offer a different way. Listen to their story.

But if they start handing out pamphlets, uttering threats, or making others feel unsafe? That’s when the line has to be drawn.

Exclusion is justified when inclusion is being weaponized. Hannah Arendt, in The Origins of Totalitarianism, wrote about how fascists infiltrate democratic spaces, using their openness as a weakness. They manipulate the goodwill of inclusive communities, pretending to engage in dialogue when they actually intend to dismantle those very spaces.

So maybe it’s not hypocrisy to exclude certain people. Maybe it’s wisdom. Maybe it’s self-preservation.

How Do We Set the Boundaries?

Setting boundaries is about protecting the people who need inclusion the most. So how do we do it?

Define the Non-Negotiables.

What behaviours will not be tolerated? Hate speech, harassment, and actions that make others feel unsafe (which is not the same as uncomfortable or challenged) should be clear deal-breakers.

Be Transparent.

People should know what the expectations are. This isn’t about secretly deciding who gets to stay and who has to leave. It’s about clarity.

Offer a Pathway to Change.

Radical hospitality means we believe in transformation. Someone might come in with harmful ideas but be willing to learn. We should leave space for that — while still protecting the community.

Listen to Those Most at Risk.

The people who are most vulnerable to harm — racialized people, LGBTQ+ folks, women, disabled members of the community — should have a say in what makes a space feel safe.

Rethinking Inclusion

So what do we do with all of this? How do we reconcile the idea that we want to be radically inclusive but also responsible for the safety of our communities?

Let’s start with telling the truth. “All are welcome” is a nice idea, but maybe we need to be more specific. Maybe we need to say, “All are welcome who respect the dignity and humanity of others.” Sure, that’s a mouthful—but it’s more honest.

Then, we should get comfortable with discomfort. There will always be tension in offering extravagant welcome and protecting those who’ve trusted us with their spiritual wellbeing—especially those who’ve experience harm sacred spaces. It’s okay to wrestle with this. It’s okay to feel uncertain.

Finally, we commit to the work. Real inclusion isn’t just about making a declaration. It’s about constantly evaluating, listening, and adjusting. It’s about balancing grace with boundaries. It’s about protecting the kind of community where true welcome can actually thrive.

So maybe the next time I say, “All are welcome,” I will add a silent caveat in my mind: But if you’re here to destroy, to harm, to deny the humanity of others — this might not be the place for you.

And that’s not exclusion. That’s love.