Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

It has been a week since I started my walk. I should be in Pennsylvania by now, but Jersey refuses to let me go. Its people have been nothing but kind, and the weather has conspired with them to keep my pace slow.

I spent the weekend in Morris County, which was ranked by Forbes Magazine this year as the eighth richest in the nation. I was hosted there by John and Bud, parishioners of the Church of the Redeemer. Last week I reached out to Rev. Cynthia Black, rector of their church, asking if I could pitch my tent in the church yard. She thought the city would not be happy with a tent being set up on one of the town’s most picturesque arteries, so she asked around to see if anyone would volunteer to house me. John and Bud were already dog-sitting for friends, so they figured one more guest wouldn’t be so bad.

Rev. Black is new at Redeemer–this was only her third week there–so I am very grateful that she went out on a limb like that, asking the congregation to help a complete stranger. It makes sense, however, that she would. I later learned that one of the concepts she has preached since her arrival in Morristown is what she calls “radical hospitality.” This notion intrigues me, partly because I think it is a good way of describing what I’ve encountered in the Garden State.

I don’t know if New Jersey is representative of the rest of the nation, but I hope it is. Mind you, I’m a New Yorker–a month ago I had no kind things to say about this beautiful state. On June 14th, I posted a message on my personal Facebook profile saying “People, I need help with Jersey. I want to avoid Newark, Paterson, Camden, Trenton, and other dangerous cities, because I don’t want to get murdered. Please, if you or anyone you know can help me navigate this minefield (no offense), let me know.” My New York friends were no help. And someone who lives in Michigan asked, simply, “Can’t you just avoid Jersey?”

It is New Jersey’s’ “radical hospitality” what has caused me–just a week into my journey–to do my first 180º. That is the power of hospitality. I think it, more than other values, has the ability to change a person. Being alone in a strange land is scary (and for a Manhattanite, no land is stranger than Jersey–not even Brooklyn). Not knowing where you’re going to sleep tomorrow, or in what conditions, is something that would keep most people awake at night. Emotionally, that has been the hardest part of the trip for me. You get so used to your home, your bed, and the certainty that tomorrow you’ll be as safe as you were today, that when you lose those things it feels as if you’re losing all control.

When a stranger lets you into his home and offers you anything–even if it’s just a few square feet of floor for your sleeping bag–he gives you hope. More than hope, he gives you the strength to say “I can carry on; I will be safe tomorrow too.”

I am thrilled that I did not avoid New Jersey. I’ve seen beautiful sights, and met wonderful people. I will revisit my stay in Morris County on a different post. I’ll introduce you to Ajorie, a vivacious American born in Jamaica who gave me the biggest hug I’ve ever gotten, and talk more about the sights I saw. But today I wanted to share the lesson that the pastor and people of Redeemer taught me. And I hereby vow never to complain about “B&T” people ever again.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.