Yesterday a local friend helped me move a large mattress for a teammate. In between waddling and heaving the awkward thing, we got into a conversation about how hard it is for many Middle Eastern and Central Asian refugees who are resettled in the West.

“My living room in the U.S. was often visited by refugee friends,” I told him. “They would sit, drink chai and lament how there were no people out on the streets, no people mixing in public, no equivalent of the tea house or the bazaar. Just work, more work, then car, home, TV, and repeat it all again. It’s a hard life in the West.”

I remember being puzzled at how often the comment about “no people on the streets” was repeated. This ache for living somewhere with more human interaction was a constant theme that came out as we sat together and kept the dark black tea spiced with cinnamon and cardamom (and plenty of sugar) flowing. The desire to simply see more people on the sidewalks and in public hinted at a much deeper sadness—the absence of true friendship for most of my refugee friends in the U.S.

During that season of our lives, we lived in an apartment complex where many refugees were resettled. We used to open our apartment for a weekly community, potluck-style meal and text all our international friends to come and join us. Once a month we would also turn the green lawn in front of our apartment building into a “Community Cafe.” We would set up a small canopy and some chairs, get some tea and coffee brewing, put up a sign and invite anyone who walked by.

I remember one autumn day sitting down in our “cafe” next to a Saudi student and looking around at the various groups of people chatting. Iranian men—Persian, Azeri, Kurdish, Luri—were gathered in one corner. A couple Iraqi Arab friends had also come by and were dumping incredible amounts of sugar in their tea. The ladies were busy getting to know some Eritrean women. And a Nepalese believer was energetically connecting with a Hazara friend from Afghanistan.

Strange as our pop-up cafe was for their cultures and for ours, it proved to be an encouraging environment for our international friends. It led to conversation and friendship, and our friends soaked it in like a Somali refugee in the Minnesota winter huddles by the heat lamp at the bus stop.

What a kindness simple conversation and friendship can be to the lonely and those far from home. How their eyes light up when someone really wants to know their story and to learn about their culture.

But it doesn’t have to stop at tea and friendship. These new relationships can lead to sharing the gospel, Bible studies and new believers. And though we didn’t get this far, simple hospitality can even lead to a new church plant. Oh, for a thousand new church plants to be formed in the West because believers showed simple kindness and hospitality to the refugees, asylum seekers and internationals. They are a field ripe for the harvest.

And once they come to faith, new international believers are a powerful force for a jaded post-Christian West to reckon with. In the U.S. I may be dismissed as just another white evangelical trying to proselytize, but when my generously-bearded Iranian friend starts sharing why he became a follower of Jesus, all my secular countrymen don’t quite know what to do with it. So they listen.

As many Western nations plan to reopen this year, will you consider hosting and befriending some refugees who live in your community? It’s not that hard. Volunteer as an English tutor at TESOL programs in your city. Choose to buy your tea and hummus from halal markets in your area (Google it and you may be surprised). While there, make some friends. Open up your home for regular meals where you invite international students—most of whom never get invited for dinner in a Westerner’s home. Especially consider how you can host gatherings around the holidays.

Repeatedly offer to help your immigrant neighbors with any tasks they might be confused about—court documents, mail forms, bills, homework. Realize that most internationals don’t have any good friends who are natives of their new host country. Choose to step into that role, even if only for one family. While government and social programs might abound, the crucial ingredient for refugee success in their new society is friendship.

And as it turns out, friendship is also the key for some very compelling evangelism. Sure, you’ll make plenty of mistakes. That’s par for the course in any kind of cross-cultural ministry. But you might also make some surprising best friends—as I have—and then get to watch them lead your own Western neighbors to faith. Now that is worth a little bit of risky hospitality.