Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?  John the Baptist wants to know. Is Jesus the one? the rest of the world wants to know that, even today. And  how will they know? How will they believe?

Jesus answers the question in a way that still challenges the church  today as we bear witness to the Christ at Christmas: Go and tell John what you  hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf  hear, the dead are raised, and the poor  have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.

Why would anyone take offense at Jesus meek and mild, who low in a manger lay? Why? Well, because  he grew up. They would take no offense at  him as long as what they take  him for never challenges the way the world is organized, if the way the world is organized is in their favor. But what if the only way Jesus lets you take  him is the way  he told John  he  has to be taken? What if we can take Jesus only the way  he comes to us, not the way we want  him to come to us?

Remember the Las Posadas theme we  have this Advent season? Seeking Shelter is our English equivalent. It recalls the plight of Mary and Joseph  in their pilgrimage to Bethlehem. They are refugees of a sort, forced by the government of Caesar Augustus to go and register in the little town of Bethlehem (how still we see thee lie!), because Joseph  was of the  house and lineage of David. They seek shelter and are turned away again and again, until at last one innkeeper rescues them from the cold streets and takes them in.

In the lovely Latino tradition of Las Posadas, there is a back-and-forth  dialogue between those outside that side with   homeless José and Maria, and those inside that answer the knocking at the door. Sadly, only when their identity as the Holy Family is revealed is the door opened and are they welcomed inside. the basic message  holds anyway: Jesus doesn’t come to us in obvious ways as the presence of God;  he comes on  his own terms, secreted with in the womb of a poor refugee woman from Nazareth  seeking shelter. If we take  him the way  he comes, we will find our  homes transformed by  his presence. If we take Jesus into our lives they way  he comes, we will find our  hearts changed and our lives altered forever.

John the Baptist  had been eager to see the messiah  come in order to judge those who oppress the poor, judge those who cheat the righteous, judge those who make mockery of morality. Jesus came helping the poor, restoring  health  and joy, and preaching a new morality of reckless grace that goes way beyond settling scores and evening things up by giving people only what they deserve. Jesus says to John, “Look at  how the world is actually changed: wild and unpredictable things are  happening! People see who couldn’t before; people walk and work who  had only lain around feeling sorry for themselves before; people who felt shunned by sickness and stained by sin are cleaned up and  hold their  heads up in dignity again; people who seemed deaf to  hope are listening for it again; people who were as good as dead are now living proof that God is  here. What’s more, poor people think there is new reason to go on. Don’t take offense that it all didn’t  happen the way you envisioned. Take joy! this is good news. Take me as I am.”

But that’s hard, isn’t it? Could it  have been  harder for Mary and Joseph ? Wasn’t Mary’s own womb a rescue shelter for God’s Son? God come knocking on the door of Mary’s heart in an unexpected way, asking for temporary shelter, for transitional  housing, until  he could make  his  home in the world for good? She had to answer the door in faith and let him in, knowing that her life would never be the same again.

I was in Florence a couple of weeks ago— have I mentioned that before? Okay, just checking. Well, a friend from Dallas, who grew up Catholic but is Protestant now, asked me why there was so much  attention paid to Mary in the art and culture of Italy. I suggested several reasons, but one is that Mary is a symbol of the church  in Roman Catholicism, and she is therefore a reminder to Christians of the way we must be church. We must welcome Jesus into our lives in the way  he comes to us, not the way we might invite  him. God comes to us in loving ways that often don’t fit our timing or the way we would order our lives and loves. When we receive Jesus in the way  he comes to us, our radical  hospitality reflects well on the mother of our Lord who first said yes to that divine but inconvenient guest.

If you were inviting Jesus to come this Christmas, wouldn’t you like  him to drop by the  house for a little eggnog and caroling? Wouldn’t you like  him to bless the children and give you a little wink well done on  his way out? Wouldn’t you expect  him to be properly dressed for the evening, because, after all, Jesus would never be offensive to our standards of what is proper, right? But what if  he said to you, “If you want me to come to your  house or your church  this Christmas, you’ll experience my presence only if you  help the blind to see, the lame to walk, sick made well, the deaf to  hear, the dead raised, and the poor made to  hear good news?” What if that is the only way we can find true joy at Christmas? What if that is the only way we can take no offense at Jesus?

Lupe and Aida are  housekeepers in Los Angeles who  have developed bad backs from overwork. they work for innkeepers, so to speak,  hoteliers who welcome  high-paying customers. After 9/11 the  hotels laid off thousands of low-income workers, and then as business got better, they simply worked their existing workers  harder and longer, threatening their jobs if they didn’t cooperate. This is not good news for the poor. And yet, don’t you know that many of those  hotel executives would like to know the joy of Jesus’ presence in their  homes at Christmas this year? Go figure! But the church  is standing up for Lupe and Aida and all their fellow workers. Father Michael Gutierrez of St. Anne church  in Santa Monica is  helping the area housekeepers organize for justice. they are knocking on the door of the management and asking them to treat them with the same dignity and welcome they treat the people the  housekeepers care for. This is the church acting as a rescue shelter.

I was in a MOPS meeting last week. Most of these Mothers of Preschoolers are middle-class white women who could be content to talk among themselves and do crafts. But they  have a heart for others. One of their group  had to leave  home due to physical abuse. they were organizing themselves to help her and her children, to make sure there was a safe place for them. And there is. There are shelters for abused women and children in this town that protect and provide for vulnerable families like these. You don’t  have to dig deep to find that churches are behind these rescue shelters—as they should always be, don’t you know?!

Have you ever noticed the red doors on the outside of many churches, especially Anglican churches? In earlier days it was understood that a soldier could not pursue an enemy who  had entered through  the red doors of a church. The red doors were a symbol of refuge and sanctuary for all people who entered. the red on the doors signified the blood of Christ that  had been shed so that all who came to  him could be saved. Anyone who passed through  those doors was safe as long as  he or she stayed be hind them. Over time, people began to see the red doors of the church  as symbolizing not only physical refuge and safety, but spiritual refuge as well. the blood of Jesus that the red doors of the church symbolized would protect you from evil, both  physical and spiritual. the red doors spoke to the world of  holy ground that existed inside those doors, space that  ad been purged and made clean by God's Holy Spirit. The church of the red door is a rescue shelter of all kinds.

Deogratias Rukandira came to Dallas about three years ago as a political refugee from  his native country, Burundi. He  had worked in  his country’s government in several roles, including child care and international adoptions and as a legal aide. He is well educated by Burundian standards,  having the equivalent of a four-year degree. He represented  his country in France, England and other parts of Europe.

Burundi recently experienced a brief run at democracy, and Deo was among those supporting democracy. the political party in power,  however, with  which   he was affiliated, soon lost favor. Because  he  had supported democracy, Deo’s life was in danger. Within  hours  he fled the country, leaving be hind  his wife and mother. His father and brothers  had been killed in the civil war, as well as many other members of  his extended family.

He landed in Dallas, where at first  h e found employment way below  his station. Times turned  hard. Deo came to Wilshire in October or November 2002. He first visited with  me; I referred  him to Mark Wingfield, who was teaching the Sunday school class that introduces newcomers to the basics of the faith . the church  prayed for  help,  helped  him get back on  his feet, nurtured  him. On the day  he came forward to join the church ,  he came with  a stewards hip card in  hand, pledging to give of  his small income as a means of thanking the church  and thanking God.

I baptized Deo. He found a decent job and was getting along okay. Arlet Dunsworth helped  him solve one of  his biggest problems, a set of rotten teeth . Deo received a beautiful set of dentures and a new smile that reflected what was now true in  his  heart.

This summer,  however, Deo lost  his final appeal for political refugee status in the United States. Because he  had worked in the administration in power in Burundi, the U.S. deemed  him not to be threatened by returning to Burundi. Immigration rules do not always take into consideration all the nuances you need them to. So he had 30 days to leave the United States.

We helped him connect with CBF missionaries in Canada, which is where he wanted to go, since he speaks fluent French. Wilshire helped send Deo to Buffalo, N.Y., where he got assistance to cross over into Canada, landing briefly at Matthew House, a CBF-sponsored refugee ministry just across the border. There he received help inn getting to Montreal, where he is now settling in and awaiting a Canadian work permit.

I ronically, Deo departed  h is Dallas  home on July 4, our independence day. that day marked the beginning of  his second journey into uncertainty as a political refugee—a  homeless citizen of the world. He called Mark Wingfield on Thanksgiving Day to wish  the church  well, saying that  he gave thanks for us.

By the way, Deogratias is a Latin name that means “the grace of God.” Deogratias Rukandira is living witness to the grace of God in the world, as is every child of God. And the church  that welcomes such  refugees seeking shelter knows the grace of God through  the gifts of every Deogratias that passes through  our lives. It’s not just what we do for them; it’s what they do for us as well. When they are rescued, we are, too. When they are  helped, we are, too.

That’s the way God  has made us—to love and be loved. Blessed are those who take no offense at that.