Making room for Jesus and Mr. Sunday

   We haven't been to the malls or to Christmas parties. We haven't played carols or baked cookies . . . we haven't even  watched "It's a Wonderful Life!"  So I was a bit surprised by how touched I was when I read Luke 2:1-20 this morning. I was reminded that Jesus' birth wasn't really as glitzy as Luke and artists would have us believe. Donkeys weren't smiling and Jesus, Mary and Joseph weren't nicely dressed Europeans with halos and radiant beams falling on them. They were folks who'd made a long hard  journey with just the clothes on their backs and no place to spend the night except a filthy barnyard with strangers and critters who didn't give a hoot about them.
   I know, there's a point to Luke's story and all the idealized paintings, the pageantry, the joyful songs and candlelight. But, I want the down and dirty, real deal Jesus because I know people like that, people who get turned away from the inn, people no one seems to care about.
   We met one of "those people" the other day. Most recently from Detroit, the well dressed and soft spoken Mr. Sunday is 72 years old. He came to town with carnival only to get laid off when the season ended. There was nothing waiting for him in Detroit, so he stayed on in the Burgh living on Social Security and whatever earnings he had left from the carnival gig.
   Mr. Sunday took ill and was hospitalized. Following his discharge on Wednesday, he went to the Salvation Army who brought him to Our House where we hooked him up with two of our friends who took him to the Newburgh Ministry were he could spend the night in the safety of Ministry's 19-bed shelter.
   Or so we thought. The Ministry turned Mr. Sunday away even though a bed was available. He apparently didn't meet the shelter's criteria.  Maybe it was because he has an income (although he was broke). Maybe it was because he was nicely dressed and didn't look the part. Or, maybe it was because the folks running the place didn't know him. Who knows? Not me; the executive director won't say.
   So,  Mr. Sunday came to Our House for the night along with a few other of our other friends for whom there's been no room in the inn.  There, other formerly homeless friends volunteer their time to make sure our guests are safe and secure.
   I'm not telling you this to show you how wonderful Ecclesia is or that the Newburgh Ministry is heartless. We're not so wonderful and the Ministry is anything but heartless. We understand how something like this could happen. We host a lot of people who have burned every bridge they ever had, who spend their meager incomes on things that are not good for them, who do nothing but take, take, take, or who've done some really stupid things.
   I'm telling you this because my heart aches for people who get wadded up and tossed away by those of us who think they deserve it. The story of Jesus' birth reminds me that you never know how Jesus will present himself when he knocks on the door seeking shelter of one sort or another.