John Q was a Catholic in name only. Baptized in a Catholic church, his parents had forced him to attend confirmation classes even though they never really went to Mass themselves. Occasionally they would attend a Christmas Midnight Mass or an Easter service.
John’s dad was fond of having a few too many “toddies” during Christmas Eve dinner. Then off they would go to Mass. His dad, still smelling of booze, would always nod off during the sermon. One year, he snored so loudly, the priest actually stopped mid sentence. That was the last time they ever went to Midnight Mass.
Now, at 37 years of age, John Q, for the first time in a long time, found himself outside a Catholic church – and on Christmas Eve no less. His divorce from his second wife had been final only a month earlier; his kids were spending Christmas with their Mom (his first wife) and her new husband. John’s girlfriend, a secular Jew, was back in New York, visiting her family.
The office party had ended an hour or so earlier. Rather than drive home to an empty apartment, John had chosen to walk for a while to “clear his head,” and had ended up here. Even before tonight, he had felt an emptiness in his life that he couldn’t seem to fill. His efforts to find meaning and solace had failed. So here he stood, alone on Christmas Eve, in front of a Catholic Church.
He was invisible amidst the clamor of people coming to Christmas Eve services. Laughter was all around him as people greeted one another on their way up the broad stone stairs. With his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black pea coat he wondered if there was an open bar close by. Maybe his dad always had one too many at Christmas just to fortify his courage to go to Mass.
“What am I doing here anyway?” he thought. The answer came back quietly but distinctly: “I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.” People were rushing in through the church doors now. Mass was about to begin. He could hear the organ playing and a familiar hymn being sung. His right foot rested uneasily on the bottommost step.
He looked back the way he had come. The streetlights seemed to dim for a moment. The siren song of the secular world tugged at him. “Surly there must be a bar or restaurant open close by” he thought. His focus returned to the church door and the music flowing from it; his weight shifting from one foot to the other…
Will John Q go in? More importantly, how will he be received if he does?
So what message do we give (twice-divorced, single) John when he enters a church service celebrating a nuclear family: Jesus, Mary and Joseph? Jesus’ birth family may have been well-rounded in appearance, but consider this: Mary was pregnant out of wedlock and Joseph nearly divorced her. And we often forget that Mary was a single Mom most of her life.
Nor did Jesus hang out in the suburbs with nice “normal” church-going families. He was a blue color, single guy. He saved an adulteress from stoning. The Samaritan woman he engaged at the well lived with a man out of wedlock.
Jesus ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. He even hung out at the docks and in the rough part of town. In short, Jesus broke boundaries, he didn’t create them. He welcomed and engaged everybody, regardless of who they were or how it reflected upon him.
We often joke about the “CEO Catholics” (those who attend at Christmas and Easter only), but why do they keep returning to our doors every year? What keeps them coming back? It is simply this: they are not finding the spiritual sustenance they need in the world. Like John Q, nothing seems to satisfy the emptiness in their lives. But what do we have to offer them instead?
As Christian stewards, what are we doing to welcome those “CEO’s”? How are we communicating to them that they are welcome at our parish or in our homes? Are we the loving father of the prodigal son, welcoming them with open arms, running out to greet them? Or, are we the resentful older brother, who, because we never left (our church), feel entitled. Are we breaking boundaries, or are we creating artificial ones?
This Christmas I ask you – I challenge you – to say hello to someone you don’t recognize at church. Greet people outside, as well as inside.
Does John Q go up the stairs and enter the church on Christmas Eve? It might be your greeting or “Merry Christmas” or a thoughtful “How are you?” that makes the difference. We need to be like Jesus, welcoming everyone. We need to be the face of Christ to the world.
Dear God: When it comes to welcoming people, let me be a boundary breaker.
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