No room in the inn

It’s been little more than a month since Christians across this nation celebrated the birth of a Middle Eastern man who died, as they believe, for their sins.

Now it’s been a while since I’ve been to a Christmas service, but I remember every year growing up southern Baptist. Most of December and January, the preacher talked about hospitality. And Christmas Eve, we’d go to church with my grandmother to watch the Christmas program. And over and over again, I’d hear about how there was no room at the inn.

And there’d always be that final song, that call to the altar. “Is there room at your inn?” the preacher would ask. People would cry and say “amen” and some would even be saved. Hallelujah!

And now here we are, little more than a month after Christmas, and those same ones who prayed and worshipped are the loudest  saying to legal residents of this great country, “there is no room in the inn.” Their God said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” And yet these that call themselves Christians are telling refugees – those whose homes have been destroyed and have mourned more deeply than we can  – “there is no room in the inn.”

It breaks my heart to see people who I believed all my life to be the most loving – the people who taught me the lessons in being a better person – behaving so hateful towards people they don’t know. People who have always lifted me up and been so generous to friends and family are now saying, “there is no room in the inn.” And to you I ask that phrase that was the mantra of my Christian youth – what would Jesus do? Look in the mirror and ask what your God would say if you had to look him in the eye today.

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