Christ, the Stranger

In Polish homes on Christmas Eve, we set the supper table with an extra place setting, in hopes of hosting Christ. And all through the evening we wonder if the Lord will come to sit down with us tonight. Tradition says that the surprise guest is Christ Himself and in welcoming the stranger, we welcome the Lord.

Once I had surprise guests – a married couple from church whose family Christmas plans fell through; they arrived right before dinner and squeezed around the table with us. We added another “Jesus plate” to accommodate them and played games to stay awake until midnight Mass. It was thrilling to have Christ surprise me that way, and years later, I still can’t help but think of Him when I see them.

But the tradition can be challenging too. Christ doesn’t always appear as a clean-cut stranger or a couple of acquaintances ready to become friends. Sometimes He’s dirty, or crabby. Sometimes He has dementia and tells the same story about His long-grown children 27 times throughout the meal. Sometimes He doesn’t speak English, and we’re not sure whether He used legal or illegal routes in His journey to our door. The Christmas tradition demands nothing from Him but a willingness to be welcomed; from us it demands hospitality.

A World of Strangers

It’s easy to feel alone and at risk in the world. Our polarized society, with so much time-absorbing content online, makes it incredibly challenging to connect in real, meaningful ways with the people who surround us in the real world. After a while, if we’re not careful, we start to think of individuals as labels or types. We negate their humanity and focus on finding out which box they fit, and then putting them there and closing the lid. But people don’t belong in boxes – as St. John Paul II reminded us often, “a person is [one] towards which the only proper and adequate response is love.”

Too often, we put limits on love. We draw a line between the “deserving and the undeserving poor” – creating barriers to our own hospitality. This isn’t about having standards, it’s about having those standards in the proper order. We can think, for example, that a nation’s borders need to be protected. We can support laws to limit immigration. But if those laws damage our ability to see Christ in the immigrant, we’ve allowed them too much power.

A few years ago, I heard about a safe housing project for immigrants in Michigan illegally. The city it was in is full of big, old buildings and this one housed quite a few families – all trying to transition to a stable life in a new country. But the building had only one or two working bathrooms. The man telling me about it was a conservative, who supported tighter limits on immigration at the border. He was also a Christian, who believed that everyone deserved to be treated with dignity. He was proud of the bathroom remodels that he and his son were doing – adding bathrooms on every floor and repairing old pipes to give the guests at this housing project a healthier, more comfortable place to live.

He was able to balance his political beliefs about immigration with a personal determination to greet the stranger as Christ and welcome Him. His time working for these newcomers to his city has made it easier for him to resist the language of polarization as well.

But the humanizing influence isn’t just on him. For the people living at the house, my friend’s time spent building bathrooms gave them an opportunity to see him as a human being too. A person with dignity and generosity that they could talk to and reason with. Not the caricature of conservative America that they’d see online. For them as well, it was an opportunity to meet the stranger and greet him as Christ.

Rich Christ, Poor Christ

Our parish partners with a parish in Haiti through the Parish Twinning Program. In this program, Catholic parishes in the United States build relationships with “sister” parishes in Haiti or Latin America. While our sister parishes are financially impoverished, the relationship isn’t one-sided or paternalistic. Instead, twinning is a collaboration – a familial relationship in the Church.

St. John Chrysostom reminds us that rich and poor exist in part to support and strengthen each other. He also reminds us that “he is not rich who is surrounded by many possessions, but he who does not need many possessions; and he is not poor who possesses nothing, but he who requires many things.” Our parish is not financially well off, but after years of partnering with our sister parish in Haiti, we are learning to trust and share – to need less and give more.

While we’re not a wealthy parish, we’re able to contribute financially to the support of our sister parish. We’re also blessed with a parishioner who’s taken the time to learn Haitian Creole. She’s able to communicate clearly and directly with our sister parish, share stories, ask questions, and help us build a relationship that is deep and sustaining. Our sister parish knows that we’re interested in their daily life: parish updates, blessings, and concerns. We know that our parish family in Haiti is interested in our daily life as well. With a little effort on both sides, friendship has taken root and blossomed.

Personal relationships that cross social or cultural barriers like this can help us see through some of the language of division in the world today. It serves as a reminder that wherever we are, we’re all people made in the image and likeness of God.

A World of Christs

Now, I know not everyone is easy to be around. Not everyone is a joy. Some people are obnoxious, some are dangerous. But our call to love them remains the same. Love doesn’t demand that we give up our principles. Love doesn’t require us to condone the behaviors or choices of others. Love only demands that we will the good and honor the dignity of the other.

The world is full of people – each on an Imago Dei, an image of God. St. John Chrysostom emphasizes this when he says that “if you cannot find Christ in the beggar at the door, neither will you find Him in the Chalice.” That’s a challenging statement, for all of us. Whether it’s the beggar I can’t see Christ in, or the woman with the perpetual cough-drop wrapper behind me at Mass. Whether it’s the Haitian immigrant down the road, or the Maga-hatted uncle at the Thanksgiving table, finding Christ in each of us is essential.

Remember, “finding Christ” in our fellow man doesn’t mean condoning behaviors or sacrificing principles. We’re also called to admonish the sinner and instruct the ignorant. These are spiritual works of Mercy, ways to live out the love of Christ. But it all starts with welcoming the stranger as Christ.

The Hopeful Stranger

In the dark, cold season before us, with snow piling up around us and division in the air – let’s take some inspiration from Polish custom. Think of your heart and your home as a little cottage on the edge of a village. It’s dark outside and snow is falling fast. You’ve lit candles and poured wine. The table is set for Christmas Eve, with an extra plate for the Lord. As you sit down to supper, there’s a knock on the door – it’s Christ, the Stranger – looking hopeful and alone.

His place is all set and ready. Dirty or clean, young or old, crabby and forgetful or cheerful and kind, Christ is eager to break down barriers. He longs to love and be loved by us and to see us love our neighbor as ourself. Of course you let Him in – out of the snow – and spend this dark, cold season basking in the Light of the world.