One Christmas, when I was the pastor of a small church in North Carolina, I decided to involve the whole congregation in my children’s message. We’d act out the scene where Mary and Joseph were looking for a place to stay in Bethlehem. I gave the people sitting on the center aisle doors made out of posterboard. Then I led the children around the sanctuary to knock on the doors and ask if there was room for them to stay in the inn. This was a great idea in my head —but I didn’t realize how difficult it would be for my church members. Two-year-old Garrett, clutching his tattered teddy bear, knocked on Leon’s door and asked, “Do you have room for me?” and Leon – well, I could tell that Leon wanted to cave – so, I interrupted, “No, Leon, you don’t have room for Garrett. Now shut the door.” The same thing happened when sweet little Grace in her red velvet dress knocked on Sharon’s door. A grandmother who never says no to a child, Sharon looked devastated to have to turn Grace away. “I’m sorry sweetie,” she said. Finally, my own tow-headed 4-year-old Isaac, knocked on Mack’s door, with his sweet little six-inch clip-on-tie and his shirt tail untucked. Isaac and Mack looked for each other every Sunday morning and that Christmas, Mack had made Isaac a toy train out of wood. So, when Isaac asked, “Mr. Mack, do you have room for me?” it was all Mack could do to stay on script, “No, Isaac, I’m sorry, but I’ve got no room for you.” This year, Christmas uniquely falls on a Sunday. People who show up this Sunday, mere hours after Christmas Eve worship, might be the rarest of saints, or, they might be longing for a place of welcome. Too many are turned away today in our church, society and communities — people left outside to wonder, “Is there room for me? You can find the rest of the commentary on our website. | 
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