Jesus at My House

Leo Tolstoy, one of my favorite Russian authors, wrote a delightful short story entitled, “Where Love is, God Is.” It’s about a cobbler (a shoe repairer, not the dessert!) who has a dream. In the dream, the Savior tells the cobbler that He will visit him the next day. Upon awakening, he prepares for his important visitor. As he goes about his day, he extends hospitality and God’s word to several people in need, extinguishing the provisions that he had intended to share with Christ. As evening approaches, he has yet to receive the One he's waiting for. But as he’s cleaning up, he hears a voice, “Martin, Martin don’t you know me?”

Martin utters, “Who is it?”

“It is I,” is the reply. Not once, but three times, in three different voices, the voices of the needy who had stopped by his shop that day.

As he looks in his Bible at the place where it has fallen open, he reads, “I was hungry and ye gave me meat, I was thirsty and ye gave me drink, I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me.”

He then realizes the Savior had indeed been to his house that day.

Jesus came to my house last night.

I had invited two young people over dinner. One was Anne, a dear sweet friend of ours that Ron and I had met on a trip to Venice. She has become a member of our household, and we all love her dearly. The other was a young man who I only met recently.

My boys loved him. Even Chad. Those of you who know Chad (my autistic child), know how huge this is. He didn’t stay in the living room for the entire night, but he stayed much longer than he normally does with unfamiliar guests. He answered questions, smiled, maintained eye contact.

This morning as I was starting my Bible reading, I reflected on our dinner. I thought that our guest and now new friend seemed kind of like Jesus (the hair, the manner, the lifestyle, the kindness in his eyes). At first, I had a momentary twinge of, “Ooh, isn't that a little sacrilegious?” But then I realized that ultimately, this is our goal. If we are being changed into the “likeness of the Son,” shouldn’t people look at us and think, “Hey, isn’t that person kind of Jesus-like?”

Do people who meet me, notice a resemblance?

This morning, Derek, my 15 year old, asked me how I knew this young man was a Christian (before I invited him). I told him that I didn’t. There was just something about him that made me want to ask him over.