When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” [Matthew’s Gospel 11.2-6]

On occasions, I have little rituals for how I do things, whether it’s preparing for worship, or starting the mower, or when I am driving my car. I like things in place, and those I love will tell you this is of no inconvenience to them whatsoever, neither is there impatience on my behalf, when the system is disrupted.

Sometimes, people make suggestions how I might alter (improve) these idiosyncratic things. Traditionally, I nod benignly and carry on; in my better moments I address my discomfort, and consider change.

We have prescribed rituals in the life of the church, however, it is frequently the unwritten rules which guide our behaviours as communities of faith. As we journey through Advent and approach Christmas, the cultural rituals – helpful and otherwise – become more pronounced.

There are things we need for “a proper Christmas”, whether it’s the menu, or people we invite, or songs we sing, or stories we tell, or topics which are forbidden at the table. There’s also a sense of how it supposed to feel around this time of year: “It won’t feel like Christmas until the tree is up”.

It’s ironic that a story of profound disruption – teenage pregnancy, demands of empire, risky birth, death threats – we ensure is swaddled in culture and lying in tradition.

What is so scandalous about what Jesus brings? When John sends his disciples to question Jesus, doubts have crept in; being imprisoned can’t have helped. John had an image of what the Messiah was going to bring. It appears that Jesus doesn’t fit.

Consider all the expectations we have of Jesus – and his Church. The indicators of success in the church community are so often seen as numbers in worship, or the amount of money given, or the size of our ministry team. It’s about us.

John is seeking revolution, articulated by a prophet who will lead the march against corruption, injustice and perhaps even empire. From his cell he hears nothing. Is it all wasted?

Our worst moments of fear are that we have wasted our time. That it has all been for nought. All the measurements to which we are accustomed seem to remain unmoved.

Then we hear Jesus’ scandalous answers, matching his ministry.

Those who are on the margins, the outcast and the poor, those disabled physically and socially – those who are deemed to be not worth counting – have the good news offered to them, as healing and life.

People are gathered into meaningful community and are restored. The scandal is that those who are marked as worthless are the focus of Jesus’ ministry; a metric of offense, indeed.

This is not what John expected, even intended. So often, neither do we.  We had a mission plan: to invite the people like us, who will increase the offerings and populate the pews, and then we will be alright.

Then Jesus leads us to those who have no names and fractured faith, asking us to welcome them, feed them, clothe them, sit with them and, perhaps, advocate for them at some point. And we become them, and they become us.

Change is difficult, especially when it’s culturally embedded. We are easily offended when Jesus doesn’t behave the way in which we expect, then has the temerity to ask us to follow.  

At the heart of Christmas is the assertion that God has come for us – all of us. The scandal of this assertion is that God has become like us – every one of us.