Mom and Dad kept a worn copy of In His Steps in our home—the old story about a stranger who wandered into a church and asked a question that cut straight through the polite religion of the town: “What would Jesus do?”
The stranger’s presence unsettled the congregation. He exposed their blind spots. He revealed how faith could be admired without ever being obeyed. And then he disappeared from the story, leaving the church to wrestle with the cost of actually following Christ.
Lately, I’ve wondered what might happen if such a stranger returned—not to Raymond, the fictional town in Sheldon’s book, but to one of our communities today, a place where many churches proclaim America a Christian nation and where politicians repeat the same claim from podiums and pulpits.
Imagine him arriving, tired and hopeful, an apparent refugee carrying a story of danger left behind. He doesn’t come to a church door this time. He stands in the public square, the symbolic heart of a town that calls itself Christian.
A church-going community leader steps forward.
The stranger asks, “Are you the people who follow Jesus?”
Then, a question far more revealing: “Will you welcome a stranger?”
The hesitation says everything.
Will the people of God—scattered through neighborhoods, schools, businesses, councils—require their community to do what Christ requires of them?
In that moment, the visitor no longer appears as a man seeking refuge.
He looks like a man delivering a message.
He steps forward and speaks softly: “My name is James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ. I wrote to the church once before. And there is something that must be said again.”
And with that, James begins to write—not to a congregation in the first century, but to us, here and now.
1 My beloved brothers and sisters, do you not know that the Lord of glory walks among the strangers at your gates? And yet you shut the door in His face and say, “We are protecting our own.”
2 You honor the wealthy and familiar, but the poor who flee hunger and violence, you turn away with cold hearts.
3 Tell me, then, have you not become judges with worldly thoughts? For you measure worth by nation, not by the Name; by citizenship, not by the image of God.
4 You say, “We must secure our borders,” and yet you have not secured your souls. For the border of mercy you have torn down, and the hedge of compassion you have burned.
5 Do you not remember what Scripture says? “You shall love the foreigner, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” But you have forgotten your own story. You honor your birthright above the command of God.
A Rebuke of Partisan Faith
6 If you keep the royal law, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” you do well. But if you treat the migrant with contempt and call it “policy,” you sin and show yourselves as lawbreakers.
7 You excuse cruelty when it is done by your own side. You name injustice “strength” when your party commits it, and you name mercy “lawlessness” when your opponents show it.
8 You have allowed rulers to bind the conscience Christ has made free. You call evil good when it is done by the powerful, and you call compassion naïve when it is done by the faithful.
9 My brothers and sisters, do not be deceived: partisanship has become your rule of life, and fear your daily discipleship.
The Test of True Religion
10 What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you proclaim yourselves pro-life and yet rejoice when migrants are torn from their children? Can such a faith save you?
11 Suppose a refugee mother stands at your border, hungry and trembling, her child in her arms. If you say to her, “Go in peace; be warm and well fed,” but you refuse her entry, shelter, and safety, what good is your faith?
12 You parade your beliefs, yet deny them with your actions. You pray in your sanctuaries while ignoring Christ crying at your gates.
13 In the same way, faith that approves cruelty is dead.
The Broken Faith of Cruel Indifference
14 You say, “We believe in God.” Good! Even the demons believe—and shudder. But you believe, and you do not shudder at injustice.
15 Was not Abraham righteous because he trusted God enough to act? Yet you refuse to act for the least of these, though Christ Himself commands it.
16 Do you not see that faith and deeds are meant to work together? But your faith and your deeds have been torn apart.
Rahab and the Refugee
17 Consider Rahab the prostitute: was she not considered righteous for welcoming strangers?
18 Yet you condemn those who welcome migrants in the name of Christ and praise those who imprison them in the name of order.
19 As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without hospitality is dead. And the church that refuses the stranger has refused her Lord.
A Final Warning and Call to Faithfulness
20 Therefore, cleanse your hands of cruelty. Tear down the altars of tribe and fear. Return to the law that gives freedom.
21 Do not call evil “policy” when it crushes the poor. Do not baptize fear and call it wisdom. Do not cloak violence in the garments of patriotism.
22 Your Judge stands at the door, seeking welcome as a refugee.
23 Blessed are those who open the door. Cursed are those who bar it shut.
24 For the King will ask, “I was a stranger—did you welcome Me?” And on that day, no party, no nation, no flag will speak for you. Only your mercy will.
25 For mercy triumphs over judgment. But judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful.
Charles Sheldon wrote In His Steps to awaken a sleepy church to the radical simplicity of following Jesus. His fictional stranger asked a single, piercing question: “What would Jesus do?”
More than a century later, the church faces a different stranger at its door—real, not fictional; vulnerable, not symbolic; carrying not a sermon manuscript but a life in need of mercy. And once again, we hesitate. We calculate. We protect. We pass by.
But James reminds us that the measure of our faith is found in the way we treat those who can offer us nothing in return.
If the Apostle James walked among us, perhaps he would not ask a new question at all.
He would ask us to live by the old one.
What would Jesus do?
And will we do likewise?
