“Welcome. Come in, come in.” boomed the wizened little innkeeper as he opened
the door. “We don’t get many visitors in Bethlehem this time of year.” In an
aside, he sent his grandson out to care for the visitors animals, “Just put them
in the old stable. Don’t forget the feed and water.” The old man walked with a
limp as he pointed the couple to the guest room. The room was dark and the
ceiling stained with soot, but the blankets were clean and soft. The light from
the oil lamp flickered on the wall giving the room a soft glow. The husband
nodded with approval. “We’ve traveled far. Some nights we were able to sleep
in an inn, others out on the cold ground and once we slept in a stable with the
animals.”
“Well,” responded the innkeeper, “there was a time
we had a couple stay in our stable, too. It is quite a story. Pull up a chair
and I’ll tell you about it.” He waited for the pair to settle and poured them
a drink to ease their thirst.
The old man began, “At that time Caesar Augustus
issued a decree that a census should be taken of the Roman world and everyone
had to register in the town of their ancestors in order to pay their taxes. Our
quiet little town of Bethlehem was not quiet then. It exploded with people
almost overnight. I remember that I was about twelve. Old enough to do
chores and young enough to think I did them all.” He paused to rumple the hair
on his grandson’s head affectionately. “I had thought that it would be fun
seeing all the strangers and families come to town, but instead it was a whole lot
more work then I had bargained for. I had been hauling water and hay for the
animals and carrying things from here to there. My parents had been turning
people away from the Inn for hours. Our house was full. The whole town was
full. There were people sleeping on mats and blankets on every floor in
Bethlehem.
It was early evening when there was yet another
knock on the door. Father had answered declaring, “There is no room,” even as
he opened our door. But then he had come back in and had a quiet word with Mother.
I remember Mother saying in shock, “You want to put
them in our stable?” Our stable is a hollowed out cave in the hillside with
rock walls to keep the animals penned. On that winter night the stable was
cold, damp, and chock full of smelly beasts. I was sent out to move the animals
around to make a place for the couple who would be staying there. The man,
a descendent of David, looked weary and even a bit desperate. He had clearly
traveled some distance. Then I glimpsed his wife, not much older than me
really, but so heavy with child that even I knew her time was near. I wondered
when they had last rested. I understood why my father had not turned them completely away. There among the camels, donkeys, cattle and horses I
hurriedly made room. They told me their names were Joseph and Mary from the
town of Nazareth in Galilee. Mother sent me back with a bucket of fresh water
and some thin rags. I heard the man breathe a prayer and question, “Here? Lord,
in this place?” His wife sighed as she eased her bulky frame down onto the
scratchy straw. I left them to their rest.
Around the fire that night there was a lot of
discussion about the meaning of the strange star that had appeared in the east
and now seemed almost directly overhead. Everyone spent time looking up in awe
and wonder.
I had scarcely laid my head down for the night when
I heard the thin wails of a newborn drift from the stable. Mary had had her
baby. Now there were three travelers in our stable. I fell back asleep only to
be woken again by the bleating of sheep. The local shepherds usually kept watch
over their sheep on a nearby hill top. Curious, I staggered out of bed to see
what was going on.
There were sheep in the courtyard. Ewes and lambs
clustered together. Their breath steaming in the crisp night air. The strange
star was now directly over our little stable casting a warm golden glow over
each wooly sheep. My parents were speaking with a tall shepherd carrying a tiny
lamb over his shoulders. I hurried to the stable to see what was happening.
There more shepherds stood or knelt. Some were talking excitedly about the
birth of a King. They told me of a great vision of angels that had appeared to
them. Angels who told them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will
cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you;
he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby
wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” The shepherds had immediately set off
to find the child that the angels had spoken of. And there He was, a tiny baby
with outstretched arms lying in a manger. The very manger I used daily to feed
our animals. Mary’s dark eyes gazed adoringly at her newborn son. She brushed
his soft cheeks with kisses. Mary appeared to be tucking the memory of this
wondrous night deep into her heart. Joseph knelt beside her. The lines of
tension on his face had eased. He looked shocked and scared, grateful and
happy, like most new fathers. Together they marveled at their tiny son. They
named him Emmanuel, which means “God With Us.” And all around the shepherds
glorified and praised God for what he had shown us that night. Our humble
stable was where God reached down from His holy heaven and touched the
earth.
“Don’t you wonder what became of him. That baby
born so long ago,” interrupted the visitor.
“No, I don’t wonder. I know, and I suspect that you
do, too. The child grew in stature, full of wisdom and grace, and in favor with
God and man. He became a carpenter and started a ministry when He was about
thirty years old. The whole countryside near Jerusalem would come out to hear
him. He proclaimed good news to all men. He healed the sick, raised the dead,
touched lepers, and restored sight to the blind. He satisfied the hunger of
souls and comforted those who wept. He calmed a storm, walked on water, and
stirred up the religious leaders. He ate with sinners and drank with tax
collectors. This man who knew no sin was crucified on a hill between two
thieves. Mary was there at the foot of His cross. How her heart must have
broke to see her son so. He died and was buried in a borrowed tomb, but on the
third day He rose a victor from the grave. He was our Messiah, the man known as
Jesus."
The innkeeper's son continued, the Psalms tell us “Be
still and know that I am God.” You’ll remember God showed Elijah that He is
often not in the wind, the fire or the rain—but rather He is in the still small
voice. The King of Kings was not born in a mighty palace. Jesus Christ came
here as a small voice, a tiny babe in a manger.
“You see, at just the right time, when we were still
powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though
for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While
we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:6-8). He takes what little
we have to offer him, the hollowed caves, the very stables of our lives, filled
with waste and despair and gives us beauty for ashes."
This is an incredible mystery, and an incredible story of
redeeming love.
Have a blessed and Merry
Christmas.
