Many a Sunday school pageant and Christmas play has featured prominently the innkeeper hard-heartedly or sadly telling Mary and Joseph he was full up, and the best he could for them was the stable out back. That might not be exactly the way it happened. Kenneth Bailey, a Presbyterian scholar of first century Middle eastern culture, has found that the Greek word rendered as "inn" should probably be translated "guest room," which was part of a house owned by a member of Joseph's extended family in Bethlehem. Because of the census, lots of relatives were in town, and the guest room was already spoken for. So, the couple from Nazareth stayed in the family room. Far from being a problem, this made them more accessible to the visitors—shepherds, wise men, and others--who would soon assemble there to admire the holy infant. It was in this family room that the baby Jesus was born, and there, the parents would have had an easy reach to the manger. Typically, the lower level of a house—just a couple of feet below and to the side of the main floor—served as a place for animals such as sheep and goats to come in at night for protection, and to warm the house in winter. The manger was a small feeding trough, made of stone, and would have been of perfect size to keep the baby safe and elevated off the floor. It was not at all an unusual use of the trough, but rather, a convenient crib that almost seemed made for this purpose. So the angels' directions to the shepherds did not intend to imply that the Christ was born in rough surroundings. Rather, they were assuring the shepherds of the ordinariness of the birth, and the approachability of the baby. In the sovereign wisdom of God, the world was making a way for the Savior. There would be room for the Redeemer.
Room is one of the great puzzles of existence. Is there room in the world for me, for you, for those we love, for every person and every creature? That has been a central question throughout most of human history. Wars have been fought over it—and in some sense nearly every war has been a struggle for room. With the world's population exploding in the last century or so, it's a burning issue: will there be room for everybody? Only last week a species of freshwater dolphin with a beautiful smiling face—native to China's Yangtze River, was declared officially extinct. The scientists who had been studying it for decades were reported to have wept now that the object of so much inquiry and affection would never be seen again. Not enough room for people and dolphins there. Statistics tell us the average house square footage has increased by 15% in the last ten years or so. Urban planners wonder how much sprawl we can tolerate, and what happens when all the good growing land is gone.
. "There's a place for us," goes the famous song from West Side Story. "A time and place for us:" it's the heartfelt hope of a modern-day Romeo and Juliet whom circumstance and prejudice and ancient hatreds conspired to keep apart. The story of the Christ child is a story for anyone who has ever wondered about place. It would seem that Jesus shares our humanity in every respect. He knew the love of family, and a secure home—as too many have not—but he also experienced dislocation, rejection, and life on the run as a refugee. The tiny king would become known as Prince of Peace, but he, along with his parents, had to flee a dictator's wrath and ultimately would bear the brunt of violence so severe it cost him his life. Ultimately, the world—all of us, really—told him—there's not enough room here for the both of us.
But in the redemptive purposes of God, that was not the final word. You may throw me out, God declares in Christ, but I will never cast you out. In his parting assurance to his friends, Jesus said, I go to prepare a place for you. The one for whom there was, at the end, no room, sacrificed himself so that there would be room—for all. Here, at least, he interprets his very mission on earth as that of preparing room for others.
What, then, is room? At its most basic, it's physical space. Human beings require it. Those who lack it—those who are homeless—often find their situation complicated by mental illness—and it's hard to say which one comes first. More than square footage is needed. A prison has solid walls and well-defined limits—but it can be hell on earth. There's more to room than that. It has to do with welcome, security, love. In many a home, the formal living room goes uninhabited, and the family room, or the rec room or even the kitchen is where people gather, because these places enhance our humanity, our need for each other.
The first visitors to the manger were people who had been squeezed out, and had no place to call their own. Shepherds are colorful characters, but in a world of villages and cities and agriculture, they were marginal, almost nomadic, wild remnants of pre-history. Nobody particularly wanted them around. The magi were foreigners, of a different ethnicity and religion, and in journeying to Bethlehem they ran the same risks that immigrants have faced throughout history. Yet all of them formed a circle around the baby; they were brought together by worship and adoration. Their spiritualities were radically other, but kneeling before that bassinette where the Christ cooed and cried, they discovered a common focus. And don't forget the animals, who made way for Jesus. They are there too. St. Francis, who is reputed to have preached to the birds and the squirrels, also is said to have made the first live nativity scene. All God's creatures have a place.
The incarnation of God among us is, in the final analysis, the supreme affirmation of being human, of human being. If the circumstances surrounding the birth are spectacular, the event they herald is most ordinary. But in that very ordinariness is the miracle. It's good to be here, the birth of Christ tells us. Although sin has spoiled much, it has not wiped out the sheer givenness and grace of life. The divine embrace constitutes a call to make the world a welcome, with special attention to those who are excluded. Every faith community, every congregation, then is meant to be a place of tolerance, and multicultural diversity, and respect, and dignity.
This Christmas, we celebrate the Word made flesh, dwelling among us. We—you and I are meant to be here. God has made room for us—in Jesus Christ. Let us live to make a place for each person, and all creatures. |
