Welcome The Gift Who Arrives
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
TJ was big for his age – seven years old. He was awkward in his mannerisms and his speech, kind of a slow learner. Everyone in TJ’s class wondered what role the music teacher would give in the upcoming Christmas play. Maybe she’d let him pull the open the curtain. When the parts were finally assigned, to everyone’s surprise in the class, the music teacher gave TJ the role of the innkeeper. The boy was overjoyed to get the part. After all, all he had to learn was just one line: “There is no room for you here.” He studied that one line and committed it to memory. The big night finally came. Every seat in the theater was filled.
Cameras and video cameras were at the ready, the house lights went down, and the audience went silent. The classes all entered singing “O Come All Ye Faithful,” as they took their place on the risers. When the set was wheeled in just left of the singers, Mary and Joseph entered and walked to the front door of the inn. Joseph knocked. TJ opened the door, and Joseph said, “Please sir, do you have any room for the night? My wife is… TJ was supposed to interrupt him with his line, but he hesitated. “There is…” He had practiced the line all day and now he forgot it. TJ started over again. “There is…” And again his mind went completely blank. Some singers behind him snickered, but TJ just didn’t know what to do. Joseph wanting to move on, took Mary’s hand and started walking away toward the stable down-stage. Seeing the young couple walk away disappointed, TJ out of desperation said the only thing he could, “Wait, there’s room at my house.”
When we scan the characters of the Christmas story, we recognize their roles, we are familiar with them, and we have grown close to them over the years. We hear about the perseverance of the far eastern astrologers who made the long trek, bringing with them the rare gifts fit for a true king. We think about the ever vigilant young men tending to their sheep on the outskirts of town, and why this group of people was the first to tell of the coming of God among them. They are the heroes of the story.
Yet, when we think of innkeeper, our immediate opinion of him is not so positive. It’s as if we see him standing there in the doorway of the inn, yawning from his disturbed sleep, giving Mary and Joseph the evil eye, and with the long day behind him, the inn full of nagging guests in their rooms snoring away, from an unwilling attitude to help, he says, “Take the stable out back and leave me alone.” We’d like to think that the innkeeper was a little more understanding, but maybe at that hour, after welcoming so many into the inn, fielding the many concerns and questions of his guests about the census, and maybe the final straw was running out of clean towels and vanity soaps, the innkeeper’s fuse was shortened because of the long day.
Yet, regardless of what was said to Mary and Joseph by the innkeeper, the hard reality of that night, was that there was no room at that inn to be found for the young family expecting their first child. It was if the very first message Jesus ever received from the earth he came to was one of rejection: “there’s no room for you here Jesus.”
Looking back at any situation offers a 20/20 perspective. Had the innkeeper known who was knocking at his door that night, would he have been overjoyed like young TJ was, to offer the young holy family his own room? Would he have welcomed the baby Jesus into his own his own home, into his own place of business, and more importantly, into his own life? Would the innkeeper having looked back and realized who he could not welcome into his life, would it have changed his perspective about this desperate young father and mother to be? How would his life have changed had there been room enough for Jesus to come on in….not only into his home, but into his heart?
I can’t blame the innkeeper. Because the innkeeper is us. It’s easy to not pay attention to the unannounced knocking of God in our hearts, when we are too preoccupied to welcome Him. Everyone of us in some way, shape, or form, has simply gone on with our own business, adding to the chaos of a blurry world of activity, schedules, and deadlines, blatantly oblivious to the signs of the holy around us. We thank God for coming, but we’d rather live by our own priorities. Maybe we can squeeze God in only when we determine there’s room enough for Him. Maybe we give God only room enough to come to us when we assume we know how much space He requires. And, yet without question or second thought, as we sing the mighty song “Joy To The World” at the top of our lungs, we proclaim “Let every heart prepare Him room.” When the arrival of God is treated as another thing we have to find room for, it’s not really a gift is it? Don’t we sense that our lives are worth more than just adding to the emptiness within? Don’t we sense there could be so much more in us than just another year of disappointments, empty promises, or regrets? Don’t we sense the best gift is welcomed into our hearts, right here tonight?
The baby Jesus comes so that all people will experience the fullness of God’s presence in their lives, in their jobs, in their families, and in the very center of what gives them life; people will experience God in their hearts. God comes to each of us tonight, so that we might be filled with His very life; a life that began in the soft beauty of a baby. Isn’t this the best gift we can receive?
Receiving this gift as we do reminds me of a story I once read that I’d like to share with you.
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat my infant son Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the highchair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat: dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be boots. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed, matted, and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map.
We were too far from him to smell, but I am sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik. husband and I exchanged looks as if to ask, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and wave at him. Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. They all kind of gave us staring glares as if to say, how dare you bring your baby here and make so much noise while we’re eating, and with your baby giving attention to that man who doesn’t deserve it!
The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We all sat there and ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot.
The old man sat poised between me and the door. As soon as I saw the situation, I immediately prayed, "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik.” As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to shield Erik, but Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young happy baby met in a beautiful relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder.
The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and years of hard labor--gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood speechless.
The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a soft gentle voice, "You take care of this baby." Somehow I managed, "I will," from the bolder in my throat. He pried Erik from his chest--unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. And with Erik in my arms, I ran for the car.
My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." I had just witnessed complete and unconditional love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a follower of Jesus who was blind, holding a child who was not. It was as if God was asking-- "Are you willing to share your son just for a moment?"--when God shared His son for all eternity? The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "The best gift is given out of love.”
Isn’t that the true picture of Christmas tonight? We are that old man; dirty, grimy, hungry, stuck in the truck stop of our daily lives. And Jesus is the baby who giggles at us, waves to us, and when he is close to us, leaps from God’s arms, reaches out to us, and embraces us. We are the ones who hold Jesus for ourselves. That’s when we feel the tears swell up as we close our eyes, gently treasuring this moment as if it’s the gift we’ve always been waiting for. This is the gift that fills our hearts, occupying it to its fullest capacity. This is God’s beautiful gift given to us tonight.
My friends, peace always be with you. Amen.
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
TJ was big for his age – seven years old. He was awkward in his mannerisms and his speech, kind of a slow learner. Everyone in TJ’s class wondered what role the music teacher would give in the upcoming Christmas play. Maybe she’d let him pull the open the curtain. When the parts were finally assigned, to everyone’s surprise in the class, the music teacher gave TJ the role of the innkeeper. The boy was overjoyed to get the part. After all, all he had to learn was just one line: “There is no room for you here.” He studied that one line and committed it to memory. The big night finally came. Every seat in the theater was filled.
Cameras and video cameras were at the ready, the house lights went down, and the audience went silent. The classes all entered singing “O Come All Ye Faithful,” as they took their place on the risers. When the set was wheeled in just left of the singers, Mary and Joseph entered and walked to the front door of the inn. Joseph knocked. TJ opened the door, and Joseph said, “Please sir, do you have any room for the night? My wife is… TJ was supposed to interrupt him with his line, but he hesitated. “There is…” He had practiced the line all day and now he forgot it. TJ started over again. “There is…” And again his mind went completely blank. Some singers behind him snickered, but TJ just didn’t know what to do. Joseph wanting to move on, took Mary’s hand and started walking away toward the stable down-stage. Seeing the young couple walk away disappointed, TJ out of desperation said the only thing he could, “Wait, there’s room at my house.”
When we scan the characters of the Christmas story, we recognize their roles, we are familiar with them, and we have grown close to them over the years. We hear about the perseverance of the far eastern astrologers who made the long trek, bringing with them the rare gifts fit for a true king. We think about the ever vigilant young men tending to their sheep on the outskirts of town, and why this group of people was the first to tell of the coming of God among them. They are the heroes of the story.
Yet, when we think of innkeeper, our immediate opinion of him is not so positive. It’s as if we see him standing there in the doorway of the inn, yawning from his disturbed sleep, giving Mary and Joseph the evil eye, and with the long day behind him, the inn full of nagging guests in their rooms snoring away, from an unwilling attitude to help, he says, “Take the stable out back and leave me alone.” We’d like to think that the innkeeper was a little more understanding, but maybe at that hour, after welcoming so many into the inn, fielding the many concerns and questions of his guests about the census, and maybe the final straw was running out of clean towels and vanity soaps, the innkeeper’s fuse was shortened because of the long day.
Yet, regardless of what was said to Mary and Joseph by the innkeeper, the hard reality of that night, was that there was no room at that inn to be found for the young family expecting their first child. It was if the very first message Jesus ever received from the earth he came to was one of rejection: “there’s no room for you here Jesus.”
Looking back at any situation offers a 20/20 perspective. Had the innkeeper known who was knocking at his door that night, would he have been overjoyed like young TJ was, to offer the young holy family his own room? Would he have welcomed the baby Jesus into his own his own home, into his own place of business, and more importantly, into his own life? Would the innkeeper having looked back and realized who he could not welcome into his life, would it have changed his perspective about this desperate young father and mother to be? How would his life have changed had there been room enough for Jesus to come on in….not only into his home, but into his heart?
I can’t blame the innkeeper. Because the innkeeper is us. It’s easy to not pay attention to the unannounced knocking of God in our hearts, when we are too preoccupied to welcome Him. Everyone of us in some way, shape, or form, has simply gone on with our own business, adding to the chaos of a blurry world of activity, schedules, and deadlines, blatantly oblivious to the signs of the holy around us. We thank God for coming, but we’d rather live by our own priorities. Maybe we can squeeze God in only when we determine there’s room enough for Him. Maybe we give God only room enough to come to us when we assume we know how much space He requires. And, yet without question or second thought, as we sing the mighty song “Joy To The World” at the top of our lungs, we proclaim “Let every heart prepare Him room.” When the arrival of God is treated as another thing we have to find room for, it’s not really a gift is it? Don’t we sense that our lives are worth more than just adding to the emptiness within? Don’t we sense there could be so much more in us than just another year of disappointments, empty promises, or regrets? Don’t we sense the best gift is welcomed into our hearts, right here tonight?
The baby Jesus comes so that all people will experience the fullness of God’s presence in their lives, in their jobs, in their families, and in the very center of what gives them life; people will experience God in their hearts. God comes to each of us tonight, so that we might be filled with His very life; a life that began in the soft beauty of a baby. Isn’t this the best gift we can receive?
Receiving this gift as we do reminds me of a story I once read that I’d like to share with you.
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat my infant son Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the highchair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat: dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be boots. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed, matted, and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map.
We were too far from him to smell, but I am sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik. husband and I exchanged looks as if to ask, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and wave at him. Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. They all kind of gave us staring glares as if to say, how dare you bring your baby here and make so much noise while we’re eating, and with your baby giving attention to that man who doesn’t deserve it!
The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo." Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We all sat there and ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments. We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot.
The old man sat poised between me and the door. As soon as I saw the situation, I immediately prayed, "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik.” As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to shield Erik, but Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young happy baby met in a beautiful relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder.
The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and years of hard labor--gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood speechless.
The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a soft gentle voice, "You take care of this baby." Somehow I managed, "I will," from the bolder in my throat. He pried Erik from his chest--unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. And with Erik in my arms, I ran for the car.
My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." I had just witnessed complete and unconditional love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a follower of Jesus who was blind, holding a child who was not. It was as if God was asking-- "Are you willing to share your son just for a moment?"--when God shared His son for all eternity? The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "The best gift is given out of love.”
Isn’t that the true picture of Christmas tonight? We are that old man; dirty, grimy, hungry, stuck in the truck stop of our daily lives. And Jesus is the baby who giggles at us, waves to us, and when he is close to us, leaps from God’s arms, reaches out to us, and embraces us. We are the ones who hold Jesus for ourselves. That’s when we feel the tears swell up as we close our eyes, gently treasuring this moment as if it’s the gift we’ve always been waiting for. This is the gift that fills our hearts, occupying it to its fullest capacity. This is God’s beautiful gift given to us tonight.
My friends, peace always be with you. Amen.
