It feels like this is a season of no room. I tried parking at Costco today and at Honeybaked Ham lot; there is no room. With days filled with stress, worry, and uncertainty, can anything more fit into the day? There’s no room for stillness, for surprise, for beholding mystery, for contemplating the wonder of the season.
There was no room for them in the inn. Not exactly a romantic honeymoon, theirs was a perilous journey before it even began: an unwed, pregnant teenage girl and a fiancé whose social honor was at risk by mere association. Theirs was a journey without guaranteeing safe lodging at their destination, let alone a decent place to give birth. Try being homeless, a refugee or asylee, or trying to fit in where you just can’t find a spot. These are those for whom society has no room. Relegated to makeshift housing, if any at all…a stable where Mary would lay her son in a feeding trough for animals. Because there was no room for them in the inn.
How can you make room for those who look love or believe differently than what is considered “normal” or “acceptable.” In our political discourse, there’s no room for people who see the world differently. There is no room in one’s homeland for refugees in Gaza, Ukraine, or Syria. In a holiday season that’s all about “good news of great joy,” there’s no room for those who grieve or experience loss, anxiety, or depression.
But it is precisely to those for whom there is no room that Christ comes this night to make room. Those who experience no room are in good company with the Christ for whom there was no room in Bethlehem. Indeed, the Christ that this world had no room for is the Christ who comes to make room for all.
Monk Thomas Merton wrote:
Into this world, this demented inn, in which there is no room for him at all, Christ has come uninvited. But because he cannot be at home in it, because he is out of place in it, and yet he must be in it, his place is with those others for whom there is no room. His place is with those who do not belong, who are rejected…discredited…denied the status of persons…With those for whom there is no room, Christ is present in this world.”
The obstacle has become the way. The pain and problem have through grace has become the salvaiton. Because of this holy night and this holy birth, the tables are turned, and the world is turned upside-down. Those who have been told there is no room for them have a place in God’s kingdom, in our pews, at Christ’s table. Into this season of no room, Christ comes to make room. To make room for joy where there is sadness. To make room for hope where there is despair. To make room for love and reconciliation where there is hatred and violence. To make room for wonder and mystery at the goodness of God who makes room for the Christ child and for you.
LeslieAnn and I exchanged text messages on Monday as a representative from Tubman House came with a mini-van to pick up the Christmas gifts for the children. I asked LeslieAnn to take a picture and asked how it went. She wrote back: with gifts piled on the lap, there was absolutely no room for any more gifts in the van.
Martin Luther called Christ’s coming and cross to be the sweet swap where our poverty is met with God’s rich grace. In Christ’s coming, our fears and pains are met with healing in his wings. Our hunger is met with God’s richness.
Christ is born for all peoples of the earth. Born a Palestinian Jew without status or a place to lay his head to bring and announce a love beyond borders or boundaries. Jesus is born into the shadows, the fears, and the brokenness of our world. Jesus is born in the love we give and receive, in the intimacy we share, and in the beauty we create.
Each one of us could name the Bethlehems of our own lives. Stories of times when we were helpless and life was fragile. Times when we were lost, and the world seemed to have no room for us. Times when our lives and world were dominated by powers other than love, compassion, and mercy. But we can also tell stories about love stronger than death, stories of hope that overcame despair, and stories of light that made our darkness brighter. On this shining night, we Christ revealed in the most surprising circumstances, the most unexpected people coming to fill our lives in glory and grace. In word and silence, in bread and wine—this luminous feast.
May we like Mary, enfold God the guest—God the homeless one who makes his home now in us.
