An Unexpected ChristmasSample

Day 6: A Crowded City

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. (Luke 2:6–7)

“There was no guest room available for them.” This is such a small detail in the story. It’s tacked onto the end of the sentence like an afterthought—dwarfed by the significance of the events surrounding it. Yet, this little sentence fragment has made its way into every Christmas play I’ve ever seen. 

At some point in the production, I know I’ll see a door partially opened with a disgruntled face peeking through the crack. They’ll mutter something like, “We’ve got no room for you here.” The actor playing Joseph will slink away in disappointment to the next door, only to experience more rejection. This will continue until, finally, one compassionate innkeeper finds it in his heart to show them to an animal stable out back. More than likely, this was more of a shameless money grab on the part of the innkeeper than an act of compassion. But that never makes it into the plays.

Why is it that this scene, that amounts to no more than eight words in our translation, sticks out so much in our memories? What is it inside us that resonates so deeply with the story of the God who was turned away, the Messiah no one had room for?

Could it be there’s a part of us that has felt so often overlooked and undervalued that we find the unwelcome Savior somehow more accessible?

Or, is it possible that somewhere deep inside, we know we actually identify more with the innkeepers? We’re like the city dwellers that were too busy and rushed to recognize the miracle taking place in their own backyard.

In his book The Remarkable Ordinary, Fredrick Buechner wrote, “It seems to me the world is a manger, the whole bloody mess of it, where God is being born again and again and again and again and again and again. You’ve got your mind on so many other things. You were so busy with this and that, you don’t see it. You don’t notice it.” 

This year, as you think about this family settling in for a rough night next to the cattle, let it serve as a reminder of how easy it is for us to miss the miraculous. No one intentionally sends God to sleep in the backyard. It’s just what happens when we’re too busy to recognize who’s standing at the door. 

What would it look like for you to slow down enough in this busy season to recognize the miraculous things God may be doing all around you? Think about the supernatural work he is doing in the lives of those you live with or work next to. Carve out some time to tune out the noise so you can hear his whisper in your own heart—because sometimes God sends angels to announce his arrival, but more often than not, he slides in unannounced while we’re busy doing other things.