No room. In the gospel accounts, we all know where was there “no room” for Jesus. There was no room in the inn. We just acted it out as part of our teaching time. We pretended that we were Joseph and Mary, carrying the baby Jesus and looking for a place where he might be born, going from door to door, knocking, asking, “Do you have room for us? Do you have room for Jesus to be born?” We were acting out the version of Jesus’ birth that Luke gives us. And I don’t know about you, but every time I hear that account of the hunt for a room so that Mary could give birth to that little baby Jesus, I find myself with little sympathy for those innkeepers who had no room for Mary, Joseph and the soon to arrive baby Jesus.
Matthew gives us another version of the birth of Jesus. But here there is no reference to looking for a room in an inn, there is no manger, no cattle, no shepherd. And yet, if you listened carefully, you heard that in Matthew’s account there also is no room for Jesus. And the one who had no room for Jesus was, incredibly enough, not some stranger to this little baby, not a commercial innkeeper or B&B owner, but Joseph himself.
Now Joseph was not a bad man; quite the opposite, Matthew tells us that he was a “righteous” man. Joseph was a good man, a man who found joy and satisfaction in living his life in accordance with the commandments provided by God, which had been given to help people know how to live well with each other. And yet, he has no room for Jesus – because he is afraid.
Of course he is. You see, Joseph was not only a good man, but he was also in love with a young woman named Mary, and she was in love with him, and they were engaged to be married, pledging their lives and their futures to one another. And then the surprising, shocking, devastating news breaks – Mary is going to have another’s baby. To Joseph, to any man of the time, this is a scandal, an embarrassment to him, something that just was not acceptable for a righteous man. Although Joseph’s love for Mary aches within him, he fears the consequences of welcoming Mary and her unborn child into his home and his life. And so Joseph makes plans to divorce Mary quietly, so as to minimize the public disgrace. There is no room for Jesus with Joseph.
And then, Matthew tells us, Joseph has a dream. Joseph is visited by an angel who has a message about the birth of one who is to fulfill the prophecy about a child to be called Emmanuel, or God-With-Us. This angel, this messenger from God, tells Joseph: “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife.” Do not be afraid. And something breaks inside Joseph that night. It is as if a block of ice, formed by tears to encase a broken heart, suddenly is shattered, and Joseph is freed from the fear that prevented him for doing what his heart had told him to do, to take Mary as his wife, to love her as he had before, to accept this child to be born, to risk the embarrassment and ridicule, all so this woman, and this as yet unborn child, might have a home.
Once I thought that Joseph did as the angel commanded out of a sense of duty, that Joseph, so used to following God’s laws in his pursuit of righteousness, was simply following suit, obeying a new, more personal law. But now I think I had it wrong -- I believe that just as love came down on Christmas Day, love came down to Joseph that night, freeing Joseph from the debilitating fear that kept Joseph from truly loving not only Mary, but also this as yet unborn messiah. Love came down and battered open the doors to Joseph's heart, freeing him to do what he most wanted to do all along.
Like the father in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son, who upon seeing his wayward son returning from afar, throws propriety and fear of what the neighbors will say to the wind and rushes off down the road to embrace, so Joseph is freed by love to love radically and deeply.
In their nativity accounts, both Luke and Matthew ask us, will we make room for Jesus? Will we open the doors in our hearts to the baby Jesus, will we welcome him? Will we accept this one who has come to save us from our sin and aimlessness, or shall we shut him out?
But the question is not only a spiritual one. The message of the incarnation, of God taking on flesh and living among us, is that there is no aspect of our lives and existence that God fails to make a claim on. We are called to embody our spirituality, to live out our religion in our daily lives.
And so the question also becomes, Will we make room for Jesus today in the concrete ways we live and move through this world?
Will we, for example, have room for the homeless Jesus when he comes to us here in West Barnstable or Osterville seeking affordable housing? Or will we, fearing the loss of community character, or fearing the loss of open space, or fearing the impact on property values, say “No room here, Jesus – try Hyannis.”
And will we make the minimal effort to support housing for the homeless Jesus through buying food certificates to use in our grocery shopping, at no extra cost to us, or will we refuse to do so out of the fear that someone might think we are on Food Stamps?
And will we continue to make room here at West Parish for the newcomer and the seeker, for those who have been turned away from other churches because “they didn’t fit in” or were different in economic or social background, or will we, out of fear of difference, close in our ourselves, becoming a musty museum instead of a vibrant, growing church? Will we continue to fund and resource our new 4:30 Saturday service, a service which yeaterday brought in 53 worshippers, many of whom were teens, children, and folk who had never been to West Parish before we started this service?
Will we make room for Jesus? Will we allow Christmas to happen in our lives?
A couple years ago about this time in the season the volunteer staffers at A Baby Center in Hyannis
No one has room for foster children, especially in emergency situations, during the Christmas season. Most families are busy with their pre-Christmas preparations and holiday shopping, with parties and planning their family celebrations. Caring during the holidays for a newborn and her sibling, who likely would only be staying for a short while before being returned to their biological parents, hardly fits into the conventional idea of what Christmas is all about.
And yet, here they were, two apparently normal adults, ready to take on their first foster children. But no Pollyannas these – they were anxious, they had fears: the infant was born addicted to crack, and was just emerging from de-tox – what would that be like, what would the baby be like? They had raised children, their own, but that had been long ago – would they remember how to do everything? She had a dentist’s appointment scheduled for the next day, how was she going to make that with two new children? And how was she going to get groceries and supplies? And would they get any sleep?
The staffers at A Baby Center just laughed and hugged them, and reassured them, and told them to cancel the doctor’s appointment, to get the husband to go out for the groceries, and oh by the way, of course you won’t be getting any sleep. But do not fear – love will find a way.
On the way out the door, arms loaded with diapers and wipes, car seats and receiving towels, a staffer said to this modern day Mary and Joseph, “Oh, one last thing. Do you realize that here we are, less than a week before Christmas, and today you are making room in your life… for baby Jesus?”
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