In Defense of Innkeepers

In Defense of Innkeepers December 24, 2014

A communion meditation for Christmas Eve…

Every good Christmas story has a villain. An Ebeneezer Scrooge. A Grinch. A Mr. Potter.

What about an inn keeper? In my memories of childhood Christmas pageants, you DEFINITELY wanted to be an angel. You MIGHT want to be Mary or Joseph—depending on who was playing opposite you. It was totally ok to be a shepherd or a wise man. But the inn keeper? Nobody wanted to be the inn keeper. That guy was bad news. He was the callous, uncaring mogul who only cared about money, and sent a pregnant mother away in the cold. He’s the reason Jesus was born in a stable and not a Marriott.

But then I grew up and went to work in a hotel. And then I married a guy from that same hotel, who spent many years working in management. And the truth is… if there’s no room, there’s no room. It would be just as inhospitable to kick out the other guests and send them to the hotel across the street. This is peak season, after all… The inn keeper is not a bad guy. He is just doing his job.

And at least he gave them the stable. Could be that stable was perfectly cozy and smelled like fresh hay.

That same hotel where I worked for awhile… Our manager, Mark, was this wonderfully goofy, and deeply faithful guy. On nights when the temperatures were dangerously low, he would open up empty rooms to the homeless. Bear in mind, this was not a Motel 6. This was a large, full service hotel in a busy downtown area.  In fact, if the rooms were full, we’d set up cots in the ballrooms to make room for more.  There is something striking about that image of small, moveable beds, filled with all sorts of people who had nowhere else to go—against that backdrop of a large room meant for beauty and celebration. A room with fancy carpet and high ceilings…but on these nights, its only job was to offer shelter.

Mark was a corporate guy, with a real world job, a large budget, and hundreds of employees. He could be business as usual. But every now and then… every now and then when the world got especially dark and cold and uninhabitable—he would open the doors to a small miracle. And a few times of year, that spirit of generosity changed everything about how we went about our work. Because we had guests. Real guests.

I don’t know the inn keeper from scripture as well. I’m not sure in what spirit he offered the stable. Was he being generous, or was he being a scrooge? Either way, he was likely not a villain.

More likely, he was more like you and me. A breath away from the miracle standing at his door…and about to miss the whole thing, because he is so busy. So absorbed with what must be gained or accomplished.

Let the inn keepers—all of them– remind us of this important truth: miracles happen right in the middle our everyday movement; and love is the stranger at the door.

In worship, through these weeks of Advent waiting, we’ve talked about Sanctuary—rest and refuge for those who wander; those who seek comfort; those who come from around the edges of our comfortable celebrations; and those who hope for the welcome of home and community.  Tonight as we gather around the assurance of grace at this table, we hear God’s loving reminder that it isn’t just for us. The gift we receive tonight, and each time we gather, is our gift to share with the world.

We come to this meal, a brief respite from practicalities and harsh realities. And here we remember– that’s where miracles typically happen. Right alongside the ordinary, right in the middle of our routine. In the shared meal and the blessed cup, we have an opportunity to welcome the stranger. And that stranger changes everything.

In this body of Christ—Emmanuel, God with us—there is bread. There is warmth. And there is home for all.  Maybe what we have to offer is not so much a Marriott as a Motel 6… but you know what? We’ll leave the light on for you.

 


Browse Our Archives