Christmas Eve, 2022

The story of Christ’s nativity can be this:

Mary, pregnant with Jesus, very soon to give birth to the future king, went with Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem so that they may be counted in the census ordered by Emperor Augustus.

This was in the time of Quirinius.

We imagine Mary on horseback or on the back of a donkey being led by Joseph on their way south.

They made their way from Nazareth in Galilee to David’s city of Bethlehem.

This savior.

Our savior would be born of the line of David.

Royal roots and humble beginnings, Mary and Joseph scanned the roadway for a place to stay in Bethlehem.

They went from inn to inn.

Might they have a place for two Nazarene strangers to stay?

Nay, not tonight, we are booked solid.

Door to door they asked the innkeepers, perchance you have a place to stay?

No, the town is full of people returning here for the census.

Knocking on one more door, might we spend the night?

No, there is no room at the inn.

They wandered about town finding no room nor inn to stay, they made their way to the outskirts of the city.

They found a small barn where they could lay their head on damp hay.

Surrounded by animals, they found what comfort they could beneath the rickety beams of a barn in disrepair under the clear night sky illumined by a bright and shining star.

This is Jesus in a manger; this is our childhood tale.

This is the pantomime play of small hands holding porcelain figurines acting out the nativity.

Small mouths with circled lips making mooing noises and the bahing bahs of sheep curious about the baby Jesus nestled in a crib.

This the older hand holding that very same Jesus and the memory of their own childhood repeated now in recollection; this is the physical reminder of Christmases past.

The older hand places the Jesus figurine in his place in the creche on Christmas Eve, the younger hand reaches out to touch the now completed diorama.

Be careful with it, the child is warned.

I’ll be careful, replies the child.

What we hold in memory is so important to what brings us here tonight, this night of hope and light recollection.

And yet, as we grow older, grow more into the truth of Jesus, we are to look anew at the birth of the Christ child.

At how Jesus came to born be in a place called Bethlehem.

Historians do wonder if there was a census ever taken at the time of Jesus’ birth.

That though is not for us to wonder about.

What we can think about though, what we can wonder about anew is the setting in which he was born.

We begin with Isaiah chapter 1, verse 3: The ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master’s crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not understand.

In this verse we are given the image of animals surrounding their master’s crib and in other translations, the word manger would be used rather than crib.

So when Luke says that Jesus was wrapped in cloth and placed in a manger, it is easy to imagine the same setting Isaiah provides, that of a manger surrounded by animals in a barn separate from the city and community in which Christ was born.

And yet, in those times and even nowadays, it is customary for a relative to be welcomed another relative’s house.

And Joseph, a relative of David, would have had many family members in Bethlehem, David’s city.

Or, as Kenneth Bailey writes in ‘Jesus through Mediterranean Eyes’:

Even if he has never been there before he can appear suddenly at the home of a distant cousin, recite his genealogy, and he is among friends. Joseph had only to say, “I am Joseph, son of Jacob, son of Matthan, son of Eleazar, the son of Eliud,” and the immediate response must have been, “You are welcome. What can we do for you?” If Joseph did have some member of the extended family resident in the village, he was honor-bound to seek them out. Furthermore, if he did not have family or friends in the village, as a member of the famous house of David, for the “sake of David,” he would still be welcomed into almost any village home.

And yet in that traditional telling of the nativity story there was no room at the inn, or translated another way, there was no room in the guest house of the family Joseph sought out.

Not no room at the inn, no room in the guest house.

You see, the typical Palestinian home of that time would have been of a single floor split into two rooms.

The first room was the guest room.

The second was the place for family.

Having no space in the guest room, the owner of the house would have brought Joseph and Mary into the family room, the less formal place, perhaps less comfortable place for guests, but still in the home of their relatives.

Imagine Jesus born not separate from family and the hubbub of community, but in the middle of it all.

He would have been born in a room full those who already loved him, his mother and earthly father, distant cousins and aunts and uncles.

Jesus would have been born amidst the poverty of a people oppressed by empire; a people who had but a floor and a mat and a crib in which to place our infant savior.

And then perhaps we wonder, what of the animals?

What of the cows and oxen and lambs and goats and, in some movies, lobsters that were supposed to be all around Jesus at his birth?

What of the manger?

Well, in the family section of the house would be indentations in the floor where the animals food would be placed when they were brought in at night to keep them warm.

So, this family room was not just reserved for the people who lived in the household.

And it would not just be filled with human guests when the guest room was full, but the animals too!

This room would have been amazing just thinking of the sounds alone.

Now suddenly, a fuller picture comes to light.

Jesus and Mary would have made their way down to Bethlehem, most likely walking.

They would have visited a relative and the relative, let’s say a cousin, said the guest room was already full but not to worry, they could stay in the family room.

And so Mary and Joseph placed their things amongst the host’s things and they would have shared in food and drink and conversation.

And as Mary’s labor began, she had family around her to take care of her, wiping her brow, giving her water, helping with the birth.

And once the baby was born, straw might have been placed in one of those indentations on the floor and the baby was placed there where he rested in the manger.

With these words, I do not ask you to dismiss what you have grown up loving about the nativity story.

This homily is not about trying to override the romance of the story we know so well and find here before us in this creche.

We can hold both visions together without tension.

And for this newer version of the nativity, new to some us at least, I ask you to notice one thing.

Jesus was born within community.

Not to be found in a barn at the end of some lonely street, Jesus was born close to a family’s love.

That is important.

For Jesus is born this night and in this hour; he is born within the very hearths and homes of our hearts.

By reading the nativity a bit differently we see that Jesus is not born separate or apart, rather Jesus is born in the midst of us.

All of us.

Jesus is here.

Friends, it is sometimes difficult to imagine God’s presence among us and yet that is the one constant in this world.

We do not have to go looking beneath bushel baskets to find the illumined love of God.

It is already there.

It is already here.

It is already before us awaiting our recognizing that fact.

Jesus is here.

Jesus is born amongst us.

Jesus was not born separate from the love of family nor was he born separate from all those things that cause us heartache and consternation.

Jesus is with us in our sadnesses just as he is with us when we join in the joyful embrace of those who love us.

We need not search the skies as the Magi did for the savior is ours already.

We need not be fearful like the shepherds for tonight the good news of Christ’s birth arrives once again.

Truly, on this night, we find God’s love for us in its most delicate form.

And we see it as what it is and grew up to be: A love so great that it changed the world.

On this night, love was born to be nurtured and cherished.

Here, in this place, is born a savior.

Here, a love so great as to love us perfectly and without question is born to us and in us.

With us; never apart.

Amen.