No Crib for a Bed

Luke 2:1-7

January 24, 2025 (Christmas Candlelight) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Video Opener

An elderly couple are holding a baby just six months old. A paranoid king looks out from the top of a manmade mountain toward the sleepy village of Bethlehem. Magi in a far-off land notice a strange sight in the sky and wonder what it means. And shepherds, dozing in a field nearby, are about to have the shock of their lives when the sky lights up and they, of all people, get to hear the worship of eternity. Every one of these unlikely characters have somehow prepared the way for this night of nights. A baby is about to be born. Angels will sing, shepherds will spread the news, Magi will begin a long journey and Herod will become murderous. All because a baby is about to be born, a baby who will change the world.

And so, Mary and Joseph, soon to be parents, have made their way to Joseph’s hometown of Bethlehem, a small town about six miles south of Jerusalem. They have been ordered there by the Romans who are taking a census, most likely to determine everyone’s taxes. Everyone, Luke says, had to return to “their own town” to participate. This census couldn’t have come at a worse time for the couple because Mary is nine months pregnant. She could give birth at any time. Mary didn’t have to travel from Nazareth, where she lived, to Bethlehem. Only the men were required to report in person, but because of the unusual nature of the pregnancy, I’m guessing Joseph didn’t want to leave her alone in the north. He wanted to make sure she was safe, and so, the long trip.

Now, you know the story. Mary goes into labor just as they enter Bethlehem, and so Joseph rushes around from hotel to hotel, trying to find them a room for the night. But because of the census, there are no rooms available. Joseph is desperate, and pleads with the last of the innkeepers, asking if there isn’t something he can do. The innkeeper has pity on the young couple, especially the mother who is in obvious distress, and so he offers them a shed out back, a barn with animals and hay and a manger. It’s not much, but they are grateful to have a place out of the weather, so they take the barn, and it’s in that barn that Mary gives birth to the savior of the world. It’s a great story and makes for a good movie. There’s drama, excitement, and suspense. The only problem with the way we tell the story is—it isn’t true. None of that, except for the fact that a baby is born in Bethlehem, is actually in the Bible. Most of it is made up by Hollywood, including the much-maligned innkeeper.

So welcome to Christmas Candlelight, where I’m going to ruin everything you’ve always believed about Christmas. You’re welcome! But Luke says he “carefully investigated everything” (1:3) because he and the early church believed it was important to know the truth, what really happened, the true way God arrived when he came to walk among us. I was listening to a podcast last week when one of the speakers said something to the effect of, “It doesn’t matter if it’s true as long as it’s true for you.” I know that’s a popular sentiment today but it’s heresy. If we are people of the truth, then truth really does matter. Luke says he wrote all of this so that you may know that what you have been taught is true (1:4). It’s important, and I think Luke got the story of the first Christmas from talking to Mary. I mean, who else would know what happened? Joseph died young and Jesus was a baby and there was no one else there in that place that night. So what we have recorded probably came from the mother of Jesus herself.

We know when Jesus’ birth happened, roughly. Caesar ordered a census during the time Quirinius was governor of Syria. Not only do these details tell us that our current calendar is off by 3-4 years, it also asserts that our God works in history, in real time and real space. This is not a fairy tale. These things happened in places and situations that you can verify. Caesar Augustus, Bethlehem, Syria, Rome—this is not Narnia or a galaxy far, far away. This is real life. Jesus comes as a baby, born into the cruelty, the politics, the poverty and the struggle of the world you and I know.

There is ongoing debate about Joseph’s age and where he lived. What Luke tells us is he was engaged to Mary who was from Nazareth and that they traveled together from Nazareth in the north to Bethlehem in the south because they had to register for the census. Bethlehem was Joseph’s family’s hometown; he was a descendent of King David, the most famous resident of Bethlehem. So they make the ten day journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem while Mary is nine months pregnant (Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 88). Ladies, can you imagine making such a trip over hills and through valleys, possibly riding on a donkey (though Luke doesn’t tell us how exactly they traveled)? They probably traveled with a group of friends and relatives, slept on the ground and ate whatever they had packed to take with them. This was not a luxurious road trip. This was not a vacation. This was, in many ways, a forced migration to satisfy the demands of the Roman government.

When they arrived in Bethlehem, they would not have gone to the Hampton Inn or even the Motel 6. Bethlehem was far too small at this time in history to have had even a small inn. That’s part of why the Hebrew culture valued hospitality so much. There weren’t motels and fast food stores and Starbucks on every corner. Instead, each home had a kataluma. The King James Version of the Bible translated that word as “inn,” but a better translation is “guest room.” Both are places where friends or relatives or even strangers would stay, but in today’s language, an “inn” makes you think it’s a freestanding hotel when in reality it was an upper room in a modest home. Upper room, you say? Yes, it’s the same sort of room Jesus and his disciples would have borrowed for their last supper together thirty-some years later. A kataluma.

So Hebrew hospitality said you didn’t turn away anyone who needed a place to stay. Friends, strangers, relatives—they are all entitled to use your kataluma if they needed it. Joseph knows this, of course, so he takes Mary to his family home only to find that the kataluma is already full with other relatives. There is no guest room available to them in the family home (2:7). So what are they to do? His family offers them the lower room, the space directly below the kataluma, which was where the animals were kept. When I was in Austria, we saw many homes up in the mountains where the barn was directly attached to the home, and for largely the same reason—keeping the animals effectively “in the house” adds heat to the home. And, honestly, there is probably another reason for inviting Joseph and Mary to stay there. When a woman gives birth, she is considered unclean until the child is circumcised eight days after his birth. So being sheltered in the stable gives her privacy as well as keeps everyone else in the home from becoming ritually unclean. This idea of Joseph and Mary being alone is far from the truth; they were surrounded by Joseph’s family as she gave birth to Jesus and laid him in a manger (Hamilton 96-98).

Okay, so this is all very interesting, pastor. Why is it important? Here’s what I want you to know: Jesus was born into a world that was just as dark and cruel and hard as yours and mine. This was no silent night and it was not a picture-perfect nativity. There was pain and blood and relief and all the other things associated with childbirth. But they were not alone. Just on the other side of the wall, just up a small flight of steps, were family and friends, people who loved them and people who would help out in any way they could. Jesus was born into a family and a home so that his people, his children could become family as well. It’s an unlikely scene: hope in a stable, light in the darkness, a message in the manger, peace in the midst of an unsettled world. All of that is what he came to bring. He made the journey from heaven to earth, Joseph and Mary made the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, the shepherds made the journey from the fields to the manger so that we could know the God who made us and loves us beyond all measure. He did all this for you and for me.

Joseph’s family home was full—full to the bursting, perhaps. There was no room, it seemed, for Jesus in the upper room. And yet, even with an overflowing life and home, they still made room for Jesus. He had, as the carol says, “no crib for a bed,” and later on in his life he would say that he had no place to lay his head (cf. Matthew 8:20). There’s still not much room for Jesus in our world. He is shut out of the halls of government, of higher learning, of so-called “polite society,” of social media discussions and, honestly, sometimes even out of churches. So I want to ask the question this evening: is there room for Jesus still? in there room in your life for him to live? He came on this night, not just to save us from eternal separation but to give us life abundant, life everlasting. He wants to live in and through each and every one of us. Is there room in your heart and life for the one who has no crib for a bed?

Tonight, we come to light candles. It’s a tradition, a ritual, that many people look forward to every Christmas. But it’s not about the candles. It’s about telling the story. Jesus was born into a dark world, not all that different from our own, a world desperate for hope, for peace, for joy, for love. Maybe you’ve been on one of those cave tours where they take you to the lowest accessible level of the cave and turn off all the lights. It’s so dark that you literally can’t see your hand in front of your face. And just when you might have given up hope of seeing again, someone turns on a pen light or a small flashlight. One little light makes the dark go away, and that’s why we light candles tonight. Into our dark world, Jesus came as the light of the world. Into our dark lives and hearts, Jesus comes as the light of our world. And he is still shining today.