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My experience wasn’t the same as Mary’s. Well, not in the end anyway. And not in lots of other ways!
We had traveled across Virginia. It was getting late and I was finished. Young and probably quite foolish, Kenny and I had decided to take a little vacation and visit his brother, Jerry, a proud sailor in the U.S. Navy. His ship had just docked in Newport News and we wanted to see him.
Now, I’m an over-zealous vacation planner, a bit of a travel junkie. Once I knew we were heading to Virginia, I got out my boxes of trusty maps and Mobil Travel Guides (Oh, how far we’ve come) and planned a route that would literally take us all over that state, stopping to visit every historic site, explore every tourist trap, hike every waterfall trail, and take pictures at every scenic viewpoint recommended to this tour enthusiast. We had two small children, ages one and three. And I was eight months pregnant. Yeah. Not smart.
Virginia is a big state and my plans were even bigger. Unfortunately, we could only be away a few days and we quickly ran out of time long before we exhausted my ambitious itinerary. Thankfully. Yes, I had overdone it. For sure. I was feeling some concerning pain. I needed to rest. The kids were beat. We immediately revised our schedule and made tracks from the lovely Blue Ridge mountains in the western part of the state eastward toward the Navy base. And toward the very popular August tourist attractions of coastal Virginia.
It was late when we neared our destination. But there were no rooms anywhere. No Vacancy signs taunted us at every exit. It was getting later and less hopeful each time we asked if there had been any cancelations or if they had suggestions for where we could go. We didn’t know what to do and both of us were getting quite anxious. The kids had conked out hours before. I knew I needed to just sleep and get my swollen feet up.
In desperation, after yet one more failed attempt to secure lodging, Kenny suggested I go inside and ask for a room. He was hoping the desk clerk would feel sorry for me, a bedraggled and weary woman with a very big belly. And I must have been a pitiful sight because, in minutes, we were snoozing away in a very clean and cool Comfort Inn suite, the very last motel that had just turned Kenny away!
But that didn’t happen for Mary. And that breaks my heart.
I’ve thought about that a lot over the years--especially during Advent season when beautiful carols remind me again and again of Joseph’s worried and desperate search for lodging. The lovely refrains echo the saddest words of the season to me. There was no room. No room for Mary or Joseph.
But more than that, there was no room for the Savior of the world.
No room for the King!
Here is a perspective on this subject from Rick Warren that I think you will like. It’s titled Is There Room in Your Inn?
No holiday on our calendar gets as much advertising time as Christmas. This month you can’t turn on your television, open a website, or check your email without hearing the word “Christmas.” You see beautifully decorated trees everywhere you turn. You’ll notice lots of chubby guys with white beards in red and white suits.
You simply can’t miss Christmas as a cultural phenomenon.
But you can miss the birth of Jesus.
You can miss the very point of Christmas.
That dilemma isn’t just a product of our time. Even people who were alive during that very first Christmas—just right around the corner from Jesus himself—missed the point of Christmas. And they missed it for the very same reasons we do today.
Take the innkeeper for example.
You know the story. In the last week of her pregnancy, Mary and Joseph have to go to their hometown of Bethlehem. They live in a city called Nazareth and need to be involved in a census with the Roman government.
As they get to Bethlehem, Mary goes into labor. Her water breaks. She’s ready to deliver. And Joseph tries to check her into the local Holiday Inn. The innkeeper comes out and says, “Sorry, no vacancies. There’s no room in the inn.”
Luke 2:7 tells it like this: And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. (Luke 2:7 ESV)
Think about this from the innkeeper’s perspective. If he has no more room in his inn, that’s good. It means business is booming. If you own a motel, you want it to be sold out. A lot of out-of-town guests have come back to town for the census. They’re looking for a place to stay. And he’s all booked up.
The innkeeper has no use for this little baby or this pregnant woman. He doesn’t know who he is snubbing.
The Son of God could have been born in that inn. Imagine the public relations power of that! You could put up a sign: “Son of God born here!” You’d be sold out in your inn for the rest of your life.
God was coming to Earth in human form. (The innkeeper) could have been a part of it. But (he)missed the greatest opportunity imaginable because he was busy. He missed it because business was booming.
Are you too busy with your work to make room for Jesus this Christmas? Is your schedule, your plans, or your budget too tight to let Jesus in?
Just like that innkeeper, you could be missing out on the biggest opportunity of your life this Christmas. God is right here. He wants to be a part of your life. God coming into the lives of ordinary people like you and me is the point of Christmas.
So, dear friends, do the words, “no room” stir your heart like they do mine? Maybe it’s because the Holy Spirit is inviting us to something more in the busyness of this beautiful season of celebration, something more meaningful than our usual trappings and traditions, no matter how fun and exciting they may be.
Perhaps, if we purposefully silence the noise for a moment, for just a moment, we may hear the gentle knocking at the door of our hearts.
He wants to come in.
Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown,
When Thou camest to earth for me;
But in Bethlehem’s home was there found no room
For Thy holy nativity.
O come to my heart, Lord Jesus,
There is room in my heart for Thee.
When the heavens shall ring, and the angels sing,
At Thy coming to victory,
Let Thy voice call me home, saying “Yet there is room,
There is room at My side for thee.”
My heart shall rejoice, Lord Jesus,
When Thou comest and callest for me.
Have you any room for Jesus,
He who bore your load of sin?
As He knocks and asks admission,
Sinner, will you let Him in?
Room for Jesus, King of glory!
Hasten now, His word obey;
Swing the heart’s door widely open,
Bid Him enter while you may.
Oh, my friends, let’s make room.
Let’s not miss Him!
—Eileen Hill
