Luke 2:1-20       

“No! We have no room!” The voice was not unkind, but its firmness denied the possibility of changing his mind. “No!”

         Her head dropped. Her husband pulled her against his side, his arm around her swollen waist, almost lifting her, helping carry her weight. A donkey. Would it be easier if she were riding a donkey? Maybe, but she would still be tired. 

         The evening smells filled the air with the aroma of baking bread and simmering stew. They had not eaten for several hours, and hunger joined the stirring of the baby inside her.

         They moved forward slowly to the next place. She watched him knock. The door opened a cautious crack.

         “I am Joseph, a carpenter. We are cold and tired. We’ve walked long and far. We have nowhere to go. Will you let us in for the night?”

         “We already have people doubled up in our rooms. We can’t take any more.”

         “But my wife …”

         “No. I said that we’re full.”

         “Sir, have mercy, please.” But he was speaking to a closed door. He returned to the street.

         “It’ll be OK. Someone will let us in.” His voice was soft and gentle. 

         Another house, another knocking.

         “No. We can’t take in any more people.”

         “But my wife is with child.”

         “That would be too much trouble.” And the door slammed.

         She sagged. Shame pushed aside the feeling of rejection. Why had they left home? Why had they come out into the night? Why were people afraid of them?

         He knocked at another door. Only a single light shone in the window. The door opened slowly. 

         “We’ve traveled all the way from Nazareth.” An urgency filled the words he had spoken several times this evening. “My wife is very pregnant. The baby could come any time. All we ask is a place to sleep.”

         “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any room. Every place is taken. The census has brought in so many people.”

         She let out a gasp as the contractions began. Both men turned to look at her. 

         “We don’t have any time left. We can sleep on the floor, but we can’t stay outside in the street.”

         “Follow me. The stable is warm and dry.”

         As he threw open the door, light filled the room. “They’re here!” he announced happily.

         Shock accompanied another contraction, then relief. Yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they had been turned away time after time. Yes, they were in a stable. But, no, they were not in Bethlehem. No, they were not in the first century. Why had she forgotten? How did she get so involved in the drama?

         The people gathered around the couple, welcoming them to the party.

         She sat to the side, watching the others. Her husband and her friends brought her food. Ana, her aunt, stayed nearby, noting the time between contractions. A couple of the other older women sat with her. This would be a Christmas baby, perfect timing for Las Posadas.

         About midnight, after the pinata breaking, the women walked her home. They took her directly home, a half dozen blocks, instead of wandering through the entire village, as the young couple had done earlier. 

         Her husband followed, fear stretched across his face. This was a time for the women who knew the procedure. He would be in the way, but he wanted to be present. 

         A few hours later, a newborn cry rose in the air. A son! Their firstborn was a boy. And because he was a Christmas baby, they named him Jesus. The older women washed him and tended to his needs, while the new mother rested.

         The young woman gazed at her son, nestled in her lap, his newborn smell rising to her nose. She had seen infants before, as other women in the village gave birth. But this child was different. This child belonged to her, came from her body. Such tiny fingers and toes. Such beautiful dark eyes. So little hair. Smaller than usual, but healthy. Having just nursed, he slept, his tiny lashes firmly closed against his face.

         Her husband stood next to her, a hand on her shoulder. “He’s so little” echoed her thoughts. 

         “That’s good,” responded Ana nearby. “But he’ll grow faster, because his birth was easier.”

         She took the baby and wrapped him carefully to protect him from the cool winter air. “He’s a fine baby, this little Jesus. Now you,” she turned to the new mother, “you need to rest.” She ushered the new father out.

         Alone, the young woman clutched her baby. A Christmas baby. Las Posadas. She had taken part in Las Posadas as long as she could remember. Every evening some people, not always the same people, but always some, walked through the village, going from house to house, asking for shelter. She knew, had always known, that they were only pretending to be Mary and Joseph. She knew, had always known, that Mary was very pregnant and that the baby could come at any moment. And she knew that the baby had been born in a stable.

         The Las Posadas party didn’t always take place in a barn as it had last night, but the people who hosted the party this year had a small house. They had cleaned out the barn and put the animals outside to make room for everyone to party. The combination of her own pregnancy, the procession, feeling the baby moving within her, and the birth of her baby on Christmas Day … all that gave her a new understanding of Christmas Eve.

         Her baby, her Jesus, her little Jesus, slept the peaceful sleep of the well-fed newborn. As she dozed, she remembered. In past years, being turned away was simply part of the fun, part of the procession. She didn’t feel rejected, because she knew they would be taken in, finally, on Christmas Eve. Her only reaction to “No, we don’t have any room” was impatience. “Let’s get to the party,” she had thought. “Let’s go directly to Christmas Eve, to the home where the party is.”

         But today … last evening she had stood in the street, shivering from the chill and feeling the rejection. Her baby was the impatient one, wanting to come into the world. Each time they were sent away, she felt the fear. She and her baby had been denied what they would need for shelter, just like Mary the mother of Jesus so long ago.

         Of course, the difference was that she knew, she remembered now, but she didn’t remember feeling that she knew last night… that someone would invite them in on Christmas Eve. Not on the other nights, but on that special night, they would. And last night, the night she had stood in the street, feeling the contractions, was Christmas Eve. No, last night she had felt rejected. She had been discouraged. She had thought she was Mary, and she had lost hope.

         And when the man had offered them the stable, she did not remember that the party was waiting. She only knew that she would have the baby under a roof, in a warm place, where they would be safe. The relief that Mary must have felt long ago.

For consideration

General Questions

1) How does this story follow its Scripture?

2) How does this story expand its Scripture for you?

3) What is the message of this story?

4) How does the message apply to us today?

Specific Questions

5) Where might this story have taken place? 

6) Have you ever walked through your community to recreate Mary and Joseph’s seeking lodging? If so, what was it like? If not, would you like to arrange such a reenactment?

7) Would you have different expectations for a baby born on Christmas Day?

8) How is it different to experience rejection than to read or hear about it?