We know what preceded today’s gospel story. There was no room in the inn and so the Christ child is lying in a manger. It is as if Luke is telling us that the world we know, the helter-skelter of daily life, the political and economic realm and, yes, even some in our religious institutions, have no room for the Savior — not in the way he comes to us. The inns of our world are too full to let him in. If we did, we would have to rearrange, even throw out, a lot of furniture in our inn.
There is no room for Jesus in any inn that favors the high-paying guests and the movers and shakers over the simple, powerless and voiceless. While the special are preoccupied with one another and the business at hand, the child in the manger cannot be seen behind their “members-only” doors. They carry on life and business as usual, unaware of what God is offering them.
Meanwhile, God is far from idle. God has a different kind of “business” to accomplish — the work of our salvation. God continues to do what God has always done: notice our need and address it. Indeed, many similar stories preceded today’s, not just in Luke’s gospel, but from the first pages of the Bible. God has always kept us in mind, especially when we were in most need or did not keep God in mind.
There are a lot of people whom we would have expected to be at the great event of Christ’s birth — but they weren’t there. The king and the priests aren’t there. The political powers are missing; as are the learned religious scholars. Those who would have wanted a photo oportunity were out of the picture. Why didn’t they get their invitation? Had they forgotten to check their mail? Did their secretaries misplace the gold embossed invitation? No, because the invitation to the birth of the Prince of Peace wasn’t sent to them. God had some special guests in mind for the royal occasion. These invitees were out in the fields. They had no mailboxes or social secretaries to contact so, our ever-inventive God sent special messengers to deliver the invitation.
Who could have been more surprised than the shepherds? To them was announced the good news the world needed and waited long to hear. It was a special delivery piece of good news to the least special people in society (along with tax collectors and prostitutes, but they’ll get their invitation later in the gospel). Shepherds were a suspect group. They were on the move a lot and when they packed up to go to another pasture the people they left behind checked their belongings to see what was missing.
Nevertheless, the shepherds were at the manger, the least likely worshipers, in from the hill country. What had they done to earn this favor, a special invitation, from our God? Nothing, that’s the point. Christmas is about gift giving. It starts with God’s noticing the least and giving them a gift. This gospel story may be unique in its details, but its bottom line reveals the key biblical message God has for each of us. It’s all about grace. We don’t deserve or earn it, but it’s there for us anyway.
Jesus was born among a subjugated people, into a hard world. Different in time, but not different in conditions, than our own. The light comes into our world where darkness seems to have the upper hand: poverty, war, exiles, slavery, loneliness, sickness, exploitation and death. Still, his birth gives us hope that whatever darkness or death we experience, Christ assures us that new life is possible. A Savior has been born to us.
We join Mary as we reflect on what “all these things” can mean for us and our world. We begin by looking for Christ in the least-likely places. He can be found, if our story is any guide, among the outsiders and in the most surprising places. The influential and powerful would consider Bethlehem a no-account village — to say nothing of what they would have thought about the stable and manger as the birth site for God’s Savior!
I have been getting Christmas cards from friends and family. Many contain special photos of the children taken just for Christmas. The kids look perfect (I’m sure their parents know otherwise). Those Christmas photos are on my mind as I try to picture today’s gospel scene. The birth happened in a stable, or some cave out back of the inn. Wherever it was, it was the most unlikely royal birthing room for a King. As unlikely a scene as the gospel pictures for us, it’s nevertheless a picture of a family gathering — Mary, the peasant girl with a loving husband and those shepherds at the newborn’s side. It’s just the kind of diverse family Jesus has come to be part of.
Through our baptism we are members of that family. Lord knows our lives aren’t picture-perfect. There are parts, or even a lot of our lives, that we can’t spruce up for a holiday picture. In some ways we’re like those shepherds, ragged and living on the edge of things, but invited nevertheless.
Our media is filled these days with politicians trying to show their perfect selves to us. They hardly seem human, not like one of us. They arrange their messages to speak to the majority. They are after our vote. I can’t imagine relaxing with them over a plate of pasta and the house wine. I’d rather share a meal with the shepherds.
Come to think of it, I frequently do at each Eucharist. We come in from the fields and hillsides of life, weary with work, preoccupied with worry for ourselves, our kids and the whole world. Some of us show up only on occasions like this, Christmas and Easter. Some carry wounds inflicted inside or outside our homes. Some are just plain lost.
All of us make ourselves at home around the table, with Mary, our model and loving mother. With her we “keep all these things, reflecting on them.” The “things” she saw and heard was God’s invitation to the least and those in need. That’s why we have gathered at Eucharist, we are in need too. When we receive the good things God has for us we will go out and find other shepherds in the fields to share the glad tidings with them.