"(Joseph) went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them..." (Luke 2:5-7)
God comes near... even when we have not invited God in first.
God comes near... even when we do not set aside a special place for God to dwell.
God comes near... even when the most we will offer are secondhand barnyard furnishings.
The wonder to me about the Nativity story this year is that God bears with us even when we make no room for God. And comes among us even when the only spot available is a nook on the margins, off to the edges of our awareness.
You probably know these words of Luke's as he recounts the birth of Jesus. They are the ones we recite every year on Christmas Eve (you can hear them in a church near you very, very soon, in fact!), and they are likely words you have pantomimed a Christmas pageant to as they were narrated by a Sunday School teacher back in your childhood. They are the words good ol' Linus proclaims at the pivotal moment in the classic A Charlie Brown Christmas, too. But I'm not sure that we really let it sink in (I know I surely don't always) that the Savior is born despite the fact that the world doesn't make room for him.
God doesn't un-save the world or back out of the plan to redeem creation because we were too busy to notice the Messiah about to be born. God doesn't pass humanity by because we are occupied with other things. God doesn't throw a fit of indignance because we didn't roll out the red carpet and break out into trumpet fanfare. Even when the only space available was a makeshift delivery room where the animals were kept, God has been willing to come to us to find a place on the margins.
In a sense, this is the whole gospel in a nutshell: that God reserves the right to get the last word even when we decline to welcome God in. God reserves the right to save us anyway, even when we won't carve out the space or time or attention to see what God is doing. God reserves the right, as has been said before, to "reject our rejection" and enter the world despite our indifference about giving God space to dwell.
God doesn't insist that the Nativity be set up in the center of town with spotlight all around to draw all the attention. Rather, God so loves the world that God is still committed to coming into our midst even when the only space available is a borrowed food trough. It's a through-line of the whole story of Jesus, too: the One who is laid in a manger because "there was no place for them" is the One crucified outside the city gate on the margins and at the edges of Jerusalem. And both moments underscore the lengths God is willing to go to in order to love us.
When you hear the story again, remember this detail: God doesn't give up on the grand design to mend the universe just because we haven't set aside a five-star hotel room or penthouse apartment for Jesus to stay in. The child is born for us, and the son is given to us, even when we made no room. God came near... anyway.
Thank God.
Overcome our resistance, our indifference, and our apathy again, O God, and come among us.
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