SermonStudio

Children, I just can't sit down with you now. I have too much work to do for our guests. Yes, yes, I will sit down with you later this evening, just before you go to bed. Yes, I'll tell you the story of the baby again. I know, I know. I love the story, too. It's only once in a great while that I wish I hadn't told you! Mostly, I'm glad I told you, even though it has meant repeating it over and over and over again. Yes, you go out and play for just a little longer, and then Mother will call you, and we'll sit down together in the corner, and I'll tell you the story. Strange how you always want to hear it especially at this cold dark time of year, just as if you sense that is when it all happened. Actually, there is something special for me as well to think about it all, and to go over in my mind again the details of that baby and that night. Maybe that's part of why you like to hear me tell the story - my own enthusiasm probably shows through, so I tell the story better than any other of the stories I tell you. I'll be ready in a few minutes. I'll call you.

All right, children, you can come in now, and we'll sit down together in the story corner. Yes, I'm glad I tell you stories, too - it makes a happy time for all of us. I don't know why the other mothers do not tell as many stories to their children as I do. Perhaps they do, and you don't know it. Or perhaps they don't have time. In any case, they don't have the story that I have to tell, the story which you say is your favorite. Actually, I think you could tell it to me now as easily as I tell it to you - you've heard it so often. But we must begin it now, if we are going to finish it before your bed-time.

I was a girl then - not as small as any of you, but not grown up, either. I suppose I must have been fifteen or sixteen years old that fall when the order came from the emperor about the taxing. We thought it was a very strange order, but since it was bound to help your grandfather's business - I should say our family's business, because we were all involved - we were more pleased and excited than puzzled. The order was going to require a lot of traveling, and travelers have to use inns. The emperor's order was this, that every man in our land was supposed to go back to the town in which he grew up, or where his ancestors had lived. There he would be enrolled by special government authorities, so the records which the emperor kept of the people might be more correct and accurate - and, of course, so that the Romans could tax us in new ways, as if there were any more tax money to be gotten out of us.

Of course then, like now, not too many people had ever moved away from where they had grown up and where their families had lived. Most men just stayed on in the same places, doing whatever their fathers before them had done. In our case, since I had no brothers, your grandfather asked your father to come into business with him here at the inn. In any case, we've always lived - our family has always lived - right here in Bethlehem, as far back as I know; and your father's family has, too.

Depending on a man's work, sometimes young men would go away to other places. Bethlehem isn't a very large place, you know, and neither is it very wealthy. We can provide work here for only a certain number of tanners and tent makers and goldsmiths and carpenters and so forth. If a young man finds out there are too many people working in his trade for him to make a living, he starts asking questions about where there are fewer, where there might be better opportunities for his kind of work. And I suppose that's how it was generations ago for someone in the family of Joseph. His ancestors had come from Bethlehem, for surely he would not have journeyed all the way from Nazareth down here if he had not had to. But none of us knew him or even remembered any of his family connections. Some ancestors, perhaps a carpenter like Joseph, must have gone up to check out Nazareth, and see if he could make a better living for himself there.

In any case, at that time we were far too busy, all of us, to think much about who was coming from where. People were on the move in every direction, and inns like ours had never been so busy. You know how it is at feast times - how I have to say to you, "Children, come in from your play; I need your help. I need someone to go to the well for more water, and someone to sweep the floors upstairs, and someone to put dishes on the table, and someone to watch the bread in the oven." You know what it is like when we are busy and expecting many people - you all have to help. Well, that's how it was that fall after the order from the emperor. Some of the people who stayed with us were just passing through on their way to other towns, and some were here with us because Bethlehem was the place where they had to enroll. And, of course, some of our own newer Bethlehem people had to leave everything and go back to the villages and towns from which they or their families had come. It was all confusing, but it certainly was busy.

As the fall turned to winter, and the days grew colder, more people wanted to stay here at the inn, because it was too cold to spend the night outdoors. Other people in town began taking strangers into their homes, too, especially if it looked as if the strangers could pay well, because there were more people coming than there were places for them to stay. My father - your grandfather, the innkeeper then - didn't mind that some of our neighbors were making inns out of their homes. We were having all the people come to us that we could handle, and your grandfather was always so kindhearted that he hated to turn anyone away. So he was perfectly happy that people were being accommodated all over town. We always wondered if the emperor realized how much commotion he had caused by his order about enrollment and taxes.

In any case, the day I'm telling you about was, for some reason, especially confusing. People were streaming into town and trying everywhere to find a place to stay because they could see that it was going to be a very cold night. The sky was clear and, in the wintertime here, that has always meant a time of cold. Along toward supper, as the sun was setting, there was a knock at the front door again. All the space at the inn had been taken an hour or two earlier. In fact, my father had told one family they could sleep right here by the fire, but that they would have to wait till all the guests had supper before they could unroll their blankets and get themselves bedded down. Father went to answer this new knock. We all were curious, because it was really too late for anyone to be trying to make arrangements for the night by then, and we all peeked a little bit from wherever we were while we went on doing whatever it was we were doing. We wondered who it was that could be knocking now. I myself was kneading dough for the bread that Mother would bake that night and serve our guests for breakfast in the morning.

Well, when your grandfather went to the door, he saw a sad sight. There was a man older than himself who looked so tired. He had a donkey, holding it with a little rope around its neck. Even the donkey looked awfully tired. On the donkey's back there was a tiny bundle of clothes and blankets, and a little equipment for camping - but not even a tent. And sitting on the donkey there was a young woman - a very young woman, a girl about my age, but she was clearly going to have a baby very soon. When I first looked at her, I wondered if the baby had not already started to come, for the poor girl looked so exhausted and uncomfortable. She was a beautiful girl, and I remember thinking to myself, "I wish I were as pretty as she is." The older man thanked grandfather for coming to the door and asked for shelter for the night. He didn't ask for a room - we never knew whether that was because he realized the rooms were all full, or whether he was so far out of money that he could not have paid for a room anyway. Your grandfather responded just as kindly as he could, but he told the man there was no place in our inn for even one more person. The man - later we learned his name was Joseph - turned to the girl on the donkey, and said, "I'm sorry, Mary, but I guess we'll have to keep looking. The innkeeper says there's no room for us here." At that point, we began to realize that the man, Joseph, was the husband of the girl, Mary - and, of course, I took even more interest in the girl when I realized that her name was the same as mine.

By this time my mother - your grandmother - had gone to the door and seen the whole picture. I heard her say to your grandfather, "Asher, we've got to do something for these people. That girl Mary is no older than our Mary, and her baby is about to come. They just cannot go any farther. Think of our Mary being in such a situation." Father said to Mother, "Leah, I'm perfectly willing to think of our Mary, and I'm willing to be helpful, but I don't know of anything that we can do!" And it was Mother, your grandmother, who said, "Couldn't we let them stay out in the stable? At least there would be shelter there against the wind, and the animals do give some warmth." Father said to Mother, "You mean that you would want our Mary to sleep in a stable?" But before Mother could even answer, the man Joseph, who'd been listening to the conversation, said, "Oh, if you would let us use the stable, we would be so grateful! How much would we have to pay you for being able to stay there?" And before Father could answer, Mother, who never gave away anything to a customer, said most surprisingly, "To you there'll be no charge." We were all amazed. But Joseph was more than amazed. The look of relief and gratitude in his eyes and in the eyes of his wife, Mary, was so beautiful that your grandmother said to your grandfather, "See, Asher, see! Their appreciation is payment enough!"

Then Mother called me, and said, "Mary, wipe off your hands and come here. Take this couple out to the stable and see what you can do about getting them a little settled there. I'll finish up the bread and get it into the oven: then I'll bring out a little warm supper. This poor girl looks as if she's had no warm food for a week!" I wiped my hands and went to the door, where I could see the couple clearly, though by now the sun had nearly set. Father was helping the man Joseph with the donkey. Mary had slid off, and was leaning against the wall of the inn. I said to her, "Why don't you take my arm, and we'll walk back to the stable?" She smiled at me as she did so - a weary but beautiful smile, full of thanks. She said nothing, but as we walked, I could tell from the way she took hold of my arm just how tired she was.

My father took a lantern to the stable so there would be enough light for us to arrange a little space. I moved two of the calves into the stall with their mother cow, and I got some fresh hay to put on the floor where they'd been lying. The warmth from their bodies could still be felt there, and Joseph spread one of his blankets on the straw while Father took the donkey and tied him to a post at the other end of the stable. The animals were remarkably calm about this interruption of their routine. Even the animals seemed to realize how urgent the need was to give some shelter to Mary and Joseph.

Well, Mother came out soon with some supper, and Father said, "Joseph, I'm going to leave this lantern out here for you; you can put it out when you are ready to go to sleep for the night." Mother said to me, "Come along, Mary," and as I glanced back once at that other Mary, there was a look of pain in her eyes, but a look of thankfulness and peace as well. We came back inside and got to work again. There was plenty for the three of us to do, but somehow, all our minds were on that couple in the stable. After a while, Mother said to me, "Bedtime for you, Mary," and I went off to bed and fell asleep quickly, because it had been a big day. We had worked hard, and I was tired.

I hadn't been asleep long at all when somehow I woke up, and found myself very wide awake. The inn was dark. Father and Mother had gone to bed and to sleep, for we all had to get up early in the morning. But something made me look out toward the stable, and I could see the lantern which Father had left out there was still burning. I thought that was strange, since Mary and Joseph had both seemed so tired, and Father had said, "Keep the lantern on until you're ready to go to sleep." I wondered what was going on out there, so I threw a cloak over my shoulders, put on my slippers, and went out to peek through the stable door.

I know - this is the part of the story you always like best, and I think it's the part I like best. I peeked through the stable door, and I could hardly believe what I saw. Not only were Mary and Joseph there, but in Mary's arms there was a tiny baby! Now you know that when each of you was born, I thought you were nearly the most beautiful babies I had ever seen, but I have to say nearly because never in all my life had I seen nor do I expect to see as beautiful a baby as that baby whom Mary was holding. I couldn't help myself. I crept into the stable. Mary turned toward me and smiled. She looked somehow more rested now, and very, very happy! She said, "Come over here, and see our baby." I went over and I touched the tiny hand. I asked, "What is the baby's name?" Joseph said, "The baby's name is Jesus." I said, "What are you going to do with him?" What I meant was, how were they going to keep a baby in a stable? But Joseph had that figured out. He said, "If your father and the animals won't mind, we're going to borrow the manger, put fresh straw in it, and let that be his little bed."

I stayed for a few more minutes. Then I said, "I've got to go wake up Father and Mother and tell them about the baby!" Joseph and Mary smiled at my excitement, and I ran back to the inn. When Father and Mother woke up, Mother said, "I'm not surprised. It looked to me as if that baby was just about here." I kept trying to tell them what a beautiful baby it was, but Father was saying things like, "I'm glad we let them at least have the stable." Mother was hurrying around gathering up some clean white clothes, apparently to wrap the baby in.

When we got back to the stable, Mary had nursed the baby and was just putting him down in the manger which Joseph had fixed with fresh straw. Mother helped Mary to wrap the baby, and soon little Jesus was asleep. The animals were undisturbed by all of this - they remained asleep.

A little later, those shepherds, that I've told you about so many times, came in from the field with their strange story about angels singing. Mary didn't seem to be surprised or upset. The guests at the inn started to get up, since dawn was breaking, and one by one or two by two they went out to the stable. Eventually everyone in town had seen the baby. We provided for Mary and Joseph several days - long enough for them to receive a group of strange visitors from far away as well, who brought beautiful gifts to the baby.

Joseph took care of his enrollment. Then early one morning, about a week after the baby was born, Joseph knocked on the inn door.

Mary and the baby were already on the donkey; Joseph said some hurried words to my father and put something into Father's hands. Then they started down the road out of town to the southeast. I hardly had a chance to wake up and to glance at them before they were out of sight. In all the hurry, Father put down on the table the little package Joseph had given him, and it wasn't until later that he unwrapped it and discovered Joseph had left with us the little golden bowl which one of those strange men had brought for the baby. Yes, I'll take it out in a minute, and let you
see it again. You know it's the most precious thing we have.

I was so lonesome for Mary and Joseph and the baby after they left, but as it turned out, it was a good thing they left when they did, for bad things happened to many babies in Bethlehem not long after they went away. No, I haven't ever told you that part of the story, and I'm not going to tell you now - someday, perhaps, when you are older, but not now.

I will tell you, however, what we will do now, before you go to bed. We'll do what we have done so many times before after this story. We'll go out to the stable, and you can see just where the donkey was tied, and where we made the bed for Mary; you can look at the manger and imagine the beautiful little baby in it.

Here we are. This is one of the most special parts of the story, I think - that in such a poor and usually dirty place as this stable, such a beautiful and lovely thing could happen. No, I don't know what became of Mary and Joseph and the baby. That was twenty years ago, and I haven't heard of them since, but I've never forgotten them. You can picture them here, can't you? You can imagine the little baby Jesus, asleep on the hay in the manger.

What did the angel say? What angel? Oh, the angel the shepherds claimed they saw? I think it was something like this: "Don't be afraid, for I bring you good news and such joy. For you and everyone, there's been a baby born in Bethlehem. He is the Savior. He is Christ the Lord." No, I don't know what it means, but I know it means something wonderful, because I saw that baby, right here in this stable, right there in that manger.

Now it's bedtime, children. Back to the inn with you! You'll have sweet dreams tonight! Amen.