Christmas Homecoming

December 24, 1999 Luke 2:1-20

Sermon by Rev. Dr. John K. Luoma

A very wise man once said that it doesn't make any difference if Christ was born 2,000 years ago if he isn't born in our hearts today. This means that we have to imaginatively enter into this event if it is going to have any meaning for us today. Saint Francis of Assisi was a man who took this whole business of imaginatively entering into the Christmas story very seriously. He created the first living nativity. In his village in Italy he recruited residents to play the parts of Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and so on. And the animals, of course, got recruited also. In this way the players , as well as the town's people who looked on, could appreciate what happened on that first Christmas. Tonight I'd like you to imaginatively enter into the Christmas story and to think about what it was like for those who experienced it.

Obviously, the lead characters in the story are Mary and Joseph. We sometimes forget that they traveled a long way that week before Christmas. Do you know how far it is between Nazareth and Bethlehem? It is 90 miles of very hilly country. Scholars tell us that at about that time of year it would be 30 to 40 degrees and rainy. The normal person could hike about twenty miles per day. A woman well into her pregnancy couldn't have covered even half that much distance in a day. This means that the trip would have taken at least nine day.

Why did they do this? There were several reasons, and certainly one of the biggest was that they wanted to return home. The story tells us that Bethlehem was Joseph's native city, which means that's where all his relatives lived.

I would guess that most of us could relate to long trips home at Christmas. At least a few of you have traveled long distances to get here tonight. You've suffered the indignities of traveling on I-80 or some other highway. Or you've faced the challenges of crowded airplanes and airports. Most of you know about our annual pilgrimage to Minnesota at Christmas every year. At times it tries your patience and you are tired by the time you get there. And that's probably the way it was for Mary and Joseph.

And when they arrive they get there late. Little wonder-they were traveling at about half the speed of everyone else. And arriving late meant that they had trouble finding accommodations. And many of us can relate to that. If you are the last to arrive at home on Christmas, it may well be that you get to sleep on the couch in the living room, or in a sleeping bag on the playroom floor, or maybe you will have the pleasure of sleeping on the hide-a-bed with the two-inch mattress with the steel bar running down the middle.

Traditionally, we've talked about the accommodation problem by saying that there was "no room in the inn." Therefore, they were forced to reside in a stable or a barn. Where else would you find a manger or an animal feeding box?

But lately scholars have begun to look at the story from another angle. Kenneth Bailey, a New Testament scholar, says that the word that we have long translated "inn" actually means "guest room." In almost every Middle Eastern home of that time there was a room that was reserved as the guest room. Mary and Joseph arrived late and so there was no room in the guest room. This meant that some other space had to be found. It was unheard of to turn a relative away.

And I think we can relate to that, too. If relatives want to come and visit, especially close relatives, it is highly unlikely that we are going to turn them away. Lots of times when we've been home for Christmas, almost every room has become a bedroom. Often we've had so many kids sleeping downstairs that you couldn't walk through the room without stepping on someone. For people who are close to you one simply finds the space. And that's what they did for Mary and Joseph. They turned the outer room of the house into a bedroom. The outer room of the house was family space during the day. During the night it was the space used for the animals who were brought in from the cold. And, of course, there would be a feeding box there. When morning came the room was swept and cleaned and the area would become family space again.

So, here's the scene: Mary and Joseph and the Christ child aren't in a cold impersonal barn. They are in a warm dry space, and they are in the company of doting aunts and uncles who are ready to help them. As the story goes, Mary must have pondered these things in her heart. After a long, arduous journey she must have been glad to be in a nice warm space and among relatives who would help her. Soon, she would have to go from home to homelessness in order to avoid the decree of Herod to kill every baby in and around Bethlehem.

And we can relate to this part of the story also; because one of our greatest desires is to be at home, and one of our greatest fears is to be homeless. And the beauty of the Christmas story is that it promises that we need not be afraid, because God in Christ provides us a home that will never be taken away from us. In Christ God promises to be with us forever. In Jesus God makes his home with us. In Jesus he sets into motion his plan to reconcile every person to him and give the perfect peace and belonging that we associate with home.

In his book, Do you Hear What I Hear, Paul H. Dunn talks about God's homecoming in this way.

Once upon a time, there was a man who looked upon Christmas as a lot of humbug.

He wasn't a Scrooge. He was a very kind and decent person, generous to his family and upright in his dealings. But he didn't believe all that stuff about God becoming a man. And he was too honest to pretend that he did.

"I don't want to distress you," he told his wife, who was a faithful churchgoer, "but I simply can't understand this claim that God became a man. It doesn't make any sense."

On Christmas Eve, his wife and his children went to church for the midnight service. He declined to accompany them. He said, "I'll stay at home. I'd rather not feel like a hypocrite. I'll wait up for you."

Shortly after they drove away, the snow began to fall. He went to the window and watched the flurries grow heavier and heavier.

He said, "If we must have Christmas, it's nice to have snow."

He went back to his chair near the fireplace and began to read the newspaper. A few minutes later he heard a thudding sound. It was quickly followed by another , then another. He thought that someone must be throwing snowballs at his living room window.

When he went to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They'd been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter they tried to fly through his window.

I can't let them freeze, he thought. But how can I help them? He remembered the barn where they kept the children's pony. It would provide a warm shelter. He quickly put on his coat and boots and tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors and turned on the light, but they wouldn't come in.

He went to the house and got bread crumbs and he sprinkled them , making a trail into the barn. They ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around helplessly in the snow.

He tried going behind them and waving his arms and shooing them into the barn. That didn't work. They were afraid of him and they scattered in every direction.

"They find me strange and terrifying.," he said. "How can I get them to trust me. If only I could become a bird for a few minutes, then perhaps I could lead them to safety."

At that moment the church bells began to ring. He stood there silently, listening. Then, he sank to his knees in the snow. He said, "Now I understand. Now I see why you had to do it."

God came in Christ 2,000 years ago. And to people longing for home God comes again. All we need do is open our hearts.

Copyright 1999 by Rev. Dr. John K. Luoma

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