Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, threatening to cloud her vision and roll down her cheeks. It was all such a mess! She just wanted to find a room. She wanted to sit down, lie down, get off her feet. She wanted to sleep. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere that wasn’t the ground by the side of the road. Somewhere, she didn’t have to roll out bedrolls and gather wood for a fire. She needed food. Decent food. Something better than the now stale bread they had in their bags. A vegetable would be nice. Maybe a piece of lamb. She wasn’t extremely picky, as long as it had been prepared recently and she didn’t have to do it. Mary wasn’t sure she could cook anything. This ridiculous journey had sapped every ounce of her energy. 

Odds weren’t in her favor. They weren’t the only ones Caesar Augustus had forced to leave home and comfort and travel to their birthplace just so he could count them. The streets of Bethlehem were teeming with people. Bustling, jostling crowds. Jabbing elbows. It was pure chaos. Civilized manners were non-existent in the mad rush to secure a path to walk, a place to eat, a room to rent. No one gave a second thought about the person next to them. Not the elderly. Not the lame. Certainly not the very pregnant lady wishing she could be anywhere but there. No. The goal of every soul was to get there first. Before the rooms were full. Before the food was gone. Before they were forced to sleep rough under the dark Judean sky. 

Mary’s heart resonated with that same goal. It was her greatest fear. Sleeping rough. Again. The very idea was revolting. After a week of sleeping under the stars, she was ready for a room and a bed. She was too far gone in her pregnancy to want, or even be able, to comfortably go camping. A blanket bed under the stars was not her idea of an adventure. A year ago, before the angelic visit, her teenage heart would have thrilled at the fun. Not now. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be travelling. She didn’t want to be racing a thousand other people for the few available rooms in town. She just wanted a bed. A quiet space to lie down. The journey had taken its toll. She was completely exhausted. And suddenly, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong, she wasn’t feeling so well. 

Walking multiple miles a day for a week will do that to a pregnant woman. Especially one in the final throes of her forty weeks. Her feet were swollen and uncomfortable. Her back ached. Sheer determination and lack of choice forced her to place one foot in front of the other. It had been a terrible journey. Long. Hard. Riding wouldn’t have been better. It would still have been awful. Tears had frequently threatened. Often they had spilled quietly down her cheeks. Joseph had been forced to travel more slowly than usual. Resting often. Worrying about his wife. They had both been looking forward to the bed at the inn. Warm water to wash away the dirt of their travels. Hot food to fill their grumbling stomachs. A good night’s sleep before the events of the following day. Neither ever believed it would be an issue. Mary was carrying God’s Son. Surely, He would provide a decent place for them to stay. 

Looking around the burgeoning city, Mary felt her faith plummet. The likelihood of finding a room, any room, was rapidly dwindling. Lines had formed outside businesses. Families huddled together discussing options. Campsites were being erected in nearby fields. Still, hope kept Mary and Joseph trudging from one door to another, checking every possible space, until they were certain every available room was full. The threatening tears welled up and overflowed as the innkeeper shook his head at their inquiry. His rooms were full. Completely. People were already sharing spaces. There was literally no vacancy in his establishment. Not even a corner. He was sorry. He couldn’t help them. 

Ushering Mary away from the door before her sobs erupted in loud wails, Joseph looked around for a private place to calm his wife and evaluate their situation. Before they had taken more than a few steps, the innkeeper called them back. He was not unsympathetic to Mary’s condition or their current plight. He was deeply sorry for the situation in which they found themselves. He understood how loath Mary was to sleep another night completely outdoors. He had a space. He was almost embarrassed to offer it. It wasn’t great. Wasn’t pretty. It was all he had available. It was the stable. They would have to share it with the animals, but there were walls, a roof, and hay. It wasn’t a bed, but it wasn’t the ground, either. It was all he had. Take it or leave it. Joseph and Mary were left with no choice. They took it. 

It wasn’t as bad as Mary thought it would be. A little drafty. The animal smell wasn’t great. But the hay was just as comfortable as any bed they would have been given. And it was better than the ground. The gentle lowing of the oxen and rumination of the sheep could even be called relaxing. She told herself she’d be fine there. She would sleep. She would rest. She would wake up feeling better. Whatever ailed her would be fixed by a proper night’s sleep in a relatively decent place. She hoped. 

Hope had been her lifeline over the past few months. After the first visit with the angel, her faith had been bold and strong. She believed God would do what He said He would do. And He had. She was miraculously pregnant. But the angel hadn’t outlined some of the finer details. Those were the things that troubled her. Those were the times her faith wavered. It was then she found herself clinging to hope. Hope that God would take care of her. Hope that she had made the right choice. Hope that Joseph would love her child as if it were his own. Hope that she would be a good mother. Hope that she wouldn’t be giving birth along a steep, bumpy, dangerous road between Nazareth and Bethlehem. And now, right this very moment, hope that she could make it back home to familiar surroundings, her nicely prepared baby things, and the comfortable space she had created for welcoming her first child, before her delivery time came. It was not to be.  

Sometime in the evening darkness, Mary felt the first pain tighten her abdomen. She tried to ignore it. She’d had a few before. Nothing serious. She hoped this was the same. Repositioning herself, she tried to get more comfortable. Tried to calm her mind, relax her body, fall back asleep. She almost made it, too, but just as she began to doze, another pain came. The strength of it had her paying attention, her chest tightening, her fear mounting. This wasn’t the way she planned. Her baby wasn’t supposed to be born in a barn. He wasn’t supposed to be birthed in unsanitary conditions. She didn’t have any of His things here. She didn’t have her family, the midwife, her friends. Nothing was the way she believed it would be. Hot tears once again scalded Mary’s cheeks. Her faith shook. Her mind reeled. Where was God now? Could He not see what was going on? Was He too busy to care? Everything was a mess, and Mary didn’t understand why. Why was it turning out this way? Why was this thing, this grand thing God had asked her to do, turning into such a disaster? (Luke 2:1-6; Matthew 1:18-25)

It wasn’t. There was nothing disastrous about what was happening. It was perfect. Even if Mary couldn’t see it at the time. Even if she never recognized it. Everything was going exactly according to plan. God’s plan. A virgin (that was her!) would give birth to a Son in Bethlehem. He would be named Jesus. His mission in life would be to save people from their sins, show them how to live on earth, and leave them with directions to Heaven. The prophets told the story centuries before. The people faithfully watched for the grand event. For a time. Eventually, they had become less diligent, less watchful. Faith in the truth of the prophecy dwindled. Logic wrestled with the probability. For some, faith in the promise began to feel impossible, and all they could do was hope. Hope that a Messiah was coming. Virgin or no virgin. Grand entrance or stealthy takeover. It didn’t even matter. They just hoped it was true. Somehow. Some way. They needed a Messiah to come and rescue them. From sin. From turmoil. From death. And He did. (Isaiah 7:14; 9:6-7; Micah 5:2; Mark 2:17; John 10:10; I John 3:8; Romans 6:22-23)

In the dark of night, with no complications or unnecessary fanfare, Jesus was born in a stable in Bethlehem of Judea because there was no proper room available. He was wrapped in strips of cloth and laid in an animal feeding trough because there was no open cradle. He went completely unnoticed by the people of Bethlehem then and the people of Nazareth later, because their faith, even their hope, was fixed on a grand birth announcement, a glorious fanfare, a triumphant arrival. It didn’t change the facts. Their Messiah had come. Jesus was there. The Hope for which they hoped. The Hope of salvation. The Hope of eternal life. The Hope on which they could lean when their faith wavered, faltered, failed. When the outlook was dark and growing darker still, Jesus came and brought the light of hope to the world. Whether they knew it or not. (I Timothy 1:1; Romans 15:13; Colossians 1:27; Psalm 39:7)

Whether you know it or not, whether you see it, whether you feel it, Jesus is here. When your faith is small and shriveled and sad. When all you have is hope. Do that. Hope. Hope that God will make good on His promise. Hope that He will come through with a miracle. Hope that He hasn’t forgotten your circumstances, your situation. Hope that He has a plan and a purpose for the trials and troubles that currently plague your soul. Hope that in the discord and discouragement, distress and disharmony of this world, God is still moving and working out His divine purpose. Hope in a power greater than any other power. A name greater than any other name. A God greater than any other god. A God of love who cares about every little detail of your life. Every emotion. Every ailment. Every temptation. Every fear. A God who is deeply invested in you. The God who sent Jesus, His Son, into a world who had lost faith that He was coming, a people who found it impossible to believe. To people who were clinging to hope alone, Jesus came. Dwelt among them. Emmanuel. God was with them. (Ephesians 1:19; Philiipans 2:9-11; Exodus 18:11; John 3:16)

Perhaps you know exactly how it feels, that white-knuckled clinging to hope. Maybe you are struggling to have faith right now. The outlook is dark and bleak. The news is harrowing and terrifying. Everything seems unstable and unpredictable. Most days, you read the news and wonder where God is. As you grieve the effects of calamities beyond your control, you wonder what God could possibly be doing. As things in your world, your town, your life appear to careen out of control, you bury your face in your hands and wonder why nothing is going to plan, why everything is ending in disaster. You wonder what God is doing, if He’s doing anything. Your head and heart know you are supposed to have faith in God, but it feels impossible. So hope. Hope in God. He has never failed. Anyone. Even when it took weeks, years, or centuries to happen, His word, His promise, occurred. God hasn’t changed. He can’t. It isn’t in His character. God is no different today than He was 2,000 years ago. He will do everything He says He will do. For you. For me. Not one word He promised will fail. Not His spoken word. Not the written Word. So when things are bleak, you are overwhelmed, and faith feels impossible…hope. In God. He is faithful. He will help you. Emmanuel. He is here. (Isaiah 41:10; 55:8-9; John 5:17; Luke 1:37; Mark 11:22-24; Psalm 42:11; Joshua 21:45; Numbers 23:19; Hebrews 13:8; Deuteronomy 7:9; Philippians 4:5)