Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

For the first time in my adult life, I own a home with a dedicated guest room. I love that room! The furniture is all brand new and carefully chosen. New bed, new mattresses, new linens. Matching nightstands flank the bed. Matching lamps grace them. In the corner sits a plush chair complete with a soft blanket should one feel a chill. The room resonates peace and calm. It is always ready for guests. Clean sheets on the bed. Clean towels in the cupboard. In spite of rarely having visitors, our peaceful haven stands ready should some friend or relative need a place to stay. Even without the promise of guests, I find peace in its readiness. 

I wonder if Mary enjoyed similar peaceful readiness as she neared the last months of her pregnancy. Had she swept out a little corner of their tiny home to place the simple wooden box Joseph had built for her Heavenly Son? Had she spent hours cutting and sewing clothes to dress her baby, made a blanket to keep him warm? Did she survey her preparations in satisfied anticipation of the Child who was promised to be a son to her and a Savior to the world? Did she rest in the knowledge she was ready for His arrival?  

So many people weren’t ready. A lot of years had passed, a million events had occurred, thousands of Jewish babies had been born since those prophecies were written. Not one had been the promised Messiah. Fervent belief and watchful waiting had faded as generation after generation came and went. Unrealized desire had left a bitter taste in their mouths. They didn’t live in eager anticipation of Christ dwelling among them anymore. It seems their belief had turned to skepticism. Perhaps years of waiting had left them uncertain they would see the Messiah in their lifetime. Perhaps that same waiting had bred unbelief that He would come at all. As a result, they weren’t even remotely prepared to have Him come and live among them. 

The arrival of the unwelcome news requiring Mary and Joseph to travel to Bethlehem must have caused concern. Delivery of the child was certain to be soon. The unenviable walk to Bethlehem would be insufferable. Mary could only hope that when she reached her destination, a kindly innkeeper would have a room for her. A room as ready for her and her soon-arriving child as the cozy, quiet space she had made at home. It was not to be. No one had a space, quiet or otherwise. 

 The ill-timed trip to Bethlehem was not met with relatives offering snug guest quarters, extra blankets, or baby gifts. Although it was likely Joseph had family in the area, no one reserved them a space. Rooms for rent in area homes were full. Inns were at capacity. The travel-weary couple would soon become disheartened as they tried lodging after lodging only to hear, “We have no room.” I wonder if the responses would have changed had those innkeepers and homeowners realized whom they were turning away. Would they have found space, made room, ejected a less vulnerable guest if they had known the Messiah stood on their doorstep? (Luke 2:1-7)

Eventually, someone carved out a little space in a stable. It didn’t smell great. Stables normally don’t. There were probably a few animals milling about. Perhaps some mice were building a nest in the corner. Possibly the freshest thing in that structure was the hay in the feeding trough. The hay where the Messiah, Redeemer of the entire human race, laid His head His first night on earth. Inadvertently, the stableboys had prepared a place for the Christ-child. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t spotless. It wasn’t plush or regal. It was simply a mound of hay in a feedbox. Interesting, isn’t it, how Christ unquestioningly inhabits the places prepared for His coming?

I wonder how this story would read if it happened today. Oh, I know. We think we’d do it differently. We’d instantly welcome the overtired mother into our homes in a beautiful display of kindness and compassion. We’d shower her with gifts and give her a warm place to lay her head, regardless of personal hardship, because we are so full of self-righteous goodness. We’d listen to her story of the angelic visit, her claims of birthing the Messiah in tolerant indulgence because our minds are so much broader in scope than those of ancient times. The Christ-child certainly wouldn’t be born in a stable. No. He’d be born in our dedicated guest room on pristine sheets, wrapped in a soft blanket, and laid in a cradle. It would be wonderful. We would be heroes. The story would read as we think it should. 

We deeply dislike the way it currently reads. When we think of Mary and Joseph being turned away from every conceivable place of lodging and sent to a stable, we draw ourselves up in indignant judgment and unrelenting disdain for the insolent innkeepers of Bethlehem. We deem them daft. Uncharitable. From atop our self-righteous high horse, we look down in scathing rebuke at their surliness and write them off as unsalvageable bits of humanity. Incidentally, we miss the point. The point that they were completely, unequivocally, miserably unprepared to host the Savior they had been told was coming. They weren’t expecting Him. They had no plans to welcome Him. They had no place for Him at all. 

It is hauntingly familiar, this lack of space for Jesus. We are there too. We are so busy. Chasing down our comforts. Living our “best lives”. Clawing our way up the corporate ladder. Climbing the social status scale. Indulging in the pleasures of the world. We know the Messiah was born. We’ve been hearing it all our lives. We know about salvation. We go to church. Read a verse or two when we remember. Say a quick prayer before dinner, a fervent one when we nearly rear-end the car in front of us because we were distracted by our phone. If we dare to inspect ourselves more closely, we would realize that, although we would be happy to provide living quarters for a homeless mother and her soon-arriving Child, we are much less interested in making room for His holiness to inhabit our lives. With all the sins we harbor inside, it seems unlikely He’d want to stay there anyway. 

He so wants to be there. It’s the reason He came. He didn’t come to visit and leave you dead in your sins. He came to give you life. Abundant life. Life with Him at the center. (John 10:10) He wants to be a vital, active part of your life, your world. He wants to live in you and fellowship with you. (Revelation 3:20) He didn’t just stop in to drop off our marching orders and then leave, expecting us to wait for the next dispensation. He came to live and dwell among us. (John 1:14) He gave us His Spirit to fill our hearts and guide our lives. (John 14:16) Jesus wants to live in you and do life with you. Jesus wants to make you holy. He comes to you and offers His holiness in exchange for your filthiness. It’s the reason He was born. Without His holiness, no one can see God. Holiness is the way to Heaven. Without it, you can’t get there. A sobering thought in a celebratory season. (I Peter 1:15-17; Isaiah 35:8; Hebrews 12:14) 

In Revelation 3:20 lies a beautiful verbal depiction of how the tables have turned on our judgmental hearts. It portrays the image of Jesus, standing outside a closed door. He is knocking. Asking admittance. He stands there, waiting for permission to enter. He won’t barge in. He won’t force His way. He is waiting for an invitation into your heart, your life. You are now the innkeeper. You have likely heard the knocking. Perhaps you have looked frantically around your sin-littered soul and declared there is no room for Jesus. He wouldn’t want to come in there. It isn’t nice enough, good enough. And You aren’t sure you want to get rid of all the things cluttering up the place, either. You hunker down quietly, unanswering. He knocks again. 

The scene will play over and over again. Jesus doing what He came to do. Seeking and saving. (Matthew 18:11; Luke 19:10) Calling you to holiness in a world of unholiness. (Matthew 5:48; I Thessalonians 4:7) Holiness in every part of your life. Thoughts. Words. Deeds. He is asking you to choose His holiness when no one else is doing it, when it isn’t popular, when it might get you mocked or scorned. He’s offering you eternal holiness over temporary happiness. Surely you see the magnanimity. 

And still today, Jesus is knocking at your heart’s door, asking to come in and fill you with Himself, His holiness, His hope. He knows there are a lot of other things clamoring for your attention. He realizes you have years of junk piled up in your heart. It doesn’t matter. He’s stayed in worse places. A stable, for instance. So you have a decision to make. Will you continue to follow the world in chasing the next big thing, or will you choose the only Big Thing? Will you choose Jesus? Let Him in. Let Him invade your soul. Will you choose the pervading presence of His holiness? Allow His presence to change your life. Invite Him to show up in your daily activities. Ask Him to change your desires and actions and words. Let Him in. Let your life show the world that the hay-filled feedbox of your heart is full of holiness from the indwelling of the Christ-child. (Hebrews 3:15; II Corinthians 6:2)