Reconsidering The Innkeeper

She gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no lodging available for them.

AS I (JULIE) HAVE READ AND reread the story of Jesus’ birth and the intentionally humble way he intersected our world in human form, I have grown curious about the unnamed side characters, including the innkeeper. For most of my life, I have disdained the anonymous innkeeper in the Christmas story. He is forever “that guy”—the one whose lack of room for a heavily pregnant, teenage Mary meant Jesus was born among livestock.

When I was a young girl, I mentally classified the innkeeper as greedy, callous, and uncaring for not opening a room in the inn for sweet Baby Jesus. (How dare he!?) Somehow, that childhood irritation followed me into adulthood, unexamined: condemning and unforgiving. It was not until recently that I reexamined my unyielding dislike for this unnamed soul who played a pivotal role in the Nativity story.

Did you know that the innkeeper is never actually mentioned in Scripture? Today’s verse is the only one we get about Jesus’ birth accommodations, which means we’ve built our perceptions of the innkeeper on one solitary verse.

Let us reconsider the Nativity story from his perspective through questions (while being exceptionally careful about filling in the gaps with fictional imaginings): How many times had Mary and Joseph been turned away before arriving at the innkeeper’s doorstep? Did he offer space among his animals, and if so, was it compassion that moved him to aid them, or was it a commercial transaction? Did he (or others staying there) assist and offer supplies as Mary went into labor? When did he hear about the angels appearing to the shepherds and directing them to the infant Jesus? Was he present during that chaotic commotion? Did he realize or even wonder—this side of heaven—that he had met the Son of God?

Of course, no one alive today knows the answers to those questions, but they have made me reevaluate my assumptions and rethink my own efforts to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

What if, instead of assuming him stingy and gruff, we assumed the best of that innkeeper? I’ve had to ask forgiveness for my hard-hearted view of him over my lifetime. Maybe he was the pseudo-villain of my young imagination, but perhaps he was a God-fearing man doing the best he could with what he had available, unaware that his Savior’s imminent arrival would take place among his animals. What if he was generous with what he had left during the rooms-sold-out-all-over-town census, knowing it was deeply imperfect but better than the alternative of turning them away?

Uffda. If that pokes a tender spot in your spirit, please know you are not alone! It’s convicting to wonder whether I’ve spent a lifetime condemning a man who gave the best of what he had in that moment of extreme accommodation scarcity.

And, more distressing, I contemplate the times I’ve fallen short of what the innkeeper offered. How many times has Jesus sent someone across my path, and I chose not to help, convinced that what I had to offer wasn’t good enough so I shouldn’t bother trying? Or what about those instances in which I’ve refused to help because it was inconvenient? And I know there have been times of obliviousness in which I was too distracted to recognize the opportunity to be a part of the God Story in someone else’s life.

It is possible I have carried disdain for a person who answered the call of God more faithfully than I have thus far.

What do we do when we come face-to-face with our inadequacies, our sinful selfishness, and our hypocrisy?

We repent. We take our obliviousness, our self-centeredness, our fear, and our insecure certainty that we have nothing worthwhile to offer, and we lay all of it at the feet of Jesus. We confess the times we know we got it wrong, and we confess the distractions in our life that cause obliviousness. Proverbs 28:13 reminds us that confronting and confessing our sins leads to mercy.

We accept forgiveness. Instead of wallowing in self-loathing and contempt for the ways we’ve fallen short, we embrace the forgiveness that comes with repentance. And then, when God removes our sin as far as the east is from the west, we also let it go (see Psalm 103:12). We do not stay stuck in a vortex of self-recrimination and guilt.

We seek a second chance. Scripture is full of stories about fresh starts and second chances, and we are in good company with the likes of Saul, who consented to the murder of Stephen and persecuted early Christians, yet encountered the resurrected Jesus on the road to Damascus. We now know him as Paul, the author of at least thirteen books in the New Testament (see Acts 9:1-19). If a murderer can become the primary biographer of the early church and the most prolific author in the New Testament, then there is nothing we have done in life that places us beyond the redemptive power of God.

We reevaluate. What in our life hinders our ability to love God with our entire heart, soul, and mind? What keeps us from loving others as we love ourselves? What skill sets, talents, experiences, and resources can we use to love God and others? The answers will look different as we move through seasons and stages in our lives, but intentional reflection on a regular basis helps us course correct when we start to slip into old patterns.

And finally, we entrust our small offerings to God’s infinite wisdom and plan and align ourselves with him rather than asking him to bless our plans done our way. There is zero doubt that God intended for the Savior of all humanity to be born in the humblest of accommodations. Regardless of whether the innkeeper was a devout follower or a greedy villain, God used him to accomplish his will.

We are called to obedience, which means we do not substitute our judgment, our plans, or ourselves for God. We are generous with what God has entrusted to us and watchful and willing as he invites us into his story, in his timing, and in his way. Aligning ourselves with God’s will is the best way to ensure a merry and bright Advent, this year and forever.

Heavenly Father, forgive us for our obliviousness, our distraction, and our hard-hearted ways. May we see people as you see them. May we encounter the world through the lens of Jesus’ teachings. And may we practice prayerful obedience rather than substituting our judgment for yours. Thank you for redemption, for second chances, and for opportunities to be used by you to accomplish your will in the lives around us and in the world. Amen.