A Christmas Story

I have a busy week getting ready to make the big trip to Alabama for Christmas with the whole family (brothers and sisters and those in-law along with the 3 nephews). So, I am posting a story that I wrote this year. It's sort of a different take on the Christmas Story. Let me know if you like it, think it stinks, think it could use something, etc. It is a little long, so, take your time. You can download it in Word format from my website (at the bottom)if you like along with a nice Christmas Greeting. Hope you enjoy.

The Innkeeper’s Indwelling Grace

Most of the people hate tax season. It serves as another reminder to the Israelites that they are a conquered people, forced to give allegiance and tribute back to Rome. The whole idea of forking over their hard earned money to some dictator just so he can line his pockets seems ludicrous. For the Israelites, the Roman promises of “Bread and Circuses” was merely taxation and entertainment at their expense. It is no surprise then, that the tax collectors are among the most hated in their society.

And in order to get ready for tax season and avoid imprisonment or further fines, they have to get their houses and finances in order. They have to take time off of work. They have to travel back to their homeland. They have to make reservations or impose upon some family member. And of course, they have to give to Caesar what is Caesar’s. It is all such a big hassle for them.

But there are some beyond the tax collectors that love tax season. There are some that can’t wait for it to come. It doesn’t come all that often, but these people plan their whole schedules around it. You see, these people rake it in. They profit quite a bit from tax season. Take for example Sar. His name means “prince” but as an innkeeper in the lowly city of Bethlehem he is far from royalty. He is not much to look at. Not overly pretty. His face is covered by a brown beard with graying tips. Thin cheeks from years of scratching by can be seen under his facial covering. Teeth a greenish-yellow from years of smoking on a pipe occasionally appear behind his cracked lips. Despite his appearance though, he is decent with his hands. After all, he did convert his home into an inn after his farming took a turn for the worse. Sar may seem like an average Israelite, but unlike most Israelites, Sar looks forward to the tax season.

You see, the hotel business in Bethlehem is, to put it mildly, slow. Most times, he could expect one, maybe two guests a week. Most are on their way to Jerusalem but arrive in Bethlehem late at night. They decide to stop, not wanting to go the rest of the way and increase the risk of getting jumped and robbed. If it weren’t for its proximity to Jerusalem, it is doubtful that anyone would stop by. No, this town doesn’t get many visitors coming around. The King David Shrine and museum is about the only tourist attraction, and everyone knows that it probably isn’t authentic. I mean, they are trying to sell the actual pebble David used on Goliath for 25 shekels. That’s right, 25 shekels! Of course they have been selling these same pebbles since the Bronze Age, so one has to think the pebbles they pass off as real fool no one anymore.

No, there is nothing to do here in Bethlehem. Even the name of the town is not really exciting—“House of Bread.” Unless you are a baker or you really love grain products, they don’t have much to offer. No, the town basically just lives in the past, struggling to get by. And that is why people like Sar love tax season. With the influx of visitors he makes enough in one week to live on for a long time. People come from far and wide back to the homeland they have abandoned. They aren’t happy to make the trip, but the law is the law. So, when they come, Sar’s inn, “The House of Bed” sells out. And boy what a party do they have. He figures, the better time the people have, the more likely they will be to come back and not go to the competition. It seems to be working. He hasn’t had an empty room during tax season for many years. Everyone knows, if you want a room at The House of Bed, you better make your reservation early.

Well, almost everyone knew. This past tax season, a couple arrived in Bethlehem without a reservation. They stumbled into the inn late one night, probably 3:00 in the morning. The innkeeper woke with a start, angry that he was disturbed from his nice, warm, straw cot by the sound of their banging on the counter. This couple was a sight to behold. As the innkeeper wiped the sleep from his eyes, he took in the situation. Here, a somewhat poor man and a pregnant woman who was probably not his wife stood before him. Sar assumed that the child was illegitimate. Sar wanted to laugh at the situation if it weren’t so sad. Before him stood two of society’s outcasts who had made no plans ahead of time and yet expected to find a comfortable place to sleep and probably give birth.

This man who looked to be in his 40s was in bad shape. His beard was not neatly shaved, but grew up in tufts all around. His clothes were dusty. His eyes had dark circles about them. His hands were worn and calloused from manual labor. And his body was clearly worn out. Fortunately for him the counter was there to hold him up or he would have fallen over.

Strangely enough, he was with a pretty, much younger girl, though she too was looking quite weary. And for good reason. Her belly looked like it was about to pop. She had to be fully pregnant. Though her attractiveness and her pregnant body shape stood out, what really drew people to her was her eyes. Though her eyes looked tired and were red from what had to be many tears of pain, they were kind. Her eyes belied the pain of her circumstances with something that he had not seen in a long time.

Well, the man, after taking a short drink from his water pouch, hoarsely mumbled to the innkeeper, “Can we have a room?”

Sar laughed wryly, “Sure. It will only cost you 100 denarrii.”

The man’s eyes widened. “100 denarrii? That’s a third of the year’s wages. I can’t afford that!”

Sar shot back, “Well, that is what it will cost for me to kick one of my good paying customers out of their beds and into the streets. We’ve been booked solid for a year. You can’t just waltz in here at tax time and expect a room. And don’t expect to find a place anywhere in town, neither. You would think that 100 denarii is a steal compared to what some of these places will charge you.”

The man replied, “Do you not have anything for us? Look at my wife. She needs a room.”

“Are you kidding me?” the innkeeper sniggered. “I won’t have you disturbing the rest of my guests with her screaming and yelling. This is an inn, not a nursery. You’ll have to head south to Tekoa if you want a room.”

The man’s shoulders slumped even further down as he turned and looked at his wife. “Can you make it 10 more miles?” The woman, through a mouth clinched in pain smiled, and nodded.

As they were walking out the woman turned and gave a nod of appreciation to the innkeeper. It was then that he realized what was so mesmerizing about her. Her eyes and her whole demeanor were full of grace. Though he had treated them rudely and cruelly, she still had the grace to respond with affirmation.

Struck by such a response, he ran out and stopped them from leaving. “Wait, wait, wait. I don’t have a room. And I hate to even offer this to you, but you seem to be in dire straights. I have a cow stall just up the way there. It is shielded from the wind, there is plenty of hay in there, no one will bother you and you can scream as loud as you want maam.”

The man thanked him and the woman gave him a grateful smile as they slowly set off for much needed rest and shelter.

As the week went on, Sar was caught up in the activities of tax season. Being counted, figuring out the appropriate tribute to give to Herod, keeping his patrons happy—he almost forgot about that couple out in the stall. That is until they came to check out—the man, his wife, and their new baby boy. Though still tired, they had a light about them that could not be quenched. The man set his money pouch on the counter and asked, “How much do we owe you?”

Sar was speechless as he looked at the bundle in the woman’s arms. That little baby had the same aura about him that his mother did. In response, all he could mumble out was, “No charge.”

The man replied, “Thank you for all you have done for us. May the grace of Yahweh rest upon you. Shalom.” He left a denarii on the counter and walked out. His wife followed with that same warm smile upon her face as she looked down upon her newborn son and murmured to him, “It’s time to go Yeshua.”

It took the innkeeper about 5 minutes to regain his breath. He was struck by this strange family. How could they seem so content in their awful circumstances? They had little money, she was an embarrassment to her family and community, the child would probably be labeled a bastard, and they could well have died making this trip. Yet, here they were, unable to mouth a disparaging word.

All he could think of was a Scripture from his days at the synagogue:
“For a child is born to us, a son is given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Yes, peace and grace in the midst of turmoil. This family possessed such qualities and carried them around for all to see as though they were a bundled up child.

The words of the man reverberated in his ears: “May the grace of Yahweh rest upon you.” Somehow, Sar felt like it already had.