Oak Hill Baptist Church © 2008-2009

Occasionally at Christmas we wonder about that “No-vacancy” sign posted outside the inn on the outskirts of Bethlehem. Over the centuries, preachers have been a bit hard on the proprietor. After all, no room is no room. What do we expect? Should he kick out good-paying customers already showered and bedded down for the night, perhaps watching a favorite TV show on channel 197? Surely the stable would be better than nothing. It might even be a bit more private for a birthing than a small room with thin walls.

 

The application of that innkeeper’s choice comes quickly and easily to the lives of Christians today. B.P. Baker wrote a good sermon poem titled “The Innkeeper” that pokes a bit at our consciences. “I only did what you have done/ A thousand times or more/ When Joseph came to Bethlehem/ And knocked upon my door./ I did not turn the Christ away/ With alibi so deft./ Like you, I simply gave to Him/ Whatever I had left.”

 

I am tempted, preacher that I am, to make similar applications in a variety of directions. Modern American Christians are very busy. We have so many options to fill our time: work, hobbies, home improvements, family events, sports, vacations, etc. If we have kids at home, we must give them every opportunity to excel, to develop some talent that will make them famous (or at least help with tuition at college). If our kids have moved out and away, we must keep in touch, visiting regularly. So where does Christ come in? How much time do we have for Him, His word, His people, and His gospel.

 

The “no-vacancy” words might well be hung outside many churches, a more fitting message for the sign out front than those highlighted there every week. When new folk move to a community or a broken life is searching for hope, where can a spiritual inn be found? Some churches have plenty of empty pews and classrooms, but “no-vacancy” is written on every face and on every hand extended in the customary handshake. Other churches are fairly full. The regular clientele are eating and drinking and talking with one another in their favorite places. They glance up with curiosity at the newcomers but quickly return to their talk or a game they are playing. I have wondered if, for honesty’s sake, the sign outside should read, “Seating full. Check with Methodists,” or some such warning.

 

In some ways, the original hotelier had an excuse. One just doesn’t expect a king’s parents to be riding a lowly donkey in search of a place to stay. A king would have an entourage and advance bookings for the entire top floor. His luggage would have preceded him, along with a chef, a bodyguard or two, and a physician. The commonness of this particular royal family was unexpected, despite the words of Isaiah, “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him” (53:2 NIV). How could the host know that his King would serve instead of being served, giving his life a ransom for many (Mark 10:45)?

 

So perhaps we should always keep a room ready, not like some Orthodox Jewish families do for the Messiah yet to come, but for those visitors who need a good bed-and-breakfast for the rest of their lives. We are finite, of course, and need to know our limits. Yet the King who came to serve should be mirrored in our lives and in our churches. Whether the knock at the door comes from a well-dressed neighbor or a scruffy looking stranger, we do well to be prepared with the spiritual equivalent of a comfortable bed, a hot bath, a delicious meal, and a welcoming smile.