Who's at the Inn?

 

Who’s at the inn?  When Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem in order to comply with the Roman decree that a census should be taken, who’s already at the inn?  Well, pretty much everybody that was of the family of David.  Anyone who had not already been “enrolled” was at the inn.  Think of it this way: what if for the American census you had to travel to the place your family originally settled in the United States?  The place your ancestors first lived.  Where would that be?  For me it would be Jamestown, New York.  I’ve never even been there.  Now imagine that in order to get there, you have to ride a donkey, or travel alongside the donkey on foot.  How long would that take you?  Now imagine that you, or your wife if you are a man, is at the end of a first pregnancy, and you have to make this journey right when the baby is due.  And now imagine that you arrive, tired and hungry, and the baby decides this is the perfect time to be born (and I would lay odds that Mary was just praying that the baby wouldn’t come until after the census, but babies never cooperate that way).  So after a journey that probably took about a week, Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem at “the” inn, meaning there was one.  It wasn’t like today when there are several hotels to choose from and you can make reservations.  Bethlehem is a small place, a hamlet about ten miles outside Jerusalem, and each town had its one inn.  And this inn is crowded to capacity, with so many people there that Mary and Joseph end up in the stable area next to the inn.  It would have been an animal shelter attached to the inn, and the manger was probably hollowed out stone, just the perfect size for a baby.  In the book Knowing God, J. I. Packer sums up this birth story this way: “He was born outside a hotel in an obscure Jewish village in the great days of the Roman Empire.  The story is usually prettified when we tell it Christmas by Christmas, but it is really rather beastly and cruel.  The reason why Jesus was born outside the hotel is that it was full, and nobody would offer a bed to a woman in labour, so that she had to have her baby in the stables, and cradle him in a cattle trough.  The story is told dispassionately and without comment, but no thoughtful reader can help shuddering at the picture of callousness and degradation that it draws.”  So who were these people at the inn?
          We can only guess.  First of all, there were some important people.  Since everyone had to be included in the census, we can be sure there were some wealthy people, people who traced their lineage to King David and were proud of it.  The tribe of Judah, the ruling tribe.  Of course by this time Herod is the king installed by Rome, but he was not from the tribe of Judah, not from the family of David, not even fully Hebrew.  This doesn’t really matter to them, because they know that when God sets things to rights, someone from their tribe is going to be king, just like the prophecies said.  They have made their way up in the world, they have plenty of money and status, and they have a right not to make room for Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus.  Middle class people would be there, some folks who are tradesmen or successful farmers, folks who have a comfortable lifestyle and also have the smug complacency that they are also of the tribe of Judah.  These folks certainly think they shouldn’t have to go out into night because some poor woman arrives and is having a baby.  Finally, there would be some poor folks there, people also of David’s lineage, and these would be just like Joseph and Mary, simple folk who scrounged for a living and for whom this trip was a huge interruption in their difficult lives.  They were probably just hoping their credit card wouldn’t be denied when the innkeeper ran it.  But they, too, would think that because they got there first, they had no responsibility to give place to Joseph and Mary and the baby that would be born that night.  So whether because of wealth, or status, or class, or just getting there first, all the people in the inn went on with their lives, while Joseph cleaned out the stable, and Mary’s contractions got closer together, and Jesus forced His way into His own creation in order to save it. 
          Inside the people would have been closely packed, as food was served or as people unpacked provisions they had brought.  Children would be running about the place and playing.  As night fell, they would all settle in for the night, lying on sleeping pallets around the floor.  They had a dry, warm place to sleep, they were alright for the night, they had food.  And just outside as the night grew darker, Mary’s labor intensified, and Jesus’ birth drew near.  A local midwife was probably called to deliver the baby, and in the dark and cold of a Bethlehem night, the Savior, the Son of God, the Son of David, the Son of man – was born.  His first breath was air mingled with the smell of animals, His first cry pierced the peace of the stable, His tiny body came into the cold brisk night air.  His mother lovingly wrapped him in the traditional swaddling cloths – strips of clean cloth she had carefully packed just in case – and she laid him in a manger.  It had been cleaned out and lined with fresh hay.  Into this world He came, impoverished and marginalized, while the people in the inn socialized, and ate, and drank, and slept. 
          We know that angels appeared to some shepherds outside the town on the hills around Bethlehem.  We know that one angel announced the birth to them, and then a huge army of angels shouted, “Glory to God in the highest and peace on earth to those on whom His favor rests.”   We know that they left their flocks unattended on the hillside and went searching for Jesus.  We know that they found Him and that they told Mary and Joseph about their vision of angels.  We also know they returned to their flocks on the hillside praising God and telling everyone along the way what they had seen.  But what about the people in the inn?  Did any of them venture outside to see the new born baby?  Did some mothers bring their children to see the miracle of a tiny baby asleep on the hay, saying, “Look at the beautiful new baby, honey.”?  Did any of the men come out and slap Joseph on the back and say, “That’s the last full night of sleep you’ll have for years, old man.”  Did any of the women come out and offer Mary some care or advice about the baby?  Did anybody even think of bringing a hot meal out to the family in the stable?  Or did they all just stay inside, quietly thanking God that their babies were born at home in a safe and quiet atmosphere with lots of support from family and friends?  When the shepherds arrived with their astounding report did anyone from the inn take notice of the commotion in the barn and come out to hear the news?  Or – did they miss the glory because they were comfortable in the inn, too comfortable to walk a few feet to the stable?  Too selfish to share the indoor comfort with this young couple and their brand-new baby?  Maybe they even called the innkeeper and asked him to go out and tell the shepherds to shut up because they were trying to sleep.
          Jesus came into this world in the humblest circumstances imaginable.  Although He was Creator, He put on a created body.  And He wasn’t born in a palace or even in a welcoming home.  He was born in a stable, a strange place with strange animals and strange people around Him.   II Corinthians 8:9 says, “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, so that you through His poverty might become rich.”  He takes on poverty, we get riches. Fair exchange?  Not at all.  But that is what He came to do.  Grace is: God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense. The question for us this evening is, are we out there with the shepherds admiring the new baby boy?  Are we shouting with the angels, “Glory to God in the highest!?  Or are we huddled inside the inn, eating some soup and bread, thinking about the census, and not taking the time to meet the Savior outside in the stable. 
          Come outside the inn.  Come out of your routines and your comfort zones. Come meet the Savior.  He calls to you, He sends people: Mary and Joseph and shepherds and angels to give you the good news.  Listen, listen hard, and take some time to see the Savior.  Quietly stand by the manger, and just whisper: “Glory, glory.”  Then the Spirit of Jesus the Christ will fill you with the joy of Christmas, the knowledge that God loves us so much that He sent Jesus His Son to save us.  He sent Jesus His Son to become poor so we could become rich.  He sent Jesus His Son to bring us home to Heaven.  All we have to do is go outside the inn and meet Him there. 

Living Stones

 Living Stones by Elizabeth Stone

I Peter 2:4,5

Come to Him, that Living Stone, rejected by men but in God’s sight chosen and precious; and like livings stones be yourselves built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.  

What could be more dead than stone?  Yet Peter grabs this image of stone, weaves it into the ancient idea of a keystone, or capstone – a stone that holds an entire structure together – and identifies the LORD Jesus Christ as that Stone, the cornerstone of God’s eternal household, made of living stones.  Jesus, Who came alive again after death, is the foundation of the New Covenant, a Covenant based not on tribes or bloodlines or inherited land in the Promised Land of the Old Covenant, but on salvation by faith through grace.  We belong in God’s household because we believe.  “See what love the Father has for us that we should be called the children of God, AND SO WE ARE!” I John 3:1. We belong in God’s family through faith, His household is made up of people whose hearts of stone have been transformed by belief in Christ, who became His kids and received new hearts, hearts of flesh.  So we get to stroll into Heaven as home, because our Father God owns the whole household.  And Jesus our Savior, our elder Brother, the Pioneer and Perfecter of our faith, has blazed a way into Paradise for us, and prepared a place for us, a home there, just for each of us.  And as we come to Him, that Living Stone, we are transformed from dead to alive, we live because He lives.  We are alive not just for this world, but for eternity. 

Life is what the Gospel is all about.  Love is the why of Christ’s mission, but life is the what, it is the reason Jesus came to earth to save us.  He restores life to all of us who believe, resurrection life that lasts into eternity.  Resurrection stories follow hard after Jesus’ resurrection from that first empty-tomb morning until today.  Peter, rough fisherman turned disciple, then denier turned apostle.  People coming to faith, thousands baptized, new believers from all nations exploding into a church on fire with the Holy Spirit because of the resurrection power of Christ’s new life.  When I met Christ as a lonely 16-year-old my hard heart became alive, and life has never been the same.  Resurrection power has marked every step I have walked, has empowered me to accomplish the impossible, including finding my calling in Christ as a writer and speaker.  Resurrection power brought my daughter Erin, back from the brink of death in 2007 when she attempted suicide.  God gave her a whole new life.  WV Living Stone Ministries is about sharing life, life that comes from God, makes us members of His household, and plugs us into Christ our Living Stone so that we too, become alive, impossibly and gloriously alive, forever. 

What could be more dead than stone?  Can’t think of anything.  What could be more alive than hearts made alive in Christ?  Nothing in this world or the next. 

Gift Basket 1: My Own French Beach

 

I am a cancer survivor.  Found a lump on my breast in December of 2017, right before Christmas.  Merry Christmas to me! My doctors set me up for surgery and radiation, and in the six weeks between the first images on the ultrasound and the treatment, it more than doubled in size.  Don’t be looking at my girls, they’re still about the same size.  Miracles of modern surgery.  But the day you hear the words, “It’s cancer,” that is life changing, shattering to body and soul. 

Halfway through my radiation treatments, my radiation oncologist asked me, “How are your treatments? Are they pleasant?” I couldn’t believe it. Pleasant?  Was he serious?  That’s what we all want to do, strip to the waist, go into a cold dark room, lie on a foam brace formed to our body to keep us stable and in one position, with no deodorant, and have someone shoot dangerous levels of radiation into our bodies.  My own French beach.  When I found my voice I said, “Give me a paper and pencil and I can write down ten million things I’d rather be doing right now.”  Poor dear man.  I prayed for him.  Perhaps he was hoping that this horrible treatment for a horrible disease would give me hope.  But the only thing that gives me hope is: Jesus.  The only One I count on for peace in the middle of the cancer storm is: Jesus.

Jesus said there would be days like this.  Days when we have trouble and heartache.  John 16:33 “I have said these things to you that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation, but take heart, I have overcome the world.”

All of us cancer patients pray for healing.  Friends and family were prayed for me.  On the day of the surgery I had people praying in 5 counties, 4 states, and 3 foreign countries; I told my surgeon I was probably going to levitate right off the operating table from the spiritual support of the people of God.  But cancer healing is long and arduous, and for the rest of your life you are: a survivor.  Life is no longer measured by age, but by how long I have survived since my diagnosis.  I am: a survivor.

People came around me not just with prayers, but with support.  Don’t look to me for miracle cures or medical advice; I am not qualified to heal anybody physically. But I will share what people did for me, simple gifts and practical love that have made the journey easier.  A gift basket of kindnesses. 

Soon after my surgery women from the Fayetteville Presbyterian Church in Fayetteville West Virginia showed up at my door with wonderful gifts.  The first was a set of pillows, a big u-shaped one to go under my body, a small one to support my surgery site, and a third one to support my arm.  They were homemade, pink, and decorated with beautiful eyelet embroidery.  The second gift was after-sun lotion.  Radiation caused a surface burn on my skin, just like sunburn.  My doctors recommended the same thing, but these ladies told me to apply it lavishly.  I got a sunburn in one specific area.  You can’t have any lotion on your skin in the radiation room, but after each treatment – and I had two each day – I applied that after-sun stuff.  And after the treatments were over, eventually it turned to tan, again in one specific area.  It was March, and I had my winter whiteness, except in one spot that nobody could see.  The third gift they gave me was a prayer shawl.  The ladies at that church have a group called the Knit-wits who make beautiful prayer shawls for people; mine is pink and has a wooden cross attached to the corner.  They make the shawls, pray over them, and send them out to people in need of prayer – not just cancer patients.  That prayer shawl went with me to every treatment, and at the hospitality house when I was alone in my room I wrapped it around me.  It was like the prayer and arms of the people of God to comfort me.

Jesus also said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”  The Gospel is about life.  We who are believers in Jesus are not just survivors, we are thrivers.  We thrive because we know that this is not the end.  In this broken world we live in the journey often includes trouble, Jesus said so.  But it also includes the hope of eternal life, that even should cancer take us through death’s door, it can’t kill us.  Our lives are hid with God in Christ, and we will live eternally. 

by Elizabeth Stone

wvlivingstone.com

#wvlivingstone #breastcancerawareness #fightlikeagirl #healinginChrist 

 

When my soul fainted within me,
I remembered the LORD; 
and my prayer came to You,
into Your holy temple. 
Those who pay regard to vain idols
forsake their true loyalty,
But I with the voice of thanksgiving
will sacrifice to You; 
what I have vowed I will pay. 

Deliverance belongs to the LORD! 

Jonah 2:7-9

For all of September I will be preaching Jonah.  His story resonates with all of us, because who hasn’t been faced with a job for the LORD, and not wanted to do it?  Who hasn’t felt at one time or another that they were in the deep belly of a fish in darkness and misery?  Who hasn’t felt like they were vomited up into a situation they never wanted?  And who hasn’t felt resentment when someone we dislike has escaped our version of justice?  If any of these has happened to you, you are in good company, because Jonah felt all these things. 

This prayer, from the belly of the big fish, confirms all that Jonah knows to be true of God.  Hebrews believed that prayers had special effect if they were spoken in the temple of the LORD, but Jonah can’t get there.  So from the depths of the ocean, from a belly of the fish, Jonah asks for help and trusts that his prayer finds it way to the temple and so to God.  He also counts on returning to the temple some day to pay the vows he’s making in that dark place, of giving thanksgiving and a sacrifice of praise. 

When we are in trouble, we may be sure that our prayers make it to the very throne of grace, that God hears all our petitions, and we can count on returning to our places of worship to give public thanks, to make offerings, and to praise God because we know: Salvation belongs to the LORD!

Elizabeth Stone

September 5:  Jonah 1 “Recalcitrant Prophet”                                                                                    September 12: Jonah 2 “3-Day Prayer”                                                                                                  September 19: Jonah 3 “180° Turnaround”                                                                                              September 26: Jonah 4 “Sour Grapes”

Catch my sermons at Stanford Presbyterian Church's Facebook page, or at www.stanfordpresbyterian.org  or www.wvlivingstone.com 

Of Church Camp and Christian Parenting

 

 

Excerpt from Valley of the Shadow by Elizabeth and Erin Stone, © 2014.

 

Christian parents often think that engendering faith in their children is a natural.  For those of us who came to Christ independent of our families, we think that our kids will get it and will always cling to it, just because they have the benefit of being raised by Christian parents.  But the truth is that every child has to come to Christ on his or her own.  Every person has to make that commitment, not as an extension of what they have been taught and seen in their parents, but independently.  I prayed for all of my children.  From the moment I knew they existed I prayed that always they would know the love of God.  I prayed for them to know how we loved them, and that they would see the Kingdom of God lived out in the microcosm of our family life.  But I also prayed that God would make Himself real to each of them, that all of them would make the decision to follow Christ and accept salvation through Him.  But for our kids, the most significant factor in finding faith was church camp. . .

Our church camp is what you would call “rustic.”  We slept in cabins with electric lights, the bathroom was several hundred yards down the path.  It was on a man-made lake in Ohio, and we swam in the lake.  Folks who have passed through that camp all have a great love of it, and most try to spend time there every year.  What made it special was the genuine faith of the people there, the sacrificial servanthood of the staff and volunteers, the ultimate authority of the Bible in the organization and teaching, and the mission of sharing the Gospel with as many kids as possible.  Going to camp is like stepping into a faith community from the book of Acts, if just for a week.  The whole camp is like an impromptu church, organized around the teaching of the apostles.  The small groups and cabin groups are like house churches, having devotions, learning and working together.  Everyone comes together for a common meal, and then goes off for their various activities, only to come together at the open-air chapel by the lake for vespers every evening.  Kids come from all kinds of families, and they get to participate in a Christian community in miniature, and experience God’s love in that context.   As parents, I think Greg and I did everything we could to catechize our children, to bring them up in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  But every one of our kids, without exception, says that the place where Jesus Christ became real to them was at church camp. . .

One by one, my children took their turns going off to camp.  They started when they were five and they still try to go every year. And one by one, each made his or her commitment to Christ, maybe at the outdoor chapel, maybe at the prayer rock, maybe at the campfire, or in the gazebo.  And to our great joy and eternal blessing, every one of them from Josh on down, turned around and served as a counselor.  Patrick and Rebekah also hired on as staff, John-Mark has now followed in his father’s footsteps and taught high school camp, and Erin directed junior camp.  Camp’s great benefit is that we received more than we ever contributed.  Our kids not only learned faith in a dynamic Christian community, but they fellowshipped with people from other church traditions. Our camp would often have a missionary staff person from another country: Russia or Kenya or Latin America.  The lasting impact on camp and on our kids has been so much for the good, because as they interacted with people from different Christian backgrounds and different cultures, they saw that the grace of Christ is the same throughout the Church and throughout the world.  Whatever our outward skin color or culture or rituals, there was always a common denominator of faith, a marker that was recognizable in any person who belonged to Christ.  And instead of being a barrier to Christian community, everyone learned to appreciate the gifts and the diversity without losing the focus on Christ.  In a few weeks of intensive fellowship every summer a foundation of grace was built in the hearts of these kids, and a kindred spirit among them that expressed itself across the miles and months of the school year with letters and phone calls and impromptu gatherings, as well as lifelong friendships.  This foundation became an anchor – one of the many God provided – to tether us to hope during the difficult times ahead.

Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Stone.  All rights reserved. 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK     1-800-273-8255

 

For the next several weeks, Erin and I will be sharing excerpts from our book, Valley of the Shadow, published in 2014.

Prologue: Are we healed yet?

           

It is Thanksgiving eve, the twilight hour.  In the chill of the night, with a dusting of snow on the ground, two stealthy figures emerge from my house.  Shrouded in darkness, they come to the vehicles, and using the keys, they enter.  The interior lights are quickly doused, and the perpetrators hide within.  Both sliding doors of the mini-van are quietly opened, leaving them ajar.  Windows on our sub-compact are rolled down, and there the two warriors take up their positions.  It grows darker and colder, and still they wait, knowing that their ambush is unsuspected and of genius proportions.  Eventually, an old red jeep pulls up to the house.  Since the driveway is already to capacity with vehicles, it pulls onto the lawn.  A tall brown-haired young man emerges with a black cocker spaniel at his heels, and a second young man, with lighter hair and blue eyes, is disgorged from the passenger side.  With a war cry unrivaled in history their attackers leap from their positions, this one wearing a sombrero and the other with goggles and a pink karate helmet.  The young men know their female siblings are upon them, with a well thought out strategy and the element of surprise.  Suddenly the peace of the neighborhood is rent by the sound of electronic automatic weapons, plastic foam darts with rubber tips soar through the air.  Ah, curses! One of the weapons jams, resulting in an all out charge.  The boys, not in any way cowardly or unprepared, leap to retrieve their own weapons, previously loaded and lying ready on the back seat. For the next hour there is a barrage of darts sometimes hitting, mostly missing, as my adult children tear through my house and yard aiming at each other.   These largely innocuous missiles, many of which will lie hidden in couches and behind dressers until the next family gathering, these form one of our traditional reunion rituals. What started as a couple of gag gifts has snowballed into a highly competitive strategic game, and now the grandchildren have become corrupted. 

 

            I often wonder, years after the event, if we are healed yet, if we are back to normal. What makes a normal Christian family life?  Is it the way we dress, or the particular church we attend? Is it Bible reading and prayer at mealtimes? Is it the absence of certain behaviors and the presence of others?  Is it the foods we eat or the way we vote or the music we listen to?  And when things go wrong, does that mean we have failed?  Have we failed God, have we failed ourselves?  Are we no longer worthy of the name of Christian?  Is our witness for Christ destroyed?  What happens to faith when the unthinkable happens?  Where is Christ in the furnace of human tragedy?    

 

            I found Erin in the closet, lying on the floor.  I had stuck my head in the door to tell her to wake up and take the dog out, but she never appeared.  Tired and frustrated that I was again coercing her to take care of what was supposed to be her and her sister’s dog, I stormed into her room and grabbed her by the arm to get her up.  But her arm flopped down to the floor.  She was lying across her half-packed suitcase, the insides of which held not only her clothes but also pools of vomit.  That’s how I found my precious baby girl; that’s how the nightmare began.

 

            What is the worst day of your life?  Can you pinpoint it? I can. The worst day of my life was that hot summer morning, the day I became a statistic.  When you become a statistic, life is thrown into a tailspin.  We tend to quantify life in terms of percentages: 50% divorce rate, 33% of all women contract cancer, approximately 4400 teen suicides every year.  But when you experience it, it is no longer this abstract quantity out there, sanitized by impersonal percentages, all of a sudden you are the statistic, and it is raw, emotional, and fills every corner of your soul.  In the economy of Heaven numbers are not important, but we live in a world that analyzes the tragedies of life.  This is my story, the story of my family, when we became a statistic.  And it is the story of how God’s redeeming love burns brightest in the furnace, how He walks with us in the furnace.

 

Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Stone.  All rights reserved.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK     1-800-273-8255

 

We all know the best food is made from scratch.  Fresh ingredients combined and cooked on the day you eat them and cooked to your taste.  Cookies, straight from the oven, bread that has been kneaded and baked spread with butter while its still warm, pies, cakes, doughnuts, fritters, everyone has their favorite treats and we all know that they are best when they are made: from scratch. 

Lots of heroes and heroines of the Bible started from scratch.  Without visible resources or help, they accomplished great things for God’s people in the most meagre circumstances possible.  Moses started from scratch with the people of Israel who were enslaved and powerless.  Deborah started with ravaged empty grain fields and timid soldiers.  David started with a misfit group of disgruntled warriors, ready to go off at any minute.  Ezra and Nehemiah started with displaced exiles just trying to survive.  Jesus started with twelve unlikely disciples.  After Peter denied His Lord, he was sifted like wheat by the devil, and by God's power started over to encourage the brethren.  Paul’s life as a leading Pharisee was ripped away on the road to Damascus, and he started life all over as a missionary.  Lydia started a house church with a group of prayerful women who were struggling in ignorance.  Jesus Christ started from being dead in a tomb, written off by followers and opponents, and He burst from that tomb in glorious resurrection power to change the world.

Why is God so enamored of starting from scratch?  He created the world from scratch.  After we sinned and corrupted God’s world, He saved us with His own Son.  The Lord Jesus Christ, our second Adam, remade this world and saved us, starting from scratch.  God brings His people through difficult circumstances, often putting us in the extremity of need, so that He gets our attention.  Then God takes us through new vistas of His loving care, His miraculous solutions to our problems, and His calling on our lives to share in Kingdom building, starting from scratch. 

Paul said, “For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake.  For God Who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and to us.”  II Corinthians 4:5-7

Starting from scratch: whether it is from our first encounter with the living Christ or if we find ourselves hit by circumstances that bring us down to a place of starting over, God always meets us there with resources and help that can only be from His hand.  When we land at the bottom and begin again by faith, it is here that the surpassing power of God really shines in our lives.  We become the clay jars holding the eternal treasure of the Gospel for all to see.  So when you find yourself in what seems like a dry, barren place, remember that starting from scratch is God's favorite recipe for great things.  Pray, and look around for the ingredients that He has surely placed there to help you, because your story will add to the many other inspiring grace stories where God started from scratch.     

Elizabeth Stone, B.S. MDiv.

wvlivingstone.com