A Christmas Eve message based on Luke 2:1-14.

The commute Mary and Joseph made that first Christmas would not be fun. Ninety miles from home, even on donkey, the trip by land would take five days, four at best.

Mary’s pregnancy was already far along. These days she might have been put on bedrest. Instead the pair traveled, by government decree, to a land not their own.

Away from their homeland, away from friends, family, the tribe of people they knew and loved the couple had a problem.

Labor pangs had begun. The unwed, soon-to-be mother of God was about to give birth. Now what? With so many out-of-towners around to be counted their options were limited. There was –

No room at the inn.
No guest room from a friend.
No AirBnB room for rent.

Here, stay with the animals, a local resident offered. Make yourself at home.

It’s the best we can do.

The space offered limited shelter from the elements. At least there was that. But it wasn’t intended for humans to sleep. And it certainly wasn’t ideal for a mother giving birth.

Weary from travel, needing to make the most of the situation, the pair settled in, arranging the few belongings they had on the floor. The accommodations would not be comfortable.

It’s the best they could do.

And it was there, amid humble beginnings, where –

Mary gave birth,
wrapped the baby in cloth,
and laid him in a manger.

Shepherds
Nearby there were shepherds. They too slept on the ground, under the stars, making the best of a difficult situation. They too were away from home, keeping watch over flocks by night. Part of the marginalized peasant class, oppression and exploitation for the shepherds was never too far away. The Roman government targeted their kind. Perhaps one day they would be next.

And then, before their very eyes, what was that? An angel! What on earth could this mean? They couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Fear not, I bring you good news of great joy, the angel explained. Great joy for all the people! The angel told them of the birth of a Savior, not too far away.

Look for –

the child,
wrapped in cloth,
lying in a manger.

The heavens then opened up, and amidst the stars that shown bright came a heavenly host proclaiming –

Glory to God in the highest!
Peace on earth for those God favors!

The shepherds were dumbfounded. Great joy for all? Could that include them? Peace on earth? Could that be for them too? They, they lowest of the low, the homeless, the poor, the despised? They had a Savior?

And they got to hear this good news first?

Before the kings and queens and soldiers and merchants?

Could it be true?

Excitedly they went in search of salvation. They found it, in the form of a baby, wrapped in cloth, lying in a manger. Overcome with joy they then went and shared this good news with everyone. It is good news for all the people. Including people that come from lowly, humble beginnings. People just like them.

Nativity
Five days ago, after a long day here preparing for this very moment, I left the church office and headed to my car. As I opened the outside door a familiar voice belted out “Good evening!” With darkness already descended my eyes slowly adjusted. I looked to find from where the greeting had come.

There, in the corner of our patio I spotted a homeless man, settling down for the night. He sat mere feet from our large nativity.

Walking over to return the greeting I now recognized him. The two of us had chatted a few times in the past couple weeks as I left the office at night.

Previously I’d initiated conversation.
This time he spoke first.

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” he said.

What? I mentally scrambled to remember our prior conversations. In each I’d –

Said hello,
Asked how he was doing,
Hoped he could stay warm,
And told him he was welcome to stay.

Up to then we’d spoken for perhaps a minute, maybe two. That was it.

Thank you for everything you’ve done?!? What?

His words echoed in my head.
In any real sense I had done nothing.

Of course, I responded. It’s the least we can do.

We then got to talking of how he was doing. He proudly showed me a recently acquired sleeping bag that helps him stay warm. He shared that he likes being partially out of the elements like this. Our patio provides protection, at least partially, from wind, rain and snow.

“This place makes me feel safe,” the man said. “It’s why I keep coming back.”

“Tho I’m not sleeping well lately,” he continued. “I might try the shelter tomorrow night.”

I nodded. “Do you know about the lunch program we host five day a week here, The Connection Café?” This was news to him, good news, and he was excited about it. “I get hungry during the day a lot. I’ll definitely check it out.”

The man then shared about a surgery he had over the summer, and his struggles with anxiety. I lamented Iowa does so poorly providing mental health resources.

Our Iowa has one of the lowest rates of psychiatrists available in the nation; we rank 47th out of 50.

“Oh, it isn’t as bad as Maryland,” he replied. By chance I grew up in Maryland; more connection had been made. The two of us then compared notes on where we’d lived in the Old Line State, where the best crab cakes could be found.

Considering we were talking outdoors, in freezing temperatures, still a few feet from a church nativity set complete with wooden shepherds, animals, Mary, Joseph, Jesus and a manger the moment felt surprisingly light.

And yet soon this man would unroll a sleeping bag and place it on a cold, hard surface. Then, once the bag was arranged just so he would climb into it and lay down his head. All in the hopes of getting some sleep. To be sure the space isn’t designed for how it is being used.

But for this man,
in this moment,
it is the best he could do.

Our conversation winding down I –

wished him well,
headed to my car,
put the key in the ignition,
turned the heater on high,
and headed home.

Crux
It’s the least we can do.

As I drove away the words turned over in my head –

again, and
again, and
again.

It’s the least we can do.

The man seemed so grateful. Yet he had so little. And I had done practically nothing. Our conversation created a cognitive dissonance within that I can’t quite shake.

It’s the least we can do.

And then hit me. I actually could have done less. I could have shooed the man away. I could have told him he wasn’t welcome here. I could have called the police, ensuring our sacred spaces stayed sanitized.

Because sometimes, in polite society, let’s be honest: it can be hard to look human need directly in the eye.

Reflecting on the man graciously sleeping, feet from our nativity here at St. John’s, I couldn’t help but wonder: how many other –

public places,
private properties,
church doorsteps –

had he already been swept away from?

It’s the least we can do.

Is it? Has our shared commitment to one another really sunk so low?

Arriving home that night my wife could tell something was up. She always can. Before going to bed she finally cajoled me into talking. When sharing the story with her, a few hours after the experience, I broke down and wept.

Impact
Most every night between two and six people spend the night here with us outdoors. Some prefer to sleep along the 6th Avenue side; the heating vents there offer warmth. Others, like the man I spoke with, prefer our patio as it protects from wind, rain, snow.

They are welcome guests. They are a reminder that, when it comes to bringing the kingdom of God here on earth there is more to be done.

In honor of our outdoor friends this year a gift box has been attached to the patio nativity set. The box has a small opening for donations. As the magi brought gifts to honor the newborn king so can you.

Between Christmas Eve and Epiphany on January 6, you are invited to drop off your coins, cash, checks, or gold. Frankincense and myrrh would be a-ok too 😊

100% of donations placed in the nativity set box will be given to Central Iowa Shelter & Services. CISS is a partner organization who offers shelter, meals, and resourcing for those who far too often go without. The box is locked, and will be emptied daily, ensuring your gifts get to those who need it most.

Close
Many of us have very good reason to celebrate the birth of our Lord. We do it with prayers, songs, gifts, shared meals. I am excited to celebrate with family. Our stockings have been hung with care. I pray you have people to celebrate this sacred day with too.

As we do let us remember that, most of all, the promise of Christmas is a message of –

good news,
of great joy, and
peace on earth.

It is a message first delivered to the shepherds. Aka they who slept outdoors under the stars.  Aka they who were poor, lowly, despised.

This is good news for –
them,
us,
all.

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.

Merry Christmas, beloved. Amen.