Written by Charles Martin
Posted on 20 December 2017
“…And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” — Luke 2:7
The night is cool and turning colder. The air smells of woodsmoke, lamp oil and manure. Quirinius is governing Syria. Caesar Augustus has issued a decree. “Register the world! Take a census.” Under the dominating hand of Rome, men and their families scurry to their birth homes to register. Jerusalem is overflowing. Bethlehem is packed.
It is dark. Past the evening meal. A young man leads a young girl riding a donkey up a small trail and into Bethlehem. He is pensive. Every few seconds, he glances over his shoulder.
The rumors have preceded them. As have the whispers. She’s pregnant but not with his child and to complicate matters, they’re not married. It’s a scandal. According to Jewish law, he should put her out and she should be stoned.
The innkeeper has had a long day. He watches warily. The tired young man asks, “Sir, do you have a room?”
The innkeeper shakes his head. “Full up.”
The young man strains his voice. “You know of…anywhere?”
The innkeeper leans on his broom handle. Half-annoyed. His patience is thin. “Try down there. But…you’re wasting your time.”
The girl winces. The contractions have started. The stain on her dress suggests her water broke. The innkeeper’s wife eyes the barn and whispers. “We can make room.”
