7 pm Service for December 24 Christmas Eve

Here is my Christmas eve message:

While they were there, the time came for the child to be born. She gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

I am just an innkeeper. My wife and I work hard for what we have. Even on quiet days it takes both of us to keep things running, and with the census the place was bursting. I do not know what Caesar thinks he gains from this, but the roads were full and the doors never stopped opening. We made more money that week than we had in months, but neither of us sat down or slept much at all.

We had no rooms. We had said it plainly and posted signs in every language that mattered. Still they came, weary and hopeful, asking for space we did not have. Most faces blurred together, but one couple did stand out. They arrived after days of travel, the woman was close to giving birth, that much was obvious.

My wife spoke with them first. When she came to me she said they needed help. I told her we were full, as everyone else was. She said she had a feeling about them. I have learned that when she says that, I should listen. We had no proper room, but there was space in the stable below. I offered it before I had time to think. It sounded like poor hospitality even as I said it, yet they received it with gratitude. The night was still, the stars sharp and bright, one brighter than the rest. Somehow it seemed enough.

Later, as things finally quieted, I saw shepherds coming down the hill toward the stable. I feared trouble and went to see what was happening. My wife stopped me and told me the child had been born. The shepherds had come to see him. She said they spoke of angels and a message and a star that led them there. When she arrived, they were gathered around the manger in awe.

I stood back and listened. Someone said that on this night God had come to live among us, to give hope and to change everything. I returned to the inn in a daze, cleaning what was already clean, trying to understand.

I did not sleep much that night. A Messiah is supposed to come, but I never imagined it like this. A child in a barn. I heard later they named him Jesus…

 A few weeks ago we spoke of hope as something that gathers when people draw close, not because all is resolved, but because waiting together keeps despair from winning. Luke gives that hope a body: not an idea, but a child laid where animals feed. God does not wait for us to make room perfectly. God joins us in the strain and the clutter.

So this is what has changed. We no longer wait alone. Hope has moved in. Fellowship has a face. And once God chooses to dwell among us, the work continues. Dishes still need washing, doors still need opening and neighbors still need room. That is where Christmas lives, in shared life that refuses to let the dark have the final word.

God's Peace, Pastor Jim Odden