The Innkeeper’s Story

by Tommy Williams

Once again I answered the gentle knock on my door as I had already done many times during the day. Bethlehem was astir. Ordinarily, lodging was more than sufficient for the demands of our little town. On this occasion, however, everyone of the lineage of David was thronging to Bethlehem to be enrolled for taxation by the Romans. The overload was almost impossible to handle. Fortunately, many had kindred and friends who could offer them hospitality. My modest hostelry, though, was full to capacity. Some I had already turned away. My guests were people able to pay well for their lodging, so my coffers were well filled. Most had been willing not only to pay the regular charges but also to add, out of their generosity, a few extra coins. I was grateful for this. An innkeeper in a small village does not always find his accommodations in high demand. He must depend on the few special times and occasions to make up for the many slow times. A little consideration from those who will by no means be impoverished by giving it is certainly not to be refused.

So as the knock on my door sounded yet again, I was prepared to open the door simply to send the seekers away as I had done to so many others during the day. But the man facing me on the other side of the door was obviously not as affluent as some of my guests. He looked tired.

Before I had a chance to speak my brief piece to explain that my inn was completely full, that I had no more room at all, he opened the conversation.

“Peace be upon your house,” he said. “We have come a long way, and the journey has been almost too much for my young wife. If of your kindness you can offer us a place to rest and shelter from the cold, we will be most grateful. I am prepared to pay your fee. Forgive me for being in haste. I am Joseph of Nazareth. The young woman you see is Mary. According to the decree of Caesar, we have come to be enrolled for taxation.”

In the background, I did indeed see the young woman, little more than a girl. She had not stirred from the animal she had been riding. Obviously, she was with child and it could not be far from the time for its birth. The man sensed my hesitation and seemed to understand. He was not impatient as he spoke again.

“I know, sir, that you are hard-pressed to care for all who may seek your lodging. I require nothing at all for myself. I have a cloak and can sleep under the stars. If, however, you can provide something a little more comfortable for my wife, I will stay outside close by, and I will be deeply grateful to you.”

I was moved by his manner, his humility, and his need, but I had to answer, “The inn is filled, my good man. I can see the urgency of your need, but there is simply no more room.”

“Forgive me,” he said, “but we cannot keep traveling to seek out other lodging, and we know of no other possible place to turn. Perhaps there may be a place on your premises, something other than rooms in your inn, where we can find some shelter for the night. We would pay as if it were one of your rooms.”

How could I turn them back into the night and have the weight on my mind that if this young woman should, perhaps, be delivered of her child this very night it would be in the streets? I would make an offer, not an attractive one, to be sure, but something that would at least relieve my mind. If they refused, well, I had tried. Or if they accepted? Well, either way, the matter would be off my conscience and my mind would be at rest. I would have no need to be further concerned.

So I offered, “There is a small cave in the hillside just a little way from this inn itself. There I shelter a few sheep and a couple of milk kine. There is plenty of hay there so that one could make enough of a bed to avoid sleeping on the ground. The animals, of course, are shut off from the hay, so you would have a barrier between yourselves and them. Meager accommodation, I know, but it is, in truth, all I have to offer.”

Well, the tired man responded as if I had offered him a suite in a palace.

“We thank you warmly, sir, for your kindness. If you will but show us the way, we will go immediately. We are well nigh exhausted from our journey, especially my wife.”

I led them around the hillside to the grotto, saw them make their way inside, and returned to the inn, thinking that, as far as I was concerned, the matter was now over. I would sleep well and soundly, content with my full inn—and the accompanying handsome financial gains— along with the feeling that I had done my best. I had not lied or dissembled because of this couple’s humble means. Indeed, the inn was completely full. Truly, there was no more room in my inn.

But this would be an unusual night, and it was not even nearly over.

Later that same night another knock broke the silence. As I opened the door, before me were a few men, perhaps four or five, obviously shepherds as revealed by their dress. Without waiting for them to state their business, I blurted out, somewhat impatiently, “Sorry, men, the inn is full. There is no more room.”

“Kind sir,” one of them replied, “we do not require a room. We are sure, sir, that you are acquainted with the words of the prophet that Bethlehem is the chosen place for the birth of the Messiah, the Savior of Israel. As we were guarding our flocks this night, an angel of the Lord appeared telling us that the words of the prophets have come to pass this very day and that we would find the baby ‘wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’ Since we know you keep some animals, and since we knew this to be a place where people come seeking shelter, we thought that perchance this great event could have happened here.”

Well, I could hardly believe my ears! Could this possibly be true? Of course, I knew the words of the prophet. What descendant of Abra-ham would not know, and what resident of our village would not remember that the prophet’s words spoke specifically of Bethlehem? “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel” (Micah 5:2). Could it be that the King of Israel had been born in the grotto behind my inn this very night? I showed the shepherds the way, and as I turned to go, I heard the unmistakable cry of an infant.

I stood transfixed, trembling and speechless. I could barely point the way as I realized that, yes, it must be true! It had to be. How could the shepherds have known, except by the words of a heavenly messenger, that this night a baby would be born in Bethlehem, near my inn?

And if it was true? Then the Messiah, the Savior and King of Israel, had been born in the little cave I used to shelter and feed my animals. And, dear Lord, I had turned those two strangers from my door. Oh, if only I had known!

If only I had known that my inn would be the place for this infant King to come into the world, how differently I would have received them! If only I had known in the midst of my busy labor, and in the midst of count-ing my increase, that this couple coming to my door came bearing the richest of all treasures, I would never have turned them away. Yes, my rooms were filled, but I would have found a way. They could have had my room, and I would have gladly slept on the hay, had I been able to sleep at all!

If I had but known, I would not have been so completely absorbed simply in grasping all the gain I could get from strangers. I would have been looking instead for a way to give, to give the very best I had for the man Joseph and for Mary and her little child. I would have gladly taken my place, bowing with the shepherds. The very best I could have provided would not have been enough, but, to be sure, they would have had my best.

If only I had known, I would not have so blithely condescended to receive the thanks of Joseph and Mary for the pitifully little I had provided for them. I would have fallen on my knees to thank them for the great favor they had done me by coming to my inn. It was I who had been blessed and honored. How much more blessed I would have been had I opened my heart earlier more fully to their need. If only I had known!

But, dear reader, such knowledge is not hidden from you and from me as it was from the innkeeper. We know. Most of us have known from childhood. We know that the Messiah has come. We cannot excuse our failings and lack of gratitude by saying, “If only I had known . . .”

Do we, too, sometimes have little room for Jesus?

My story is imaginative, but by no means impossible. In substance, it could very well have happened. It certainly depicts the position if not the actual reaction of the innkeeper to the amazing events that were unfolding all around him on that holiest of nights.

I have presented in first person a story of the inn-keeper, partly because, in a very real sense, I am that innkeeper. Perhaps at times we all are. I do not presume to judge you, but I propose some questions we each do well to ponder.

What place do we give Jesus in our personal agendas? Do we, too, become so completely occupied with mundane and material matters that Christ is shunted far down the line in our priorities? Do we sometimes become like the people Jesus once spoke of who were invited to a wedding feast? They were invited, but “they paid no attention and went off—one to his field, another to his business” (Matthew 22:5). Of course, nothing is wrong with working in a field or operating a business. But we do well to ask ourselves where these things stand in our hearts and lives in relation to Jesus. So many things conspire to keep us from truly seeking his kingdom first. So many things cause us to send Jesus from the house of our hearts and spirits to the cave somewhere out on the hillside.

One of the most amazing events recorded regarding the birth of Christ is the story of the coming of the Magi who later arrived with rich gifts for the little King.

I wonder what gifts you and I have to offer? Perhaps we may more appropriately ask, “What gifts do we withhold?” Jesus does not need anything from us, but he asks everything. He said, “Any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:33). Yes, as a disciple, all that I am and all that I have must be laid at his feet. It must all be dedicated to his kingdom and to his glory. In the hymn, “I’ve Found a Friend,” we sing, “Naught that I have my own I call, / I hold it for the Giver: / My heart, my strength, my life, my all, / are His and His for-ever.” The gift in question is far more than any financial gift we might place in an offering plate on the Lord’s Day (though it certainly will include that). Is giving back to the Lord a return on the gifts he has so richly given us—is that kind of all-encompassing giving high on our list of priorities, or do we consider our own needs, wants, and desires first, and simply and meagerly give what is left? Have we consciously considered what we give at all?

The wise men who later came said, “We have come to worship him.” These were “Magi from the East” (Matthew 2:1-2), which indicates that they had made their way around the Arabian desert, probably from Persia or Mesopotamia, just for this purpose, and for this purpose alone—to worship.

The King born at Bethlehem is still worthy of worship and our highest praise. Are we willing to expend some effort to be sure we gather with others to bow before him in worship? The wise men crossed the desert to worship Christ. Can we not at least make the effort to gather together and worship on the Lord’s Day, acknowledging that he is worthy of our worship every day and every moment of our lives?

It was Joseph who knocked on the innkeeper’s door. Now Jesus himself does the knocking. He said, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20).

If you have not let Jesus into your heart and life, and if you feel a tugging on your heartstrings, I think you may be sure that Jesus is knocking at your door. Listen as the Bride and the Spirit say, “Come!” as the Spirit of God speaks to your spirit. Jesus wants in. He desires lodging in your heart. Do not send him away to a cave on the hillside.