E KNOW THE CHRISTMAS story so well that we can almost repeat it in our sleep: Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem late one night, tired out from a long journey. They need a place to sleep, but the local inn is fully booked. The couple is desperate—where will they stay? After all, Mary is nine months pregnant and ready to deliver. Finally, the innkeeper feels sorry for them and directs them to a stable or cave out in the back where the animals are kept. And there during the night the infant Jesus is born. But is that the way it really happened? No, it's not—at least according to some New Testament experts who've studied the cultural background of Luke 2. They say that over the centuries we've read things into the Christmas story that are not actu- ally part of the biblical text. If we'd pay closer attention to the cultural context of the story, they claim, we'd understand it somewhat differently. WHAT WE'VE GOTTEN WRONG According to these scholars, there are three aspects, in particular, that we've gotten wrong about the Christmas story: (I) the time of Mary and Joseph's arrival in Bethlehem, (2) the way we understand the inn, and (3) the location of the manger. First, the time of arrival. When did Mary and Joseph actually get to Bethlehem? On the very night Jesus was born? Nowhere does the text say that. All we are told is that "while they were there, the time came for the baby to be born" (2:6). The distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem was about 70 miles, which in those days would have been at least a three-day trip on foot and by donkey. It's almost unimaginable in that culture—or any culture, for that matter—that a husband would put his wife on a donkey for three days of strenuous, bumpy travel when she is nine months pregnant. It's far more likely that Joseph and Mary made the trip several weeks in advance, and that "while they were there"—several weeks later—the time came for the baby to be born. But what, then, about the inn? Luke 2:7 says, "There was no room for them in the inn?' Doesn't that suggest a last-minute, late-night arrival in. Bethlehem? Not neces- sarily. The word translated inn in Luke 2 is not the usual word in Greek for a commercial inn. The more common word is used a few chapters later, in Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan. In Luke 10:34 we read, "Then [the Good Samaritan] put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him." What, then, is the inn in Luke 2? This word is found again in Luke 22:11, where Jesus instructs his disciples to prepare for the Passover. Jesus says, "Say to the owner of the house, 'The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' The same word translated as inn in Luke 2 is ren- dered as guest room in Luke 22. Could it be that in Bethlehem there was no room for the holy family in somebody's guestroom? So where was that guestroom? Here's how some knowledge of the cultural back- ground of Luke 2 can help us. In the time of Jesus, Palestinian homes were often con- structed with an extra room—a guest room—at one end of the house. This room was reserved for visiting relatives or for a recently married son and his wife. Luke says that there was no room for Mary and Joseph in the guestroom. But we still have that manger to deal with. Doesn't a manger suggest a stable out back, some- place away from people's homes? Once again, not necessarily. Peasant homes in Jesus' day were often built not only with a guestroom at one end but with a stable at the other end. In- between was a large single room that served as the family living quarters. The living area was open to the stable, but the floor was raised about four feet above the level of the stable. Mangers were built into
Transcript
E KNOW THE CHRISTMAS
story so well that we can almost repeat it in our sleep: Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem late one night, tired out from a long journey. They need a
place to sleep, but the local inn is fully booked. The couple is desperate—where will they stay? After all, Mary is nine months pregnant and ready to deliver. Finally, the innkeeper feels sorry for them and directs them to a stable or cave out in the back where the animals are kept. And there during the night the infant Jesus is born.
But is that the way it really happened? No, it's not—at least according to some New Testament experts who've studied the cultural background of Luke 2. They say that over the centuries we've read things into the Christmas story that are not actu-ally part of the biblical text. If we'd pay closer attention to the cultural context of the story, they claim, we'd understand it somewhat differently.
WHAT WE'VE GOTTEN WRONG
According to these scholars, there are three aspects, in particular, that we've gotten wrong about the Christmas story: (I) the time of Mary and Joseph's arrival in
Bethlehem, (2) the way we understand the inn, and (3) the location of the manger.
First, the time of arrival. When did Mary and Joseph actually get to Bethlehem? On the very night Jesus was born? Nowhere does the text say that. All we are told is that "while they were there, the time came for the baby to be born" (2:6). The distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem was about 70 miles, which in those days would have been at least a three-day trip on foot and by donkey. It's almost unimaginable in that culture—or any culture, for that matter—that a husband would put his wife on a donkey for three days of strenuous, bumpy travel when she is nine months pregnant. It's far more likely that Joseph and Mary made the trip several weeks in advance, and that "while they were there"—several weeks later—the time came for the baby to be born.
But what, then, about the inn? Luke 2:7 says, "There was no room for them in the inn?' Doesn't that suggest a last-minute, late-night arrival in. Bethlehem? Not neces-sarily.
The word translated inn in Luke 2 is not the usual word in Greek for a commercial inn. The more common word is used a few chapters later, in Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan. In Luke 10:34 we read, "Then [the Good Samaritan] put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him."
What, then, is the inn in Luke 2? This word is found again in Luke 22:11, where Jesus instructs his disciples to prepare for the Passover. Jesus says, "Say to the owner of the house, 'The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' The same word translated as inn in Luke 2 is ren-dered as guest room in Luke 22. Could it be that in Bethlehem there was no room for the holy family in somebody's guestroom?
So where was that guestroom? Here's how some knowledge of the cultural back-ground of Luke 2 can help us. In the time of Jesus, Palestinian homes were often con-structed with an extra room—a guest room—at one end of the house. This room was reserved for visiting relatives or for a recently married son and his wife.
Luke says that there was no room for Mary and Joseph in the guestroom. But we still have that manger to deal with. Doesn't a manger suggest a stable out back, some-place away from people's homes? Once again, not necessarily.
Peasant homes in Jesus' day were often built not only with a guestroom at one end but with a stable at the other end. In-between was a large single room that served as the family living quarters. The living area was open to the stable, but the floor was raised about four feet above the level of the stable. Mangers were built into
the floor at the end of the living area—at just the right height for a cow or donkey standing in the stable to feed. One of these built-in mangers could very well have served as the first bed for the baby Jesus. In other words, it's quite possible that Jesus was born in Bethlehem in a private home.
What really happened in Bethlehem that first Christmas? According to this
newer interpretation, the story in Luke 2 unfolds this way: Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem for the census decreed by Caesar Augustus. They arrive not late on Christmas Eve but some weeks beforehand because of Mary's condition. Since Bethlehem was the town of Joseph's ances-tors, he quite possibly had relatives there, who would have immediately have taken
the couple into one of their homes. But even if Joseph had been a total stranger, Middle Eastern hospitality was (and is) such that some family in the village would have invited him and his pregnant wife to stay with them. When the time came for Mary to give birth, she delivered baby Jesus in a home, as was customary in that time. The baby was placed in a manger in the family living quarters, right next to the sta-ble. Why were Mary and Joseph there and not in the attached guest room? Because there was no room for them in the guest room—it was already being used.
It's quite possible that Jesus
was born in Bethlehem in a
private home.
;F. Sometime later when the wise men visit
Bethlehem, they find Mary and the baby in a house (Matt. 2:11)—probably the very house where Jesus had been born.
' • '
DOES IT MATTER?
Well, this is all very interesting—so Christ might have been born in a house. The question is, so what? Even if this interpre-tation is right, does it matter to the follow-ers of the Christ child today? Does it change Christmas for us in any way?
On a superficial level, I suppose it does. Our traditional pictures of Christmas would alter a bit. We'd need to imagine a house now, instead of a freestanding stable or a cave. Our creche scenes, our Christmas cards, the words of some of our carols, the nativity skits in our children's Christmas programs—all would need minor adjustments.
But this new understanding might also change Christmas for us at a deeper level.
Not change the real meaning of Christmas, but how well we see that meaning and how we respond to the Christ of Christmas. For if this interpretation of Luke 2 is correct, it shows us more clearly what Christmas is really all about. Two things come into sharper focus: how ordinary the birth of Jesus was and how extraordinary it was.
If these New Testament scholars are right, then Jesus was born in an ordinary house on an ordinary street in an ordinary Jewish village. On the outside, at least, there was nothing unusual about this birth or this baby. Bethlehem didn't turn its back on the holy family; it offered them the hos-pitality one would expect. Jesus was not born in a barn on the outskirts of the city; he was born in a family room on Main Street, as a normal part of village life. If the angel hadn't told the shepherds that night what was really going on, no one would have thought twice about it.
But isn't that part of what Christmas is really all about? At the center of the Christmas story is what we call the incar-nation—God taking on flesh, God taking on humanity. Our flesh. Our humanity. Not just our skin and bones and blood, but the total experience of being human. The normal rhythms of life. From the begin-ning God is right here with us—in a typi-cal house in a typical neighborhood, sur-rounded by relatives. He comes into our world and joins our lives in the ordinary ways and places we live them.
If Jesus was born in a regular house in Bethlehem, we see the incarnation all the more clearly. In the divine plan the Savior had to become one of us in order to save us. And right from the beginning God-with-us is really here with us, in the middle of those he came to save. He enters the world under circumstances that most everyone in that day could identify with. A baby is born in a house on a village street in Palestine. Like a thousand babies before him; like a thousand babies after him. By participating in the common human expe-
If Jesus was born in a regular house
in Bethlehem, we see the
incarnation all the more clearly.
rience of his day, Jesus shows that he really identifies with us from the moment he is born.
This different reading of Luke 2, then, shows us how ordinary the birth of Jesus was. But it also helps us to see better how extraordinary it was. In the traditional view of Luke 2, we often focus on the unusual circumstances and surroundings of Christ's birth. Here's this poor couple arriving in a strange city. The mother is on the verge of giving birth, and there's no place to stay. They get stuck out in a stable, with all the animals and straw and dirt and stench. They're lonely and afraid. And in the middle of all that, they bring a baby into the world. How out of the ordinary! How heart-wrenching—that this is how the baby Jesus had to begin his life on earth.
But if we clear away the clutter of those unusual details and see the story for how ordinary it really is, something may hap-pen. Maybe then we can appreciate all the more how extra-ordinary that first Christmas really was. What's so extraordi-nary here? Not that this king wasn't born in a palace. Not the stable or the straw or the manger. What's so extraordinary is that God is taking on humanity. God is now with us—in a way that God never has been before.
Listen to the extraordinary message of the angel to the shepherds in Luke 2:11-12: "Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the LORD.
This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a manger."
What? Christ the LoRD? LORD is an Old Testament name for God. God has been born? And God is a baby wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger? How can this be? How can the eternal one, God beyond time, enter our time-bound world? How can the One who is everywhere present now also be nowhere present except in a tiny village in Palestine? How can the Almighty One now also be weak and ten-der—a little baby squirming in a little box? It's a mystery! Its a miracle! That's why all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them (Luke 2:18). We should still be amazed today. This is extraordinary.
And what extraordinary love we see here on God's part. As the Nicene Creed puts it, "For us and for our salvation, the Son came down from heaven . . . and became incarnate . . . and was made human." God takes on humanity. All because of us. For our sake. What won-drous love this is!
That's what's so extraordinary about the birth of Jesus. Not where he was born or how he was born, but simply-that he was born. That here, lying in a manger, was God himself—love in the flesh. Willingly wrapped in our humanity. Lying in the lap of our fallen world. He who once gave birth to the world has now been born in and for the world.
That's the story of Christmas. That's what really happened in Bethlehem.
