I confess: Learning that the New Testament never uses the word stable or barn to describe where Jesus was born was borderline scandalous to me. Well, then where was he born? Especially if there was “no room in the inn.” And does it make any difference? The late New Testament scholar, Ken Bailey, helped deepen my understanding.
Remember Joseph was going to Bethlehem, which would be like me going to Napa, California – where I was born and raised, and where much of my family still lives. That means I’d have plenty of places to stay. This is what family does – especially in the Middle East: They offer hospitality. And if for some reason Joseph’s people couldn’t accommodate them, then Mary’s certainly would. (Her people were in Bethlehem of Judea. She had already stayed with Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, several months before.)
In other words, it doesn’t matter if there was “no room in the inn.” Joseph and Mary would never stay in Motel 6. Custom would demand they would stay with family.
But here’s an even bigger thing: The inn referenced in the Gospel passage is probably not really what we think of as an inn; it’s not like a B&B, or a hotel with lots of rooms and a “no vacancy” sign flashing.
The Greek word for inn here is kataluma, referring to a second room, a guestroom, added on (sometimes behind, sometimes above) to a typical one-room house. To say there was “no room in the kataluma” means there was no room in that guest room. Somebody else got first dibs (which makes perfect sense with all the long distance relatives rolling into town to be counted for the census).
So where did Mary and Joseph stay then? Ken Bailey, who lived in the Middle East for over 60 years, says it’s simple: They would’ve stayed in the house, in the one main room, the living room, with everybody else! (I know, not very private, right?)
But someone will say: Wait a minute… the text says Jesus was laid in a manger, an animal feeding trough – proof certain that Jesus was born in a stable or a barn! Well, not so fast. Actually, that simple peasant home had two levels to it. The main room was slightly higher. And then open to it, but just a few feet below at a slightly lower level was a much smaller area, a small enclosure for their few animals, keeping them safe (adding warmth to the house), and to store their feed and the manger at night.
So Jesus wasn’t born in a stable or a barn, but laid in a manger, which was in the house, right there in the middle of it all. Which makes quite a bit of difference to the Christmas story. Because now it’s no longer about rebuff and rejection (No room; keep out!), but the welcome and hospitality of regular people who offer what they have. They make room for Jesus – Mary and Joseph, come on in! – and inspire us to do the same.
But here’s the main thing – because here’s Jesus from the beginning – not out back in the barn, removed or remote – but right here in the main living space.
You have to picture Middle Eastern culture – someone suggested something less British, and more Italian. With people packed in the small house, they’re connected. It’s communal. Warm. Energetic. Noisy. When the shepherds arrive, it’s not “the cattle are lowing.” There’s a commotion; it’s a typical Jewish home, crammed with conviviality!
This is the good news of Christmas. God in human flesh comes into real, everyday life as we know it. Into the craziness. Into the hubbub. Into the messiness. The manger means from the beginning Jesus is right there with us in the middle of it all.
Heidi Husted Armstrong is transitional pastor for First Presbyterian Church in Seattle.
