If I were to try to paint a picture of that night in Bethlehem, there is
one thing I would be sure not to omit.
I would paint the rifted sky, opened to release the mingled praise of
angels. I would depict the shepherds, listening in their wonder.
I would hang the wondrous star in its place in the sky—heaven’s sign of
hope to a broken world. The peaceful village, the lowly manger, the quiet
cattle in their stalls—all these should have a place.
But somewhere in the distance I would set the inn with its lighted
windows, its gayety within, and its crowded space—a house with a closed
door, a place with room for all except the family of an artisan who was
to be trusted with the rearing of a King.
Through the centuries this has been a most tragic story. It has been the
most tragic because it has represented the most widespread condition. It
has been the saddest because it has been the least realized.
Some have tried to drive the King from the world with violence, but no
violence has even been able to match the strong, sweet, silent influence
which pervaded His life and which He set adrift in the world, and which,
in spite of opposition, grows from more to more.
The violence which sought His annihilation only aided Him in the
fulfillment of His mission. There need be no fear of those who go out
with swords and staves against Him.
There have been those, too, who have tried to banish Him from the world
by persecution. They, too, have failed. Faith was never stronger nor did
ever more immovable convictions burn in the hearts of His people than
when they fled from the hand of persecution or perished for the faith
before the eyes of scoffers.
From the Israelite down, the people of God have thrived on persecution.
The real problems of Christianity arose after, and not before, the Roman
state became its ally. Better far had been the bread of bitterness which
they had eaten than the reduction to a system and a tool which they then
suffered. The persecutor only speeds the day of the King’s dominion.
There have been those who have tried to drive Him from the world by
argument. This, likewise, has been of no avail. Atheism, agnosticism, and
skepticism all fail before the living fact of the power of His presence
in the world.
One clear case of regeneration or one well-defined overruling of
providence is sufficient to dispose of every argument of mere premise and
conclusion which can be constructed against Him. The only argument against
Him is an unfaithful follower, and that is refuted by a follower
who is true.
For Him the sword has no terrors. He never will flee persecution. There
is no danger that He will ever be driven out. If there is any danger for
Him today, it is that He be crowded out.
There is one thing and one thing only which can defeat His purpose. That
is the unwelcoming life, the closed heart, the master of the inn who says,
“No room.”
Let us not blame the innkeeper of the long ago. He did [not] know whom
he was turning from his doors. He did not act in the light which twenty
intervening centuries have given us. He was simply an innkeeper to whom
business was business, and whose preference was naturally for the richest
guests. Let us be moderate in our censure of him. Let us turn to the
present. Let us find whether the doors of the throne rooms of our own
hearts are open.
Not many say they hate the Master or His Kingdom. Not many say they do
not believe in Him. Not many are disposed to persecute. Not many even
care to argue. But many say, “I haven’t time.”
Lose what else we may in this busy time, we must find a place for Him and
His words and His ways. A good watchword for this day of opportunity
might be: “Make room for Jesus!”