"Christmas wisdom taught by a ten-year-old boy named Barry."
Like so many congregations all across America, there was one small church in one small town that produced the traditional Nativity pageant every year. In that church was a ten-year-old boy who had managed to create a disaster in every Christmas play he had played in. The boy's name was Barry. One year, he backed into a candle and his angel wings caught fire. The next year, as Herod the Great, he jumped up from the throne with such enthusiasm that he jerked the carpet from under the three Wise Men, dumping them on their heads. So this year, the Sunday school class begged the teacher to leave Barry out and not let him ruin another play.
But the tender-hearted and wise teacher could not reject a boy who always tried his best and loved Jesus with all his heart. She was able to convince the children that Barry could do no harm by playing the innkeeper of Bethlehem. All he would have to do was open and close a door and speak one short line.
Barry made it perfectly through all rehearsals and the dress rehearsal. On opening night, when mothers, fathers, friends and, indeed, the whole community sat in hushed silence, reliving the Christmas story, Barry had his golden opportunity to redeem himself. The door to the inn opened and Barry looked into the sad faces of Mary and Joseph. You could almost hear the wind blowing outside and feel the bone-chilling breeze, but Barry came through, speaking his lines with professional emphasis and timing: "Begone, I have no room for the likes of you!"
Sadly, as Mary and Joseph turned away, walking out into the cold night, Barry remained frozen at the open doorway. Those who were seated in the front row saw tears well up in his eyes and watched his lips tremble. "Wait!" Barry shouted out. It came like a thunderclap, breaking the silence. Every heart in the room stopped. What on earth? This was not in the script of the familiar story of Christmas.
Then Barry cried out again, "Wait! You can have my room!" All bedlam broke loose; children cried, parents were stunned and pandemonium reigned. Barry had ruined another Christmas play. His wise and tender-hearted teacher rose and quieted the crowd. She then dried Barry's tears, as well as her own, and said, "Maybe Barry is right after all and brings the true message of Christmas. For only those who have a room available in our hearts can let the Holy Family in."
With those comforting words, the play continued with flawless performances. After all the congratulations and hugs were given and received, everyone went home with one new bit of Christmas wisdom taught by a ten-year-old boy named Barry. You can have my room became the motto of that season.
I love these oh-so-human stories about Christmas pageants because they always reveal some hidden theological treasure which helps me understand the meaning of the Nativity of Jesus...the birth of God in our midst. What Barry taught me is that we are all of us "Innkeepers," zealously guarding the inner rooms of our hearts. These are the rooms where we live most deeply, places where we cherish memories, hold tight to our fears and experience our sorrows. These are the hidden rooms where love blooms and fades, where births and deaths take place and, above all, where God dwells most deeply and personally.
Like young Barry, many of us have been given a script to read when The Holy Family comes to our door, a script which too often reads, "Begone there's no room at this inn." If the truth be known, we are very good innkeepers, guarding the doorway of our soul very efficiently. What Barry teaches us is the value of vulnerability, letting down our guard and tossing out the script when God comes "a-knocking."
My hope for all of us this Christmas is that we will take a chance to be a bit more open to God. Let us open the door and learn to say, "Wait, don't leave, you can have my room!"
My favorite Christmas carol sums this up so well. From O Little Town of Bethlehem come these wonderful words:
How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin
Where meek hearts will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.
Amen.
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