There’s a story about a laboring woman and the baby inside of her, a story about how far they journeyed together to find a safe place to rest, a suitable place for a birth.
They travelled and travelled and finally the innkeeper said to them, “Sorry, no room,” and they found their way alone.
And today, a lot of people– a lot of churches, a lot of Christians– have taken up the mantle of telling the “other” the same thing.
No room, no room.
No room for the woman who seems impoverished, waiting for her daughter in the church building;
No room for the socially awkward or outcast to find community;
No room for those who have made mistakes and wish to be redeemed;
No room for the Native Americans to keep their own land and find God in it;
No room for the women to lead;
No room for the curious, for the people who ask questions and admit that they seek God outside the church walls;
No room for the children to be children, their little voices heard and considered.
And as the privileged voices become louder and the marginalized become quieter, they say, “Speak up, we can’t hear you….No room, no room inside of me for you.”
But still, no room.
And Jesus said, “Those who have hears, let them hear…”
But maybe today He says, “Those who have always had ears and means but haven’t really been listening to anyone but their own…close your mouths for a second.”
And then He looks us in the eyes and says, “Because someone told my mama once, ‘no room, ma’am,’ and she birthed me in a cave.”
And so today, new voices shout from the street corners and church parking lots, “No room! No room for displacement, prejudice, hatred.
No room for xenophobic social circles and secret gossip clubs.
There is no room for the one-person agenda,
No room for the top-down scheme.”
And with every breath of Kingdom, that man who was born in a cave says, “Room…there is room at this table and plenty to eat…
…Come with your questions and let us journey together. Let us make room.”
And there, the new church is born.
Hallelujah and Amen.