Winter 2006, Volume 49, Number 4

Is There Room in the Inn?

Not too long ago, I was meandering down an aisle of a department store that was literally crammed with crib sets. A few were so small that they would fit into the palm of my hand; others were so large they would only fit into a massive space. Some were ceramic with gold trim, a couple of sets were made of Waterford crystal, and others were definitely designed to be displayed on a piece of eye catching red silk. They all had one thing in common—they were expensive!

I have become so accustomed to a crib set being “pretty” and suitable for a living room coffee table, that when I occasionally hear the infancy narrative of Mary, Joseph and the child Jesus set in the context of their homelessness, I am taken aback. All my life I have heard the story of the innkeeper telling the Holy Family that there was no room in the inn. I have watched countless Christmas plays in schools, and I have listened to many Christmas homilies, and yet, why am I so uneasy when I refer to my Divine Savior as homeless?

In the United States, homeless people are mostly nocturnal, largely invisible, easily avoidable and usually shifting. As I celebrate the Christmas holiday, I do not pray comfortably about the birth of Jesus against this backdrop. And yet, God did choose to become human in the company of the poor and simple people of the Middle East. What is God teaching me through my discomfort?

According to Anthony J. Gittins, in his book Where There’s Hope There’s Life: Women’s Stories of Homelessness and Survival: With Theological and Pastoral Reflections. (Liguori/Triumph, 2006, p. 120.)

An infra-red ‘snapshot’ of the U.S. on any balmy spring night (winter is much worse) would show around 700,000 men, women and children in ‘officially’ designed shelters, and up to two million more ‘hidden homeless’ sleeping in the open or abandoned car or building. But perhaps 12 million Americans have been homeless at some time. On average, every cot in a shelter accommodates between 4-6 people per year; and between 1987 and 1997 shelter capacity increased by almost 300 per cent. It would be bad enough if these were statistics; tragically the figures represent real people. To our shame, many of us fail to notice.

Is my failure to notice the homeless men, women and children in my community related to my inability to fully value that God came into this world as a child who had no place to sleep? Would I prefer to use Waterford crystal and gold-trimmed ceramic statues or the homeless in my city to help me see God? What am I learning?

Jesus is calling me to embrace authentic encounters with real people. God became flesh, not crystal or ceramic. I want to glimpse beyond the time-honored Christmas hymns, the poinsettias and the colored lights. I want God to break through my crust of seasonal habits and traditions and help me see the face of God anew.

I invite you to sing the Christmas song “Child of the Poor” by Scott Soper as a Christmas promise so you may see with new eyes and love with a renewed heart.

Who is the stranger here in our midst, looking for shelter among us? Who is the outcast? Who do we see amid the poor, the children of God? Who is this who lives with the lowly, sharing their sorrows, knowing their hunger? This is Christ, revealed in the world in the eyes of a child, a child of the poor.

Sister Elena Hoye, PBVM
Vice-President