This weeks devotional is entitled, “No Room At The Inn” and is written by our very own Char Seawell. As we focus on Advent through the lens of family, we hope this devotion encourages your faith.
No room at the inn.
And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. Luke 2:7
Two pastors had come to this desert to cook carne asada on a small barbecue, hoping to feed and comfort any desert wanderer searching for freedom.
They were not alone in the desert: local vigilante groups had taken to this dry wilderness to harass children fleeing persecution in their homelands and the dangers that enveloped their families as they waited on the other side of the wall.
One pastor wondered aloud, “What will we do if the vigilantes come for us?”
We will offer them some carne asada.
They drove the border road together and in minutes encountered a young boy standing in the middle of the road.
Mijo, que pasa (My Son, what’s going on)?
Tears fell from the boy’s face, only five years old, as he told the story of his family’s 3,000 mile journey from Guatemala.
What is your name? asked one of the pastors in Spanish.
Mi nombre es Esteban.
Cartels and the violence they perpetrated against those waiting at the wall had precipitated his solo journey through the desert. In his pocket was the number of a relative to call in the U.S. if he was found.
A few months later, one of these same pastors hiked the canyon near his home seeking peace and solitude. Cries for helped flew out of the canyon below. Working his way down the mountainside, he encountered a couple holding a migrant clinging to life, hypothermic from a fall into a stream. The hikers spoke no Spanish. But the pastor did.
What is your name?
Barely conscious ,the struggling migrant answered.
Mi nombre es Javier.
One hiker ran for help. The pastor spoke words of comfort while the hiker’s wife wrapped her coat and scarf around Javier’s shivering body using her own body heat as she wrapped herself around him, cradling his head in her lap until help could arrive.
They were not alone.
Jesus was in the boy wandering in the desert.
Jesus was in the stranger dying in the canyon.
Then and now, there were no rooms in the inn. Our inn. The richest inn in the world. The inn with limitless resources. The inn dubbed a nation of followers of Jesus.
But the Good Samaritan had room - for carne asada, for a boy lost in the desert, for a phone call for help. For Estevan.
And the Good Samaritan had room - for a coat for warmth, and words of comfort, and a loving touch cradled in the lap of a stranger who heard his cries. For Javier.
Because there is always room at the inn
for those who encounter the Good Samaritan.
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