I was up and going early this morning, Karen had to be at work by 7:15 and Mary and Andrew were coming at 7:30 for Grandpa to watch today. I had just gotten back to the house, had Mary and Andrew watching Sponge Bob, or sleeping, I couldn’t really tell, when the door bell rang. There were two African American men standing there, one about my age and one probably 18 or 19. They showed me their car which was parked across the street at the gas station, the first thing I noticed was that it was about the same year as my car, it was getting a bit rusty, and the trunk was tied shut because it appeared to have all of their worldly possessions in there.
Apparently they had been living in Richmond, Indiana, things hadn’t worked out and they were heading back “home” which was Dallas Texas. They had made it as far as our exit and their car was about out of gas and they were in need of help. The people at the gas station, knowing that I was a minister sent them to me. As a pastor, this happens quite frequently, I try to help when I can, attempt to weed out the ones who essentially make a living from this type of thing, when I can, and when I am unable to help, I at the very least try to direct them where they might find assistance and offer to pray with them.
But, there was something unique and honest about these two men. They seemed very unaccustomed to asking for help, and trust me, after awhile, you can sense when this is the 5173rd time someone has asked for help, and when it is their first. The younger one, in particular, just seemed to look in pain for even being in this situation. I just sensed a sincerity about them, and I thought immediately back to our Bible Study lesson that we had last week where I asked if anyone had ever felt like a stranger, or alien in a distant land. These two men, a long way from home, who didn’t know anyone, African American in an almost totally white area must have indeed felt like strangers in a distant land.
I had twenty dollars in my wallet, what was left over from my trip to Ohio this week (thank goodness for lower gas prices) and Karen gets paid tomorrow, so I gave it too them and told them that I wish it could have been more. Suddenly tears welled up in both of these men’s eyes, but I was especially struck by the younger one. The man who was my age immediately reached out and embraced me thanking me, the younger one simply bowed his head as a tear fell down his cheek. We had a prayer together and as I was wishing them a safe journey, the younger man stopped came back and embraced me as well, saying “thank-you, you don’t know what this means.”
As I went back inside the house, (and calmed Odie down, he tends to go crazy when we have visitors) I thought about the young man’s statement to me, “you don’t know what this means.” As I thought about it, I came to the realization that, Yes, I do know what this means! I had just been putting the finishing touches on my sermon for Sunday and was thinking of Mary and Joseph as they arrived in Bethlehem and I was thinking of a story that I had heard about a young man named Harold.
Harold wanted to be in the annual Christmas play which was always a big production in his town. But Harold was not the top student in his class and seemed to have a lot of problems. The directors of the children’s play didn’t want to hurt Harold’s feelings, but they were worried about whether he could handle a part. They finally decided to give him the part of the Inn Keeper. All he had to say was, “I’m sorry, there is no room in the Inn.”
Well, the night of the big play came and the church was packed. At the precise moment Mary and Joseph came and knocked on the Inn door. The whole village of Bethlehem shook as Harold tried to open the cardboard door to the Inn which was stuck. At last he got the door open, and the pitiful young couple was standing there looking all too real to Harold, but with a little coaching he blurted out the words: “I’m sorry, all the rooms are full, and there’s no room for you here.”
The couple turned sorrowfully away and began to walk off stage when all of a sudden the door of the Inn swung open again, and Harold ran up to the couple and said in a loud voice so that everyone could hear, “Wait a minute. Come back. You can have my room.”
You see Harold understood something about being alone, he understood something about being different, of being a stranger in a distant land with no where to turn. This morning, with my last twenty dollars, I simply did what Harold did, and instead of saying, “Sorry, there is no room in the Inn, I followed the example of Harold and said, “Wait a minute. Come Back, You can have my room.”
Be a blessing to someone this Christmas season. Don’t be afraid to give what you have or what you can. Don’t pass those people with the red kettles, standing in the cold, ringing those bells without, at the very least, offering a kind word of encouragement. Trust me, God will always bless your efforts, because, lets face it, Jesus knew what it was like to be told there was no room in the Inn.
Apparently they had been living in Richmond, Indiana, things hadn’t worked out and they were heading back “home” which was Dallas Texas. They had made it as far as our exit and their car was about out of gas and they were in need of help. The people at the gas station, knowing that I was a minister sent them to me. As a pastor, this happens quite frequently, I try to help when I can, attempt to weed out the ones who essentially make a living from this type of thing, when I can, and when I am unable to help, I at the very least try to direct them where they might find assistance and offer to pray with them.
But, there was something unique and honest about these two men. They seemed very unaccustomed to asking for help, and trust me, after awhile, you can sense when this is the 5173rd time someone has asked for help, and when it is their first. The younger one, in particular, just seemed to look in pain for even being in this situation. I just sensed a sincerity about them, and I thought immediately back to our Bible Study lesson that we had last week where I asked if anyone had ever felt like a stranger, or alien in a distant land. These two men, a long way from home, who didn’t know anyone, African American in an almost totally white area must have indeed felt like strangers in a distant land.
I had twenty dollars in my wallet, what was left over from my trip to Ohio this week (thank goodness for lower gas prices) and Karen gets paid tomorrow, so I gave it too them and told them that I wish it could have been more. Suddenly tears welled up in both of these men’s eyes, but I was especially struck by the younger one. The man who was my age immediately reached out and embraced me thanking me, the younger one simply bowed his head as a tear fell down his cheek. We had a prayer together and as I was wishing them a safe journey, the younger man stopped came back and embraced me as well, saying “thank-you, you don’t know what this means.”
As I went back inside the house, (and calmed Odie down, he tends to go crazy when we have visitors) I thought about the young man’s statement to me, “you don’t know what this means.” As I thought about it, I came to the realization that, Yes, I do know what this means! I had just been putting the finishing touches on my sermon for Sunday and was thinking of Mary and Joseph as they arrived in Bethlehem and I was thinking of a story that I had heard about a young man named Harold.
Harold wanted to be in the annual Christmas play which was always a big production in his town. But Harold was not the top student in his class and seemed to have a lot of problems. The directors of the children’s play didn’t want to hurt Harold’s feelings, but they were worried about whether he could handle a part. They finally decided to give him the part of the Inn Keeper. All he had to say was, “I’m sorry, there is no room in the Inn.”
Well, the night of the big play came and the church was packed. At the precise moment Mary and Joseph came and knocked on the Inn door. The whole village of Bethlehem shook as Harold tried to open the cardboard door to the Inn which was stuck. At last he got the door open, and the pitiful young couple was standing there looking all too real to Harold, but with a little coaching he blurted out the words: “I’m sorry, all the rooms are full, and there’s no room for you here.”
The couple turned sorrowfully away and began to walk off stage when all of a sudden the door of the Inn swung open again, and Harold ran up to the couple and said in a loud voice so that everyone could hear, “Wait a minute. Come back. You can have my room.”
You see Harold understood something about being alone, he understood something about being different, of being a stranger in a distant land with no where to turn. This morning, with my last twenty dollars, I simply did what Harold did, and instead of saying, “Sorry, there is no room in the Inn, I followed the example of Harold and said, “Wait a minute. Come Back, You can have my room.”
Be a blessing to someone this Christmas season. Don’t be afraid to give what you have or what you can. Don’t pass those people with the red kettles, standing in the cold, ringing those bells without, at the very least, offering a kind word of encouragement. Trust me, God will always bless your efforts, because, lets face it, Jesus knew what it was like to be told there was no room in the Inn.
Blessings
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