“And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” –Luke 2:7

There was no place for them in the inn, and yet Mary knew how blessed she was, and what a wonderful gift she had been given. The writer of Luke reminds the reader several times that “Mary treasured all these things in her heart” (Luke 2:19 & 51).

I spent Christmas Eve overnight and Christmas morning in a homeless shelter.

There was a ham dinner on Christmas Eve. There were good friends. There was laughter, a poetry reading, and a hot breakfast Christmas morning. There were gifts of warm socks and new winter hats that mysteriously just “showed up” to be given away. There were hugs from new friends.

Somebody said to me during the day on Christmas Eve, “I can’t believe that you want to spend Christmas Eve at the Code Blue Shelter. Christmas is about family, and you’re willing to sacrifice that?” I TOTALLY understand that feeling. I know that this isn’t for everyone, and you shouldn’t do it if you don’t love it. But for us, whose family lives elsewhere, this was a way for me and my husband to have a meaningful Christmas. We are fortunate that we have found friendship with some of the men who stay in our shelter. We are also fortunate to have friends who believed this would be meaningful way to spend Christmas–and so we all did it together.

So we came to our shelter after Christmas Eve worship, decked out in sweatpants and bedroom slippers, and spent the night at church among friends–old and new. In the morning, a family from our congregation postponed their Christmas gift opening to come and serve a hot breakfast. After cleanup and good-byes, we all stepped out into what had become a chilly, rainy Christmas Day. Some of us were going home to warm beds, Christmas trees strung with lights, and stockings stuffed with goodies. Others of us were returning to our tents or our cars, the few belongings that we own now cold and wet from the rain. The shelter will be closed for several of the next nights, since the temperatures will be too warm for Code Blue. What many people don’t realize is that too warm for Code Blue doesn’t mean it isn’t cold outside–it just means it isn’t cold enough to open the shelter. The men who come to sleep at Trinity on Code Blue nights will pass several cold, wet nights outside before we open again. There is no place for them in the inn.

Driving home on Christmas Day, the song “O Holy Night” came on the radio. For some reason, I couldn’t stop it–the floodgates opened and I cried. I sat there in my car at the red light crying. It might have been the lack of sleep, but I think it was probably something more–gratitude, overwhelming love, understanding, and other things I don’t know how to express. Something that was said by one of the men who sleeps at the shelter was ringing in my ears. He said, “You know, I am really blessed. Not everyone has a place like this to spend the night and people like you to be with. I may not have very much, but there are others who have less. I am really blessed.”

Maybe not having a place in the inn makes people realize how blessed they are. I wish we could all know how blessed we are–the way that Mary did, and the way that our friend at the shelter does.

It was a Holy Night, indeed.

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