In Defense of the Innkeeper

Every time I hear the Nativity story, I wonder about the innkeeper. There wasn’t room. I certainly don’t believe he was lying. I tend to think he was having a stressful night, knowing the “tax rush” was upon him. I’m sure he was pleased to see the revenue he did, knowing that it would help him feed his family, maybe buy his wife something nice. He was probably tired and weary of turning away travelers; Mary and Joseph were surely not the only ones who got there too late.
I wonder what he thought when he saw the unfortunate couple at his gate. It would be unfair to assume he had any inkling who these two were or Who would be born that night. He probably just saw a young couple that he couldn’t possibly accommodate. The woman was pregnant, very pregnant I imagine. He certainly couldn’t turn them away. To his credit, I believe, he found a place for them. Not an ideal place, but the only place he had.
What was he to do? No room. Honestly, no room. He couldn’t displace his own family and, with what limited understanding I have of the cultural context he found himself in, he couldn’t leave them alone with the strangers gathered in his inn. Order had to maintained, I can appreciate that. And I tend to think that if room could possibly be made he would have done so.
Dramatic portrayals of the innkeeper show his as an impatient man who heartlessly turns his back on the mother of the Savior. But I like to think he did all he could to help them. I hope he sent an employee to tend to the young mother. I hope he prayed for their safety. And I hope he visited in the morning to make sure all was well. He would have had quite a surprise.
Maybe I’ll write a play about him someday. About the difficult choices we’re faced with and the lose-lose situations the Savior came into the world to remedy. About the miracle that took place that night and this sad, misunderstood man’s part in the great drama of Christmas.

Thoughts on Priorities

My dad told me that in Korea, people will always offer you more food after your first helping regardless of what they actually have in the kitchen. He explained that social protocol is to refuse taking seconds the first time it's offered, then to feel free to accept if they offer again. The reason for this is simple: it's polite for them to offer, but sometimes that's all it is. I've always thought this little song and dance routine was a bit unnecessary until I recognized it in my own life.
It's Friday night and I'm at home. Alone. Writing. (And blogging, apparently.) This is certainly not a singular occurrence, as anyone who knows me will attest. I turned down a couple of invitations in order to have this privilege, the most pressing of which wouldn't back down easily. There was a veritable tennis match of "I need to get some things done" pitted against "Whatever, hang out anyway." This went on for a while until we all accepted the inevitable.
Now, let me qualify this. I am not averse to hanging out. I can think of more ideal weekends, but this particular week is a busy one and I need any spare time I have to finish a couple formidable projects before the semester's end. Thus, I have to sacrifice spending time with people I really care about. I'm used to this. I wish sometimes it wasn't necessary to make such sacrifices but I also acknowledge the fact that if I wanted things to be different they would be. That said, I've decided that, while I have been successful in keeping the commitments I've had this semester, I don't intend to take on so much in the future.
Maybe I'll have less productive-but-unsatisfying weekends next semester. In the meantime, I'm grateful for friends who extend invitations, play the game, and gracefully accept defeat. And I hope they know that on nights like tonight I'd rather be with them. I just have stuff to get done.

BONUS: Just because I know that anyone who knows me will laugh heartily at this...My arm and shoulder are killing me. I pulled a muscle making a dramatic hand gesture. Yes. It's the truth. Muscle pulled from over-gesticulations. It could only be me.