There was no room at the inn. The sun was setting and the darkness came quickly. The small town of Bethlehem was bursting at its seams with long-lost sons and daughters. Augustus Caesar, the emperor of the Roman Empire, had sent a decree for a census to be taken, and hundreds of thousands had to return to their hometowns to register (luke 2:1–7).

When Joseph first heard about this decree, he started to worry. Mary was expecting a baby. Yes, he had come to realize that this was not an ordinary child. The angels had appeared to him and told him about it. He did not understand it fully but he realized that he was dealing with a heavenly mystery. Still, they had to travel four days’ journey—about 80 miles (130 km)—from familiar Nazareth to Bethlehem, where he likely did not know anyone. How were he and Mary going to cope?

Mary’s quiet but painful groan jolted Joseph from his thoughts. He went about searching for a place where Mary could safely deliver the child. But all the inns were full. They were turned away at every place. Joseph increased his pace as he realized the urgency of the situation. He must do something. If he were a rich man, he could have gotten a room. But Joseph didn’t know powerful people who could help him.

Mary and Joseph had no choice. They finally found a stable and had to settle for it. In that place, crowded with animals and filled with their smells and noises, the Son of God was born.

In his bestselling book The Jesus I Never Knew, Philip Yancey describes how the rulers in our world tend to travel:

Queen Elizabeth II had recently visited the United States, and reporters delighted in spelling out the logistics involved: her four thousand pounds of luggage included two outfits for every occasion, a mourning outfit in case someone died, forty pints of plasma. . . . . She brought along her own hairdresser, two valets, and a host of other attendants. A brief visit of royalty to a foreign country can easily cost twenty million dollars.

What a great difference the visit of our Lord was. His immediate witnesses were farm animals and poor shepherds. What parent would understand how God could send His Son to be born in a place like this? Paul describes Jesus as having emptied Himself when He left the throne room in heaven and entered the humble stable of an inn in an obscure town. He could have chosen to be born in a palace, in the corridors of power, in the lap of wealth, luxury, and privilege. But on that day, God stood with the poor and downtrodden, the simple and ordinary people. His kingdom, power, and glory were of a different kind.

Christ was born in a stable not only because of His humility, character, mission, and message, but also because there was no room for him at the inn. If the innkeeper had known, would that have made a difference? Could he have found some room for Jesus?

The painting of Jesus standing at the door and knocking is familiar to most Christians. Many of us became Christians by asking Jesus to enter our hearts and lives as Lord and Savior. What a joy it is when Christ enters a human heart and makes it His dwelling!

But all too often, the initial joy and fervor erode with time. Like the church in Ephesus, many Christians forsake their first love (revelation 2:4). Their lives become crowded with things, ambitions, distractions, and relationships that take them away from Jesus. In their daily lives, their minds become cluttered with unimportant things. The marketplace concerns of their lives crowd out . . .