Making Room at the Inn

Read: Luke 10:25-37

But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him” (Luke 10: 33–34, NRSV).

I have never thought of the story of the Good Samaritan as a Christmas story before. Yet, setting the stories side by side helps us to see profound connections.

Both stories feature an inn. In the Christmas story, Mary gives birth to her firstborn son and lays him in a manger because there is no room for them in Bethlehem’s inn (Luke 2:7). In the story of the Good Samaritan, the inn is a place that provides welcome and recovery, thanks to the generosity and care of the Samaritan.

I started thinking about the connections between these stories because of an interview I read recently with Luca Maria Negro, a long-time ecumenical leader and former president of the Federation of Protestant Churches in Italy. In the interview, Negro spoke with deep emotion about the Federation’s work with Humanitarian Corridors, an organization that seeks to provide safe, legal access for refugees fleeing from impossible situations and seeking entry into Europe. When asked what “welcoming the stranger” means to him, this is what he said:

In recent years I have often thought about the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37.  There is an aspect of that story, which is most evident in the original Greek New Testament that is very close to my heart. When the Good Samaritan brings this beaten, hurt, and wounded man to the inn, the Greek word for inn is pandocheion, literally “a place that welcomes everyone.” This is what the church must be: A place that welcomes everyone.

How appallingly ironic is it that so many people celebrate the Christmas story while simultaneously railing against refugees? Why is it that there is no room at our inn?

The short answer to that questions is xenophobia—the fear of strangers. Luca Maria Negro has something to say about that as well:

There is another word in the original Greek New Testament that also means a lot to me. That word is philoxenia, which literally means “love for the xenos or stranger” or, as it is rendered in most English translations, “hospitality.” The Letter to the Hebrews says that, by practicing philoxenia or hospitality, some have hosted angels without knowing it. Giving hospitality to strangers brings a blessing. The antonym for philoxenia needs no translation. It is xenophobia, literally “hatred for foreigners.” The sin of Sodom mentioned in Genesis 18 is xenophobia, not homosexuality as some have assumed [see Ezekiel 16:49-50]. In the context of these passages from Hebrews and Genesis, xenophobia is simply a failure to give hospitality to strangers. It is a failure that leads to death.

If we assume that Jesus knew the story of his birth, it is easy to understand why he treasured the story of the Good Samaritan. The only question is: Will we who call ourselves Christians learn to treasure it as well? And even more important, will we act on it?

Ponder this poem by David Adam:

You are the caller

            You are the poor

You are the stranger

            At my door

You are the wanderer

            The unfed

You are the homeless

            With no bed

You are the man

            Driven insane

You are the child

            Crying in pain

You are the other

            Who comes to me

If I open to another

            You’re born in me

“Christmas Poor” by David Adam from The Edge of Glory (Triangle/SPCK, 1985)

Pray: O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray. Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.

From Phillips Brooks, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” (public domain)