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hath not where to lay his head.” He was a home less wanderer. Jerusalem welcomed Him as a King, but hissed and hooted and crucified Him when He refused earthly dominion. He trod the winepress of wrath and suffering and sorrow alone and, at last, hung on the cross, isolated between heaven and earth—naked, forsaken and alone. We may design dainty, picturesque ceremonies and reverent and dignified movements, elaborate and impressive symbolism, noble music and fra grant censers and all the rest that goes with ele gant religious activity. Or perhaps we may dis card color and banish everything that is ornate and beautiful, eliminate all the glitter and pageantry, keep our music very simple, keep everything severe and plain and unadorned. But whether our ceremony be elaborate or severe, we say, “ Here, Christ, here is a ritualistic dwelling. Take up Thy dwelling here.” But again He an swers, “Give me thy heart.” Sometimes we think we can please Him with our creed—a stately and beautiful thing, all the more venerable and respected because of its age and majesty. The weather stains of centuries only add to its significance and glory and we say, “ Here is a creed for Thee, Master.” Creed is important. There are those who say, “We have no creed.” But, in saying so, they state their creed. You cannot get away from credal position. But what the Saviour wants more than credal statements is personal faith. He solicits, not my creed, but my person; not my words, but my heart. So let us look at our own lives in the light of this text and truth. Our trouble today is ju s t' what it was when Christ came. There is not room; for Him in many of our lives. We are busy with other things. There are heavenly songs in the air, heavenly messengers about us, but we neither hear nor see. Why? Because we are so wicked, so willfully base and mean? No . . . because we are taken up with other things. Why do men keep Christ out of their lives? For one thing, because they are preoccupied with the affairs and occupations of life, as I have suggested. Like Pharaoh’s lean cattle, they swal low up everything else. Another reason is be cause of the cares of life. We become so absorbed with our cares that we are careless about Him. Our pleasures also keep Christ out. We become numb to spiritual values as we dwell in the pleas ures of sense. Above all, because of our sin. Sin crowds Him out. But, if He is allowed to take over our lives, He will crowd out sin. Today make room for Christ. Not only make room for Him, but turn the whole of your life over to Him; let Him become Master and Lord.
W h a t e v e r ELSE of the Gospel history men forget, there is a fact stated in Luke which lingers—the fact of the manger birth. Listen to these words: “ And she [that is, Mary] brought forth her first born son and she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, be cause there was no room for them in the inn. (Luke 2:7.) It is a fact which suggests to us man’s indifference to God- I know there are many who deny the truth of the nativity account. But the man who has been led by the light of the world across the wastes and through the dark places of life does not have to ask the astronomers for permission to believe in the star of Bethlehem, even though astronomy testifies to the presence of that brilliant star in the sky. The man to whom that manger-born Prince has been a personal and vivid and blessed reality need not seek the approval of the historian as to the fact of His coming, although His com ing is as well authenticated a fact as history affords. The man who understands by faith the mystery of creation and believes that God made the earth, the heavens, man, and woman from the rib of man, needs no doctor to tell him whether ¡ or not the virgin birth could be possible, although this man, Luke, who gives us this account, was a doctor of medicine himself. So, our purpose is not to prove the facts of the manger birth; it is to ponder those facts and to seek the spiritual truths which they suggest. Let us begin with that sentence, “ There was no room for them in the inn.” I am told that in such vil lages and in those days, the inn was not much better than the stable. They say the real differ ence was in the company, rather than the accom modations, and that the manger was a safer, cleaner crib for the holy Child than the crowded floor of the guest chamber. But this does not alter the fact that when the Lord of Glory came to be born on this earth, not even a crude, com mon guest chamber could be found for Him. Why? Because those people were base and cold and cruel and evil? No. . . because they did not know who He was and, worse, they didn t care. They were like men today — concerned about taxes, independence, a world empire and not much concerned about where babies were born. It’s a painful fact that, not only at His birth, but also throughout His life, Jesus endured this forsakenness; He was despised and rejected of men. There was no room for Him in the world. When He preached at Nazareth, where He was reared, they threw Him out of the city. At Caper naum they besought Him to depart. He passed though Samaria, and the Samaritans would not receive Him. “ The foxes have holes,” He said, “ and the birds have nests: but the Son-of man
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