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80 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
Joseph went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee, to the town
of Bethlehem in Judea, the birthplace of King David. Joseph
went there because he was a descendant of David. He went to
register with Mary, who was promised in marriage to him. She
was pregnant. And while they were in Bethlehem, the time
came for her to have her baby. She gave birth to her first son,
wrapped him in cloths, and laid him in a manger. There was
no room for them to stay in the inn.
And from the ninth chapter of Luke:
As they went on their way, a man said to Jesus, “Jesus, I
will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him,
“Foxes have holes, birds have nests, but the Son of Humanity
has no place to lay his head and rest.”
Then he said to another, “Follow me.” But that one said,
“Sir, first let me go back and bury my daddy.” Jesus answered,
“Let the dead bury their own dead. You go and proclaim the
Beloved Community.”
Another one said, “I will follow you, sir. But first let me
go and say good-bye to my family.” Jesus said, “Anyone who
starts to plow and then keeps looking back is of no use to the
Beloved Community.”
As we relate the New Testament to the Old Testament, as we try to tell a
story of continuity from one covenant to the other, we must face this fact: in the
New Testament there is a big disappointment in the place and social location of
Jesus. How they had hoped and struggled, and how we yet dream in our own
lives of a land flowing with milk and honey—a place as was promised to Sarah
and Abraham—where we shall be great.
When we jump into the New Testament there is an embarrassing and disastrous
change: for this one there is no room in the inn. So seek him in a
manger. There is disappointment when we come to the New Testament as we
drive our way through Egyptland, across that wilderness and into Canaan, and
then on to Palestine. We think of the leadership in the Old Testament, and we
know those dreams deep in the collective unconscious of the Hebrew people: for
King David, dreams of a kingdom mighty, powerful, and strong. But in the New
Testament, the one who has the mantle of David is a vagrant, a Messiah, a
Christ; he is Jesus the peasant. And that’s not really what, or who, we want.
There’s even disappointment in our building programs. How much sense it
makes for great architecture to be our goal, when we’re rooted in the Old Testament.
We dream dreams, and we build great temples in Jerusalem. But when we
come to the New Testament, we find one who is more destitute than foxes, who