Swept Inn

Thump. I let my exhausted body fall heavily into the chair beside my bed and rubbed my calloused hands across my face. It had been a long day. A really long day. Travelers had been in and out since early this morning, asking questions about directions to such-and-such a place, bargaining for lower prices on the rooms I offered, rattling on with tales of their dusty journeys to who-knows-where, crunching on food, spilling drinks, talking, laughing...always needing me...Tell me: How did I ever think that this inn-keeping business would be fun?

My hands dropped from my face into my lap, and I leaned back in my chair to stare absentmindedly at the ceiling. It had been a long day, yes. But it had been anything but typical. A small group of young men had come in today, murmuring excitedly about something. Their eyes flickered with a secret joy, and the edges of their mouths seemed to twitch every second as though they couldn't decide whether to carry on their conversation or to abandon themselves in laughter—that happy expression that comes inevitably when you're as lighthearted as these men were today. Sometimes I worried about guests like these, but these men were different. They were excited and eager in their discussion, but their youthful faces bore no signs of mischief. Rather, they emanated a simple and seemingly contagious joy, a fantastic innocence, and a confident peace. I served them their meal in quiet curiosity, wondering what it was that could make young men so happy in a time like this. Nothing particularly happy seemed to be going on around us. Yet, they smiled. And they smiled a lot.

It didn't take them long to tell me the reason for their mirth.

"Have you heard?" one of the youths exclaimed, his dark eyes shining and his cheeks turning pink as he invited me, a stranger, into their vibrant circle.

"Heard what?" I asked.

Another youth piped up in response, his hands flying into the air as he spoke: "Of Jesus of Nazareth! He's alive!"

"Okay?" I wasn't sure why it mattered that someone was alive. Who was this Jesus anyway? Wasn't—oh wait. Nazareth? Nazareth. Jesus? Oh...wait. Jesus. Alive? Alive?!?

I had heard of him. His parents came to me once. That's why Nazareth sounded so familiar. Right—yes. They had been the ones who had taken shelter with my livestock all those years ago, as I had no more room in my inn. (It was census time. Give me a break.) His mother had given birth to him while they were here.

I had heard he grew up to be a revolutionary of some sort, challenging the esteemed teachers and claiming to heal people. I never thought much of it, though I did grow tired of hearing his name reverberating through my halls. It seemed as though everyone had something to say of him. But he died some time ago—three days or so, wasn't it? I was glad for his death. Perhaps some new news would filter through my inn at last.

These thoughts flew through my head as I stood before the youths who had so excitedly addressed me. Images of that cold night some thirty years ago rushed into my mind, almost drowning out the expectant faces of my guests. I must have looked quite funny standing there, pitcher in hand and mouth wide open. Who knows how long it took me to respond? But their smiles never faded.

"Alive, you say?" I muttered. "So he didn't die, after all?" I was a bit disappointed.

"No, no. He did die," the first youth explained. "He was as dead as you could get. But he's not anymore! His tomb is empty, and some of the women have seen him. He's alive!"

My brow furrowed. What could it mean? I talked with the men for a short while and then dismissed myself—awkwardly, I'm sure—to wait on a group of grumpy-looking and disheveled elderly men who had gathered impatiently in the doorway, waiting for me to assist them.

I made it through most of the rest of the day without thinking much of the announcement the youths had given. But now, as I sat alone in my bedroom, the blank ceiling seemed to allow me no other thought. Jesus...alive...

I had always ignored his words. I hadn't cared when he died. But I couldn't help thinking that I did know more of him than I had thought—I had heard so much from the travelers who passed in and out of my rooms...

Before I knew it, I found myself on my knees. I remembered. He had said that he was the way to the Father. He had said that we should follow him.

I wasn't quite sure what that meant—but my heart longed to see. Something big was happening. I could feel it. People don't just rise from the dead. But he did. And I knew that that meant that everything he had said suddenly mattered a lot more.

But would he accept me? Me? The one who had ignored him for so long? The one who hardly knew much of him now? The one who had been cruel enough to let his first moments in this world occur in a manger?

I rubbed my eyes, fearful that I had missed it. But then, out of nowhere, a psalm I had memorized as a boy flooded into my mind again. I found myself praying with it, and, as I prayed, my fear began to change into the same humble joy that I had witnessed a few hours before in the faces of the youths.

Blessed is he
     whose transgressions are forgiven,
     whose sins are covered.
Blessed is the man
     whose sin the LORD does not count against him
     and in whose spirit is no deceit.
When I kept silent,
     my bones wasted away
     through my groaning all day long.
For day and night
     your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was sapped
     as in the heat of summer.
Then I acknowledged my sin to you
     and did not cover up my iniquity.
I said, 'I will confess
     my transgressions to the LORD'—
and you forgave
     the guilt of my sin.
Therefore let everyone who is godly pray to you
     while you may be found;
surely when the mighty waters rise,
     they will not reach him.
You are my hiding place;
     you will protect me from trouble
     and surround me with songs of deliverance.
I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
     I will counsel you and watch over you.
Do not be like the horse or the mule,
     which have no understanding
but must be controlled by bit and bridle
     or they will not come to you.
Many are the woes of the wicked,
     but the LORD's unfailing love
     surrounds the man who trusts in him.
Rejoice in the LORD and be glad, you righteous;
     sing, all you who are upright in heart!

Oh, the joy of forgiveness! My heart was overflowing with gratefulness. He accepts even the one who threw him out of the inn before he was even born. His love abounds.

I lay down that night in peace. My eyes brimmed with tears of relief. I felt as though I would burst. He reigns. He lives. I couldn't wait to talk to my young guests in the morning. I had a lot to learn, I knew.

But, for now, I could be content with this: My God forgives. My God is alive.

Many are the woes of the wicked,
     but the LORD's unfailing love
     surrounds the man who trusts in him.
Rejoice in the LORD and be glad, you righteous;
     sing, all you who are upright in heart!

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The psalm quoted here is Psalm 32, in its entirety (NIV 1984). May you be blessed as you pray it too!