No Room in the Inn

She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, 

because there was no room for them in the inn.

Luke 2:7

The great divide - between the brain and heart, between those who have fully surrendered to the spiritual life, spiralling closer in toward God, and those who remain locked and loaded in the daily grind, between all the various polarities existent in our world - seems only to be expanding.

As economic times worsen, as poverty engulfs a greater number of people and nations, as even whole nations are swallowed up by the quicksand of our declining age, an atmosphere of fear spreads like a plaque across our globe. That fear is a pernicious virus that undermines the very confidence of those who have taken a firm stand for the spiritual life over the material, for those who have chosen God over money.

As in ancient Christian times and in even more ancient Hebrew experience and more recent Muslim, those who choose their faith in God over the power paradigms of whatever oppressive government or culture in which they find themselves, are all now in that predicament. Yet, what appears as religion is not what it seems. Today religious fundamentalism is less a spiritual journey than it is a fear-based corporate soul swamp.

Not long ago, our American culture superficially claimed congruence with the Christian faith - that is - Protestant Christianity. Today, even that has been boiled away resulting in the madness that has stolen our sanity, allowing another polarity parking space in its once dignified place. Fear - rather than faith - is now religion's toughest plow employed to break the rocky soil of the hungry human heart.

People, you are afraid of God, afraid of the changes that are undercurrent today, afraid of the very news you read about or hear about, afraid of tomorrow, afraid of losing control over your own plans for your life, afraid of economic disaster, afraid of poverty, afraid of illness, afraid of every kind of possible lack you can think of and of whatever the media spins over your heads to keep you steeped in fear and therefore malleable by the powers that plot for your souls. Do you know that in your fear you actually feed and fuel that which you are most afraid of?

The global thermostat on fear is rising perilously close to a boiling point. As fear rises, so does fundamentalist, legalistic religion and all other corporate strongholds that thwart those authentically guided by the presence of God, to safely continue on their way away from the world's hold on the masses. 

Symbolically, the spiritual journey may be likened to stepping into the quiet sanctuary of an old church on Main street (or a mosque or a temple) at noon when the city streets are flooded with people hustling about on an ordinary day. The contrast between the rich quiet inside the dimly lit church and the virulent madness outside is a good example of the contrast between the spiritual life, full immersion in God consciousness and manipulative, money-making that stalks even the best of us, even the most gracious and civilized of us.

The spiritual journey, which ultimately leads to the birth of our true, eternal selves, our authentic God-consciousness, often ends in a manger when we discover there is simply no room for us in the world's Inn.

For anyone who has sincerely sought God, sought the kingdom of God within and in that seeking, found, and in that finding realized a sincere desire to honor each and every one in truth and kindness, nurturing the other as they nurture their own souls, they may find a lackluster round of applause from the world around them. When times are tough, as they are today, and jobs are in short supply, the chase is on. The hounds of hell pursue the angels of light at top speed using their weapons of fear, intimidation, manipulation and finally, lastly, abandonment to chase the angels out of town, away from the center of real life activity, into the country, into the hills, into and among the poorest of the poor and into a cow-dung stinking manger. 

The spiritual journey is best illustrated in the archetypal journey to Bethlehem. A young, fragile girl heavy in the last days of her pregnancy, rides into the bustling town center hoping to find a gentle restful place to give birth. With tax collectors poised at every corner, masses of people loudly lunging in greed for the best room, the best food, the most food, the most of everything, and most likely Roman legions stationed everywhere to maintain some order, a room at the town's inn is sought for the young woman. How much can they pay? How long will they stay? You can almost see it. Bristled away, they look elsewhere as the labor has already begun.

As entering that old city cathedral at noon on an ordinary work day, they slip away from the noise, confusion, fear and angst-ridden town clamoring for room in the Inn, and enter into the pastoral region outside, populated by a scattered few shepherds - the poorest of the poor, the outcast, those who already aren't being counted in the census - those already off the grid. While the accomodations are dirty, stinky and severely less than what one would want to give birth to a child in, it is peaceful, unthreatening. After a radiant sunset, casting gorgeous light shows across the mountainous region, in the quiet, alone in the presence of peace and God and their own witness to a miracle, a child is born.

There never was room for the birth of the Christ in the center of town, of any town, in any time, ever. There never has been room for God in our world, a world steeped in pride and fear, limitation and loathing. There never was and today it seems more evident than ever.

And yet, as the thermostat rises on our fear-based global spiritual paralysis, we all must choose to either fight for a room in the inn or to slip into the quiet of the countryside where we - each and every one of us - can bring forth the birth of the Christ within us. We each carry within us that seed of magnificent light and love, of power and joy, of Christ. And, we each, like young Mary, have traveled, or will travel, a distance through many rocky ravines on our own spiritual journey. It is a spiritual pregnancy, a liberation of that deeply oppressed, even buried, pearl of great price, which, in Jungian terms, is that sacred self. We cannot reach heaven until that inner self, that Christ-self, is born within us. 

Alone in this spiritual desert, rejected and betrayed, we are each selected, chosen, to go the distance, the rest of the way to that proverbial Bethlehem, or Calgary, or whatever religious metaphor you might want to use to typify the universal human spiritual journey. St. John of the Cross rejoices when he has found the way out of his prison. In the light outside, he meets and finds God and a love unlike anything this world could offer. Rather than an Inn, a luxurious hotel complete with spa and other worldly luxuries, the birthplace for his Christ-self was a prison, a dungeon really deep underground - dark, cold, and most likely rat infested. For the great Christ, it was a stinky place in which the farm animals were kept. The images of rejection, of meeting God on the parameters of ordinary life, outside of it, is a sign posting the way to God.

If you find yourself outside the Inn, in a dark, cold, abandoned place because you have sought the spiritual life, rather than the technological, fiscally responsible, worldliness of ordinary life, then be grateful. Get on your knees and praise God with all your heart because the kingdom is fast approaching and you will soon be embraced by that which is eternal. You will be entering the true temple and you will know it by its peace, quiet and radiant love.


Photo: Celestial Spotlight by Trevor Anderson
See more of his photos on his photostream:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/trevoranderson/with/5016443590/