When Mary and Joseph rode into Bethlehem to register for the census, they did so as undocumented and unhoused people. The census would address their documentation issue, but it would be complicated.
Before arriving in Bethlehem, they were betrothed and headed toward marriage. Shockingly, though, the news broke that Mary was pregnant before the marriage. Regardless of the means, the news of the pregnancy was scandalous.
Mary was an undocumented, unwed, and unhoused young mother-to-be. Her unborn son was a mamzer, a child of questionable birth. In today’s context, Jesus would have been known as a bastard.
Being a mamzer was difficult. The practice was based upon Deuteronomy 23:3, “No one misbegotten shall be admitted into the congregation of the Lord; none of his descendants, even in the tenth generation, shall be admitted into the congregation of the Lord.”
The exclusion of a mamzer into the “congregation of the Lord” would be a variety of cold and calculated experiences for Jesus.
Before his birth, Mary and Joseph would be the first to feel the sting of exclusion. Mary ended up giving birth in a stable not because of the lack of available guest rooms. Plenty of rooms would have been available in Bethlehem while the census unfolded.
No, Mary and Joseph were turned away because of her “condition” as an unwed woman. The text reads, “There was no place for them in the guest room,” suggesting there were rooms, but they were not welcomed because she was pregnant with a mamzer (Luke 2:1-7).
No rooms.
No compassion.
No mercy.
Even when Jesus was presented at the temple in Jerusalem, the family was not welcome unless accompanied by someone worthy. Simeon, a “righteous and devout man,” blessed Jesus (Luke 2:22-36). But he was not the only one because Anna the Prophet also recognized the significance of the little mamzer.
Simeon and Anna were not the only elders who noticed the importance of this particular mamzer. King Herod did so as well.
So, intrigued and distraught at the thought of a potential rival, Herod issued the decree to kill male children under the age of two in the region of Bethlehem. As a result, Mary and Joseph hit the road again, fleeing to Egypt with the little one in tow (Matthew 2:13-15). They arrived at the border as refugees fleeing political violence back home.
As a mamzer, Jesus would continue feeling the sting of exclusion by religious, economic, and political players. As a child, he would not be allowed a formal education. Instead, Jesus would have depended on his family and any rogue rabbis willing to teach a mamzer.
When the family returned to Jerusalem, as Jesus became an adult at age 12 (Luke 2:41-52), the temple rabbis were astonished by the boy’s questions and insights. A mamzer should not have been that “educated.”
Jesus would also not be welcomed to social gatherings or community parties because his presence would distract others. Family gatherings were another matter, though, because they knew and loved him.
When Jesus sought friends, he did so in seedy places where seedy people dwelled. His friends were fishermen, tax collectors, prostitutes, and others outside the norms of “civilized” society. The mamzer found friends with similar backgrounds and outcomes — all ostracized and excluded from the acceptable standards.
As I reflect upon and contemplate the Christmas story this year, I cannot help but imagine Mary and Joseph arriving at the church’s steps today, carrying their little bastard with them. How would they be treated?
There is plenty of space in the pews of the churches, but would there be room for an undocumented, unhoused and unwed family?
Would their bastard have an opportunity to play with the other children, or would he quickly be identified as troubled?
Would this ethnic family with brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin be given the royal treatment, or would they be offered a fuel voucher and an invitation to move along?
While I still love the Christmas story and the church that celebrates it, my fear has always been that the church would react the same way the faith community reacted two thousand years ago—there is no room for Jesus and his family even today.
If the church wants to welcome the undocumented, unhoused, unwed, and unwanted of this world, then we must first welcome them into our hearts and lives.
We must welcome, include, and love as Jesus did, as a bastard who knew the sting of exclusion but practiced the radical embrace of God’s love.
As we enter this Christmas week, remember that our presence and love are the greatest gifts we can offer anyone. Let us be there for those needing a kind and generous hand and extend a loving embrace that includes everyone.
Merry Christmas, friends!
May you find room in your heart, church, and home for the wandering.