Who We Leave Out of the Nativity: Lessons from Luke 2 for Today's Church
As the Christmas season approaches, our minds often drift to the familiar scenes of the nativity: a cozy stable, Mary and Joseph cradling the baby Jesus, wise men bearing gifts, and angels singing overhead. But what if I told you that our polished retellings of this story might be missing some crucial characters—and with them, vital truths about God's redemptive plan? In this blog post, we'll dive deep into Luke 2:1-20, exploring the theme "Who We Leave Out of the Nativity." Drawing from a recent homily I delivered to a group of fundamentalist Christians, we'll uncover how this passage challenges us to embrace the full scope of the gospel, reaching those society—and sometimes even the church—overlooks.
The Humble Setting: A World in Motion, But No Room for the King
Yet, amid this imperial pomp, God orchestrates the birth of His Son in the most unassuming way. "She gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn" (Luke 2:7). No palace, no fanfare—just a feeding trough in a stable. This isn't romantic; it's raw humility. As fundamentalists who cherish the inerrancy of Scripture, we must grapple with this: the Creator of the universe entered our world as an outcast. John 1:10-11 echoes this: "He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him."
In our modern nativity scenes, we often omit the innkeeper—or the implication of rejection. Who was this figure who turned away the holy family? We don't know for sure, but their exclusion speaks volumes. It foreshadows Jesus' entire ministry, where He would be despised and rejected (Isaiah 53:3). Today, in our churches, do we make room for the displaced? Immigrants fleeing persecution, refugees seeking asylum, or families facing eviction—these are the modern equivalents of Mary and Joseph. If our fundamentalism becomes a barrier rather than a bridge, we're leaving out those Christ came to save. As James 2:1-4 warns, showing partiality dishonors the poor, whom God often chooses to inherit His kingdom.
The Shepherds: God's Message to the Marginalized
Moving to the fields outside Bethlehem, Luke introduces another group we tend to sentimentalize: the shepherds. "And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night" (Luke 2:8). In first-century Jewish society, shepherds were far from the idyllic figures in our Christmas cards. They were ritually unclean, barred from temple rituals due to their work. Poor, illiterate, and nomadic, they lived on the edges of civilization, much like today's day laborers or migrant workers.
But it's to these outsiders that the angel appears: "Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:10-11). Not to kings, priests, or scholars—to shepherds! And then, a heavenly choir bursts forth: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!" (Luke 2:14).
Why shepherds? Because the gospel is for sinners, not the self-righteous. Jesus later affirms this in Luke 5:32: "I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." As fundamentalists standing firm on biblical truth, we rightly defend doctrines like the virgin birth and Christ's deity. But do we extend that truth to the "shepherds" in our midst—the addict, the ex-convict, the skeptic? I've seen churches where the homeless are welcomed not just with food, but with open arms into fellowship. That's the nativity in action. If we preach purity without compassion, we're editing out the very people God invited first.
Consider a personal story: In my ministry, I once encountered a man who had spent years on the streets, scarred by addiction. He stumbled into our service during a Christmas Eve gathering, drawn by the lights. Instead of turning him away, we shared the story of the shepherds—outcasts chosen by God. That night, he found Christ. Stories like this remind us: the nativity isn't exclusive; it's explosive, shattering barriers.
The Broader Empire: Power vs. True Peace
Lurking in the background is Caesar Augustus, a symbol of earthly authority. His decree sets the stage, but God's sovereignty shines through. The Messiah is born in Bethlehem, fulfilling Micah 5:2, right under Rome's radar. The angels' peace isn't the Pax Romana—a fragile truce enforced by swords—but shalom through faith in Christ.
In our politically charged world, fundamentalists often decry secularism and moral relativism—and rightly so. But we must not ally the gospel with worldly power. The nativity teaches that true change comes from the manger, not the throne. As we engage culture, let's proclaim Christ to all, without favoritism, echoing the angels' inclusive joy "for all the people."
A Call to Inclusion: Living the Nativity Today
The shepherds didn't just hear; they acted: "Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened" (Luke 2:15). They found the child, shared the news, and returned praising God. Mary pondered it all in her heart (Luke 2:19). What about us?
In expanding this homily for the blog, I urge us to audit our lives and churches. Who are we leaving out? The nativity demands action: volunteer at shelters, mentor the marginalized, preach without prejudice. As Matthew 25:40 reminds us, serving the least is serving Christ.
This Christmas, let's reclaim the full nativity—not as a cute story, but as a radical call to gospel inclusion. May it transform us, drawing the overlooked into God's family.
What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments—how has the nativity challenged your view of outreach?
DMMC
12-2-25
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