THE INNKEEPER

Through the thoroughfares of Zion

                                                            On the sun-swept morning air

                                                Sounds the rage of priests and people

                                                            Searing all with scorn and glare.

 

                                                Why in this the festive season

                                                            Must this savage spirit reign?

                                                Why must joyful tones of worship

                                                            Lose their notes in hurt and pain?

 

                                                In the midst of hateful shouters

                                                            Limps a form with gentle eyes

                                                Beaten, bloodied, yet undaunted

                                                            Soon to grasp the cosmic prize.

 

                                                Straining to behold the horror

                                                            Thoughts unbidden haunt my mind

                                                Words and deeds of grace and mercy

                                                            From a heart supremely kind.

 

                                                O that day when I first saw Him,

                                                            With the children at His side!

                                                Telling stories rich with meaning

                                                            Humble hearts to mold and guide.

 

                                                Then at once my memories wakened

                                                            As I heard the crowd converse

                                                Calling forth the ancient Scriptures

                                                            And a most disturbing verse.

 

                                                Yes, they said, the prophet Micah

                                                            Speaking of the coming King

                                                Said in Bethlehem of Judah

                                                            Heaven’s joy His birth would bring.

 

                                                Long ago I kept a hostel

                                                            In that unpretentious place

                                                When the crush of pagan taxes

                                                            Brought despair to every face.

                                               

                                                From the crowd, that peasant couple

                                                            Seeking lodging for the night

                                                That dear girl, in deep travail

                                                            Pleading solace in her plight!

 

                                                In the years to come I pondered

                                                            If in fact that child was Him

                                                If the One now torn and suffering

                                                            Lay within that stable’s rim.

 

                                                Was it I who told His parents

                                                            That the inn had none to spare?

                                                Was it I who gave Him shelter

                                                            With the ox, the mule, the hare?

 

                                                When the Son of God came needful

                                                            Of a place to lay His head,

                                                Why did I not seize the moment

                                                            And bequeath to Him my bed?

                                               

                                                Now I linger at a distance

                                                            As He hangs upon the cross

                                                All at once my heart convulses

                                                            As I fear eternal loss.

 

                                                “Lord Messiah, hear my weeping,

                                                            “Take my shattered, sin-stained heart,

                                                “Take it all, not just a stable,

                                                            “Love and peace at last impart.”

Pastor Kevin Paulson holds a Bachelor’s degree in theology from Pacific Union College, a Master of Arts in systematic theology from Loma Linda University, and a Master of Divinity from the SDA Theological Seminary at Andrews University. He served the Greater New York Conference of Seventh-day Adventists for ten years as a Bible instructor, evangelist, and local pastor. He writes regularly for Liberty magazine and does script writing for various evangelistic ministries within the denomination. He continues to hold evangelistic and revival meetings throughout the North American Division and beyond, and is a sought-after seminar speaker relative to current issues in the Seventh-day Adventist Church. He presently resides in Berrien Springs, Michigan