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Joseph and Mary had to walk from Nazareth to Bethlehem for Emperor Augustus’s census. For years, I never questioned this statement. The Romans conducted a census every five years for tax purposes, though there was never a stipulation that men return to their ancestral homes. This would have proved to be an unreasonable hardship for many people throughout the Empire, especially legionaries, sailors, and government officials.

Why did Luke include this detail in his gospel? First, it was important that the Messiah come from the same town as David and be in David’s line, even if it was through his adoptive father Joseph. While David was the second Messiah, he was the first one that God liked.

Second, it showed Joseph and Mary (or at the very least Joseph) to be obedient Roman subjects, in contrast to Jewish Zealots who rebelled against the census and targeted people who registered.

Third, in the way it was described by Luke, the story of the census highlights the capriciousness and control of the Roman Empire. it also shows their near god-like power to intimidate people into making unwise and dangerous decisions. Mary and Joseph lived in Nazareth, which is at most 11 miles and as little as 8.6 miles away from Bethlehem. Having Mary walk for an extended period of time was a bad idea. The more prudent thing to do would have been to wait until Jesus was born, then, when it was time to travel to Jerusalem for the rights of purification (when Jesus was 40 days old), take a detour through Bethlehem and get registered.

But there’s no drama in that, nor any tension or hardship. Luke wants his readers to know how terrible and powerful the Roman Empire was (though most of Luke’s contemporaries knew well the might of Rome). He wants us to know and feel the hardship Mary and Joseph experienced. There is no birthing tent, midwife, or female relatives at hand to help Mary give birth. Jesus was laid in a feeding trough after he was born, and this was not at all common. Both the feeding trough and the barn were unclean.

It doesn’t matter if Luke’s gospel is a factual account or his interpretation of how things unfolded; what matters is the truth of the story. Truth and fact are not the same thing. It is a fact that I am married to Jennifer; it is true that I love her. I can’t empirically prove that I love Jennifer, nor can I prove that she loves me, but we both know it to be true. What’s true about the Nativity Story is that Jesus was born into a world of fear and terror, so much so that his adoptive father endangered Mary’s well-being and possibly her life in order to keep Rome happy.

What is true is that Jesus was born in squalor, not extravagance, and he was first revealed to the lowest group of respectable people (actors, athletes, and prostitutes were the only groups lower than shepherds, and they were not at all respected or considered to be respectable). Jesus’ entry into our world sets the tone for his life and for the rest of the Gospel; it’s his origin story, and Luke emphasizes what is most important to him and his audience.

What is most important to me in this story is the raw, mundane drama of it. It is everyday life turned up to 11. Yes, there were Angels, but they revealed themselves to shepherds. Yes, God was made incarnate through Jesus, but he was born in a stable. It was extraordinarily ordinary, much like our water, bread, and wine; the simple transformed into the miraculous and complex. God, the creator of all, unmatched in majesty, and God, the still, small voice in the wind, God, the crying voice of an infant, comforted by his tired and loving mom.

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org

There was no room in the inn. The innkeeper turned away a very pregnant Mary–possibly in labor–because there was no room. If nothing else, there was his room, but giving them his room didn’t simply mean he would have to sleep somewhere else for the night. Given that she was close to giving birth, odds were incredibly good she would have the child in his room, making it ritually unclean for eight days.

It was this whole thing; complicated, messy, and inconvenient. The easiest thing for him to do was to say there was no room and that his hands were tied. Saying something is not possible is much easier and less guilt-inducing than saying I don’t want to do it. A better answer than I can’t or I won’t is to simply say no. It’s simple, to the point, and a complete sentence.

But yes can also be a complete sentence. Yes. When I say I can’t, won’t, or no, it’s typically because I don’t want to be inconvenienced by something complicated and messy. But that’s how Jesus came into our world: complicated (virgin birth/Son of God), messy (born in a stable during a ridiculous census ordered by the emperor), and inconvenienced (the Holy Family had to flee Bethlehem to Egypt for fear that the puppet King Herod would murder Jesus).

Jesus came into the world the same as we all do; He didn’t wait for us to achieve perfection, but jumped in and joined us as we are. He said yes to us, even when the world said no to Him. He said yes, and He says yes to us now: yes, you are beloved, yes you matter, yes you were made for greatness (and what is more great than loving as we are called to love?). Jesus says yes to us. What are we saying to Him?

The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector
jason.shelby@stfrancispalosverdes.org

In this season of stewardship and fundraising, we have heard how St. Francis is a sanctuary for the lost and hurting, a place that fosters and honors commitment, encourages introspection, and cares for and includes people of all ages and walks of life. For my family and me, St. Francis is all that and more. It was our refuge, and a much-needed oasis after a long walk in the wilderness.

Jennifer and I needed to leave Mississippi; the stress of our jobs was slowly destroying our bodies. After the awfulness of COVID, we wanted to be close to one of our families, and Southern California was the better fit for us. St. Francis wasn’t on our radar; we were looking for a church in the Diocese of San Diego, and had started looking in the Diocese of Los Angeles, but in Orange County, as we wanted to be as close as possible to Jennifer’s family (they live in La Mesa). I was asked to look at St. Francis and Palos Verdes Estates, a place I’d never heard of before the summer of ’22.

When Jennifer and I visited in October of that year, we didn’t know what to expect. Whatever it was, it had to be right – it had to be worth moving across the country. We felt the palpable presence of the Holy Spirit when we stepped into the chancel, and the warmth of the vestry enveloped us when we met with them the first night.

We weren’t asked to prove ourselves or demonstrate why we were the right match for St. Francis. From the very beginning, we were allowed and encouraged to be ourselves, and we felt comfortable being ourselves. No one on the vestry felt the need to prove themselves or let us know how important they were; they were approachable, affable, and loving. Jennifer and I were ready to move – something neither of us enjoys but have both endured multiple times. We were overjoyed when we were asked to come to St. Francis. I remember saying to Holly Valiquette (the Senior Warden at the time) that I would have to expunge the “y’alls” from my speech, and she said, “Jason, we want you, y’alls and all.”

I have always been able to be myself at St. Francis, which is an incredible gift. Jennifer and the kids also have the privilege of always getting to be themselves; there is zero expectation that they dress or act a certain way. We’ve been able to rebuild ourselves and grow at St. Francis in ways we were not able to before arriving here. I continually tell people that, as beautiful as our church and grounds are, the people are better. We are a place where everyone can be themselves, a rarity in our world. We are a place where the sanctuary is truly that: a sacred place where we can be the people that God made us to be. That is an incredible gift.

Our church is funded entirely by the congregation; the cell tower and Town and Country each provide revenue streams, but only through the consent of the people. Our endowments were started and funded through gifts from parishioners, and nearly half of our budget comes from pledges. It’s this latter number that fluctuates the most – and the one that you control. Our church is beautiful, but it is not extravagant. I’m asking you to pledge for the first time, pledge again, and/or to raise your pledge, not for anything superficial, but to augment and improve what we are doing now. We are getting new people in church every Sunday (which is why I explain communion every Sunday), and at least a quarter of them are coming back.

While much of the work in the church is volunteer-driven and managed, we live in a day and age where we need to rely more and more on paid employees. We are the church that loves Jesus, and we don’t pretend to be anything else. There is no illusion that we are perfect, better, or without sin; we are ourselves, y’alls and all, and we invite everyone who joins us to be themselves. This is a gift worth supporting. I pray that you will make a mindful and generous pledge to St. Francis, not out of fear or begrudgingly, but out of gratitude. Every pledge is important, whether it is $52 dollars a year or five figures and up. As Jesus reminds us, “Where your treasure is, there your heart is too.”

—The Rev. Jason Shelby, Rector