Jesus was born in a barn. I know, I know. Wrong holiday.

Jesus was born in Bethlehem, wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. Now, the manger isn’t the barn. It’s a feeding trough, so it’s reasonable to think there was a barn involved. Some sort of shelter. Though, in the Middle East, with its desert climate, mangers can just be out in the open fields. And yet, at least in my mind, there was a barn.

Growing up, you may have heard the phrase, “Were you born in a barn?” It’s what you say when someone leaves a door open. It implies poor manners. It comes from the idea that animals live in barns and don’t know how to shut doors, and that barns are drafty places where doors are always left open.

I spent a lot of time in barns. My family had horses. My sister started riding at the YMCA camp down the road. It was at that camp that I met Kate. You could say our love story began in a barn. We know those spaces well. Barns are earthy places. Practical places. There’s not much room for pomp and circumstance.

We once toured the racing barns of Lexington, Kentucky. We visited the stately barns of Middleburg, Virginia. And even as beautiful as those were, they were still barns. Still thick with the smell of animals. Their feed, and the product of their feed. Their hair and musk. The bugs that bite them, and the bugs that eat those bugs. And of course, the open doors. Barn doors are almost always open for air and movement.

“Shut the door! Were you born in a barn?”

Jesus would say, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was.” Because that man was always leaving doors open.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. Did Jesus shut the door when he left the tomb?  No. Because he was born in a barn. He was always leaving doors open.

The most common complaint about Jesus came from the religious leaders who asked, “Who is this man who eats with sinners?”[1] Another way to say it is, “Why is he inviting those people in?” Because God shows no partiality.

Jesus responds to this in Matthew 11:18–19: “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”

The woman at the well. The Gerasene demoniac. The lepers. The sex workers. He invited them all in. This shouldn’t surprise us. In his very first sermon, he tells us he has come to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, to welcome the outcast, and to announce the year of the Lord’s favor.

This is what inspires Peter to say in Acts: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and practices righteousness is acceptable to him.”

This Lent, we gave up bad images of God. Idols that showed partiality toward materialism, power, control, and “us vs. them” thinking. We called it Atheism for Lent. Now, having gone through that journey, maybe we can see the return of God more clearly.

Some say that God in Jesus will return with a trumpet blast, coming down from the sky to judge and destroy unbelievers. That theology is called dispensationalism. And it is, at its core, a closed-door theology. At its worst, it’s a death cult believing that if we make this bad enough, it’ll cause Jesus to return to fix it.

It shuts the door on a peaceful and loving God and replaces that vision with a disappointed judge to be feared. A God who could return at any second, not to restore, but to condemn all the people we hate to eternal fire and to reward the chosen few who deserve it.

But what if God has already returned? Let’s do the math. Christmas is the first arrival of Christ. Then we kill him for preaching love and inclusion. And Easter? Easter is the return. The second coming of Christ. God comes back and says, “As I was saying God loves you, so love God and love your neighbor.”

He restores Peter. He gives Thomas what he needs to move through doubt. He entrusts Mary to proclaim the resurrection, empowering the first preacher of Easter.

We call Jesus Immanuel; God with us. And in John 14, Jesus promises the Holy Spirit, given to the church at Pentecost. God never left. And God keeps showing up.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 25 exactly how. God returns whenever you care for the least of these. God returns through kindness and love, through forgiveness that doesn’t make sense, through feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, visiting the prisoner, and welcoming the stranger.

Easter is the day we proclaim: He is risen. He is risen indeed. But before the proclamation, there is a moment. Mary is standing outside the tomb, weeping.

The world, as she understands it, is over. The teacher she loved is gone. The hope she carried is shattered. Even his body, the last thing she had left, is missing. And she doesn’t recognize him at first. She thinks he’s the gardener. Until he says her name. “Mary.”

And in that single word, the whole world turns right-side up again. That’s how resurrection works. Not as a spectacle in the sky. Not as a threat from the clouds. But as a voice that knows your name.

A presence that meets you in your grief. A love that refuses to stay buried. We gave our worst to God on the cross, and Jesus took it. And then, he came back. Not with vengeance. Not with wrath. But with scars. With tenderness. With a voice that still calls people by name.

And he left the door of the tomb open. Of course he did. He was born in a barn.

For all of us who claim the name Christian: When you see someone standing outside their own kind of tomb: weeping, confused, holding onto whatever pieces they have left… don’t close the door.

Be the voice that speaks their name. Be the presence that stays. Be the love that refuses to give up. Because every time you do, God is there with you. The stone rolls away again. The garden blooms again. And resurrection… happens again.

Happy Easter, friends. May you never close a door that Jesus has left open. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] Matt 9:10-17, Mark 2:15-22, and Luke 5:29-39