© 2019 Burgess Adams Inc.
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This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bennett, R. William, author.
Title: Last man at the inn : one man’s quest to believe / R. William Bennett.
Description: Salt Lake City, Utah : Ensign Peak, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2019020001 | ISBN 9781629726038 (hardbound : alk. paper) | eISBN 978-1-62973-790-4 (eBook)
Subjects: LCSH: Jesus Christ—Fiction. | Bible. New Testament—History of Biblical events—Fiction. | Jews—Fiction. | Christians—Fiction. | LCGFT: Bible fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3602.E66449 L378 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019020001
Printed in the United States of America
Lake Book Manufacturing, Inc., Melrose Park, IL
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To all those who seek:
Press on.
I can assure you that you will find
and it will be opened unto you.
He promised.
Contents
Author’s Note
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 2
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part 3
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part 4
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
This is the story of one man’s spiritual journey, a journey that millions of others have taken. The setting makes the tale thought-provoking and engaging, but the real story is about this man’s change of heart.
Profound and serious research—both ancient and recent—has refined our understanding of the birth and life of the Savior. The census that brought Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem is questioned by credible historians as perhaps being a simple way to explain some other convention of Herod. It is speculated, with some reasonable evidence, that Joseph and Mary resided for some time in Bethlehem before Jesus was born and that the star may not have been evident until months or even a few years after his birth. These and many other discoveries continue to shed new light on the details of this most sacred event.
However, because the intent of this book is not to teach history, science, or politics but to explore a change of heart, I have decided to use traditionally accepted elements of the Savior’s birth as the backdrop for this story to appeal to your familiarity and make the most important discovery for the reader not historical facts but spiritual truths.
I pray it will touch your heart, strengthen your faith, and bring you closer to our Savior.
The traveler hunched over his lamb stew. For a moment, the noise, the heat, and the others at the table all disappeared from his consciousness as he took his first bites of the warm broth. Having a room for the night was an unexpected pleasure; but a hot meal prepared by someone else was a complete luxury. Not three hours before, he had been on a futile search for lodging in Jerusalem. Now, here he was in Bethlehem in what was likely the last accommodation in the area.
Normally he would have embraced sleeping under the stars on the outskirts of whatever town he found himself in; but the crowds here brought with them many who would try to rob a man in the night. Having a room at an inn would allow him to sleep without worry.
A merchant for thirteen years—if he counted the ten spent traveling with his father—the man regularly followed a half dozen trade routes in this part of the Empire. He knew that at certain times of the year, Passover especially, one did not try to stay in Jerusalem. And now there was also the census! Everyone traveling everywhere to get to their place of birth. There was not a single room left in Jerusalem. He had tried all his regular places, attempting to leverage relationships he and his father had built over the years, but nothing was available. Some of his old friends told him they felt terrible, as if they should have known he was coming. Of course, this was not possible. The life he lived revolved around unpredictable timing: when goods became available for a merchant to purchase, how well the travel went, how long his supplies lasted, and more. As he searched, many householders—their spare rooms crowded with travelers—laughed at him. He began to feel naive for thinking he could come during the middle of the census and just secure a space. “Foolish!” one man shouted at him before briskly shutting the door in his face. After that, he too kept repeating the word, over and over, castigating himself for his ignorance. Foolish, indeed!
After giving up in Jerusalem, the traveler decided to push himself to walk another two hours to Bethlehem on the slim chance that something would be left there.
The walk was hard; and the road was packed with hurried crowds making their way to Jerusalem. At first, as he led his train of donkeys through the oncoming hordes, he tried to tell the people he passed that they would not find anything ahead of them. A few said they would be with family, but most just ignored him. People can be so stubborn, he thought to himself. He listened as the animals around him brayed in protest, perhaps sharing with each other grievances similar to his own. But he pressed on, the search for a room now becoming more a matter of not letting the situation beat him than assuring a safer resting spot.
As he approached Bethlehem, he noticed clusters of sheep scattered across the hillsides as far as he could see. Some shepherds listlessly moved their flocks; others just sat in the late-afternoon sun, watching the travelers on the road. Their lives were not affected by this Roman census. Most had been born in Bethlehem and had never left, so they had nowhere to travel to; but even if they had, they could not leave their flocks. Any calls to be counted would be ignored. Should the census takers want to count the sheepherders’ numbers, they could come find them.
The man also noticed a number of exposed caves along the ridges of the hills. Most appeared to shelter not the usual animals but families. This was not a good sign. It doubtless meant that, here too, any available rooms were long gone.
The traveler entered the town and soon began inquiring about a space, receiving the same scornful replies he had in Jerusalem. A small village, in fact no more than a rise on a hillside, Bethlehem was not popular. Under most conditions, there would have been plenty of availability for those who thought t
hey could save a few shekels by staying here rather than in the Holy City. Of course, the man knew this was more ignorance on their part, as the savings were hardly worth the long and difficult walk to Jerusalem. However, Bethlehem was the city of David, and when the census began, the small village seemed to attract anyone who felt it could enhance their standing to claim it as their place of birth. Therefore, the streets were teeming with people and animals.
He had almost decided to go into the fields to see if he could find a corner of a cave to sleep in, when he heard yelling nearby. Just to his left was a doorway. Someone came staggering out, yelling incoherently. A large man followed him, shouting back.
“Get out!” the big man yelled. “You know the rules! You are in my home! With my family, no less! You want to be drunk? Go out with the goats!”
The man who had been tossed out stumbled and fell toward the traveler, who caught him. The man smelled strongly of wine and pushed back to start wobbling down the street. The traveler quickly realized his good fortune and stepped through the door at once.
“I see you may now have a single opening,” he said.
The large man, who was clearly the master of the house, looked perturbed. But then he smiled. “Your timing seems providential. There is a place, just one. You will share the room with others, but it’s a space, and you may join my family for a meal in a few minutes. Have you an animal?”
“I do. Three donkeys.”
“There is a pen around back. Put them up and then come in for some stew. Your name?”
“Simon.”
Simon walked his pack animals through the narrow side alley to the pen, already home to three or four other animals. He led his donkeys in, added some hay to the bin, and took the bags filled with spices off each animal one by one. When he carried the bags into the inn, the large man looked up and, without a word, nodded his head toward where Simon would sleep. Simon dropped the bags in the small alcove that would be his home for the night. A low table had been set, and a family with two children sat on the floor at one end. Next to them were two young boys, perhaps twins, that must have been the sons of the householder. Simon paused for a second, the pang of missing his wife surging through him. He had not been married long, and they were slowly adapting to these long absences. It was the merchant way of life, just as it had been with his father, and one had to accept the challenges that came with it. Simon sat on the floor at his place, putting as much space as possible between himself and the others.
The patriarch of the little family at the other end of the table acknowledged him with a silent nod and continued talking to his wife and children in hushed tones.
As with most inns, this was primarily the home of the man who had granted him the space. The main floor was normally constructed to be just a stable, covered by the rest of the house. However, many had converted the keeping area for animals into a large open room where they could let out space to travelers. On the next floor up would be family living quarters for the owner.
Soon the innkeeper’s wife came to his side and ladled some stew in the empty bowl before him.
“It is good to have so much need for rooms, but sometimes . . .” Her voice trailed off as she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
Simon thanked her and contemplated his stew for a moment. He savored the steaming bowl by holding his face over it, letting the moist heat waft up his cheeks.
After his first bites, his annoyance at the whole situation returned. This census, he thought. It created such a turmoil, and he did not understand why everyone should travel all these different places to be counted. If they were simply counted where they were, the number would be the same. But, like most Jews, he had resigned himself to the idea that living under Roman rule had many inconveniences—some severe, others not so much. To be fair, there were advantages too. The Roman road system and sea traffic had entirely changed travel. Rome had established a consistent monetary standard that allowed all her subjects in all her provinces and kingdoms to trade easily. But all this notwithstanding, when someone wanted something they could not have or was asked to do something they didn’t want to do, it was always easiest to blame the Romans.
Simon was born a long distance from Bethlehem and had decided that wherever he was when the census takers confronted him would become his birthplace. More than likely he would be on the road, and they wouldn’t bother him. One fewer person and three fewer donkeys in the count would not matter to anyone.
Simon was a Jew, but he kept his religion in a manner driven by convenience. He was a decent and honest man. He worked hard. He’d married and had a young wife. They had a baby on the way. However, he saw no need for the traditions and trappings of his Judaism unless they helped him. Or his wife insisted he keep them. When traveling, he kept the sabbath if he was tired and ignored it if he needed to work. He observed the kashrut diet if those foods were available but ate what he wished if they were not or—when not at home—they did not seem appealing. He prayed if he had needs, asking for help. He did not bother God when he had control of his situation and needed no divine intervention. He felt he did the truly important things right and did not let the rest bother him.
He took another bite of his stew, the warm meat comforting him. He had been eating quietly for a short time when he noticed the owner of the home walk to the door and speak softly to a young man about his age, possibly younger. Simon leaned back to peer through the open door. The young man had a donkey, upon which sat a very pregnant woman. Simon watched as the older man kept shaking his head, politely at first but then more insistently when the younger man raised his voice slightly, pleading. Simon looked around the small room. The family he was sharing it with were oblivious to the discussion at the door. The quarters were tight, and there really was not room for an additional person, let alone two. He shifted his glance back to the open door. The householder, who clearly wanted to help the young man, turned and locked eyes with Simon for the briefest moment. He knew what was silently being asked of him. And he answered back just as silently by returning his gaze to his meal. The young man continued to plead as the master of the house sadly and softly closed the door, blocking the young couple from view. Once more, he looked at Simon, and Simon thought he saw a fleeting moment of judgment, but then the man shook his head and returned to serving their guests.
Ignorance, Simon thought to himself. To think they could get space; in fact, space for two! What did they think coming at this late hour? Foolish.
Then something came to his mind. He thought of his upbringing, of his mother teaching him how to be a good person. He thought of how generous his father had always been when they traveled together and came across someone in need of food or drink.
He shook his head, trying to rid it of the thought. But it was like a bothersome fly, and it would not go. Perhaps, he thought, I should give up my space. The woman was pregnant. It would be the thing my mother would have expected me to do, the thing my father would have done. Thoughts of Mara, his wife, and the baby she was carrying entered his mind. He had a brief pang of guilt. But then he found his defense: “I am exhausted, and I deserve a decent place to sleep.” Apparently he had said it out loud, as the family looked up to see if he was addressing them.
This self-affirmation enabled him to sit still, to lay claim to what was his; but not, as he had hoped, to find peace from the nagging impressions.
Simon finished his meal and went to his mat to lie down. It was too early in the evening to retire to bed, and he knew he should not do it, but he could not keep his eyes open. When he awoke, he could tell it had been dark for hours. He heard hushed whispers coming from the father and mother just feet from him. Their talk was of nothing too personal: how long they would be in Bethlehem, thoughts about their children. Though their conversation did not seem private, he did not want to appear to be listening. He also knew he would not fall back to sleep unless he went out for a walk.
/> He quietly slipped out of the house. The streets were peaceful, the only sounds that of animals in nearby pens and stables. The sky was clear, the air cool. He loved this time of night, though he was rarely able to enjoy it. After a long day of walking or negotiating with the market vendors over his goods, he usually went to bed at dusk and was almost always tired enough to sleep through the night without waking.
As he walked, he passed many who, not as lucky as he, slept on the street, leaning against the walls. A few startled as he passed and looked his way, perhaps frightened that he was out to rob them. He did not like disturbing people, so he turned down a road toward the open fields.
Out here it was even more peaceful. In the moonlight, he could see the herds of sheep were now clustered in larger groupings along the rolling hills. The shepherds brought them together at night to make them easier to guard. He found a path that led by one of the many ridges with exposed limestone caves. In each one, he could see by the light of the dimming fires inside that they were filled with people. Most were lying on beds of hay, sleeping, but a few were up, stoking their fires and perhaps keeping watch over their families.
Then it hit him.
Looking back toward the flocks, he noticed there were no shepherds. Where were they? For a shepherd to leave his flock untended was the ultimate act of irresponsibility. A shepherd who was an owner would never leave them, and a hireling only if he did not fear the punishment that would come for having done so. Shepherds were entrusted with the care of their defenseless animals, and offering that protection was their only reason for being. But as Simon continued walking, he saw the same thing again and again.
He was not as much troubled as he was curious about what had drawn them away. Seeing nothing that answered his question, however, and feeling that he could now sleep again, Simon decided to follow the path back to his lodgings. Then, just as he was about to do so, something caught his eye. He looked back, scanning the view in the moonlight. There in the distance was another cave; but unlike the others, this one had several people congregated around its entrance. He walked closer to get a better look. Sitting, standing, and kneeling were shepherds—at least a dozen of them, old and young. They were quietly staring into the cave. He didn’t want to approach the crowd. If there was any attention directed toward him, he might be drawn into whatever was going on and lose his chance of getting enough rest for his journey tomorrow.
The Last Man at the Inn Page 1