Away in a manger
No crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down His sweet head
The stars in the bright sky
Looked down where He lay
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep on the hay
This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger. Manger. Luke tells us about the place where Mary laid her first-born son. Because there was no room for them in the inn.
What thought do we give to managers? I don’t think the church owns one anymore. Drive the streets nearby, and you will see lots of blow-up Santas, Rudolphs, and Frostys.
Does the manager add any value to our faith or Christmas, for that matter?
A manger is an animal trough, a makeshift crib, a bed, really. The dictionary definition of a manger is a box or trough in a stable or barn from which horses and cattle eat. Manger is from the Latin meaning to chew or eat.
You’ve heard the phrase: “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.” That’s what it feels like sometimes. In our personal lives, or the world. We have brought on ourselves problems related to gun violence, climate change, and extreme partisan politics. Reading the news can seem discouraging and hopeless. Sometimes our own lives seem to spin out of control as well. Perhaps the incarnation means that God joins in those “beds” we have made for ourselves. In the messy, vulnerable, godforsaken places. That God is born even today in crude, rough, rugged mangers.
Another phrase I was taught as a child is to watch the trough that feeds you. The implication is to know the source of our food and support because the supply chain could change or run out.
Or as the Prophet Isaiah declares in the first reading amidst a nation in turmoil and ruin the city will be fed and food guarded. Isaiah writes: “The Lord has sworn by his right hand and by his mighty arm: I will not again give your grain to be food for your enemies, and foreigners shall not drink the wine for which you have labored; 9 but those who garner it shall eat it and praise the Lord, and those who gather it shall drink it in my holy courts.” Far from plunder, waste, and toil, the prophet hoped that the food supply and economy strengthened for the people.
St. Francis is also the one who first created a living manger scene. The Christ Child of Byzantine art looked like a miniature ruler sitting regally on a throne, and to counter, Francis believed a nativity scene should reflect Jesus’ humble birth into poverty. So that people could see in the eyes of an infant the hardships, suffering, and death he would face, he would bring a real donkey in an enacted scene and a portable shrine he constructed. Instead of making a pilgrimage to Bethlehem, Francis felt the cattle and enacted manger gave a visual to see the love of God enfleshed in your own time and place — amid suffering, hopes, and dreams. God is not in heaven, or an unreachable place, but rather emptied onto earth. God is not found by climbing spiritual ladders. Rather God is found in vulnerable human flesh. The manger was placed before the altar. And to kneel at the manger is to wonder at the mystery of heaven on earth, power in vulnerability, God in a baby. Or as Martin Luther’s Christmas Carol lyrics put it: “Ah, dearest Jesus, holy child, prepare a bed soft, undefiled, a quiet chamber in my heart, that you and I may never part.”
Our hearts are the manger. And our hands are made to be a manger it has been said throughout the centuries, receiving the Word made flesh, Christ’s body and blood.
PalestinanMatt Nomme circulated a poem on Instagram that he wrote from Bethlehem this Christmas titled: A Palestine Nativity: “Tell me Are these our modern fables? / A manger rocked by fallen bombs / A manger keeping baby calm / A manger made of rubble / A baby lays upon concrete / A baby cries for Mother’s teet / A baby’s smile is oh so sweet / In this shatter stable / We wait for wise man to appear / But death is drawing ever near / Mom cradles baby with her tears.”
Yet could there also be a manager in homes in our tables and in our beds? Could there be a manager on the bench and sidewalk where an unhoused person slept last night? The makeshift beds of those forgotten and out of sight? Could there be a manager in the rooms of those who cry themselves to sleep tonight, their hearts overwhelmed with sadness or loneliness? In domestic violence shelters, prison walls, and emergency room beds there is a manger this day.
Some have suggested that Jesus’ birth place was a stone manger as was likely at the time and prefigured the stone tomb which was also a manager with food, healing, and resurrection for the world.
In those places, there is a manager. In this world, there is a manager. And it shines with light and hope. For there Christ is born, amid poverty and despair.
In this place, there is the manger. At the font. In the word. At the table. We are fed with God’s very presence, with a food enough for today, at God’s endless banquet. With our lips and with our lives, we proclaim good news of great joy for all people. A Savior is born, Christ the Lord.
