Away in a Manger

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Luke 2:1-7

December 22, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

Imagine a world where politicians seem to think last about the people they are supposed to serve. Taxes are put on the people for the sake of the government’s building projects and not necessarily for the good of the population. Religion is frowned upon, and even persecuted. Those who believe anything strongly will find themselves often on the wrong side of the leader’s favor. Outwardly, all seems to be going well. Things seem prosperous, but there is a dark side, a cancer growing within the culture that can’t be easily dealt with. Now, what time period are you imagining? Some of us may be thinking, “That sounds a lot like the world we live in today!” But I’m actually describing the world Jesus was born into over two thousand years ago. The world and the people in it really haven’t changed all that much, have they?

Luke tells us it was “in those days” when Jesus was born (2:1). What sort of days is he talking about? Well, he tells us it was during the days when Caesar Augustus was ruling the Roman Empire. Augustus was the one who turned the great Roman Republic into an empire. Among other things, he declared his dead adoptive father to be divine, which made him, consequently, the son of a god, the one who was, people said, the savior of the world. They called him “Lord.” He was powerful in a way leaders in Rome had not been up to that time (Wright, Luke for Everyone, pg. 23). In Matthew’s Gospel, we're told that the local ruler in Israel, the appointee of Augustus, was Herod. In this time, Israel was only one small part of the larger Roman Empire and Herod was, for most of his life, one of Caesar Augustus’ favorite puppet kings (Barnett, Behind the Scenes of the New Testament, pg. 20). Herod was an impressive man, we’re told. He had great physical strength and a sharp military mind. He came to be known as Herod the Great, not because he was a nice guy but because he was a great builder. If you go to the Holy Land today, you can still see some of what Herod built. Impressive, long-lasting monuments and buildings. And what he didn’t dedicate to himself, he named after the Emperor. He had a lot going for him, but what he didn’t have was good relations with the people. He repeatedly made the Jews mad, largely because he was so in love with Roman culture and tried to replace Jewish culture with Roman symbols. One time, he tried to put a giant golden eagle on the gate of the Temple, which was terribly offensive to the people. It didn’t go well. He also offended them when, in the year 7 BC, he issued an order requiring all the people to make an oath of loyalty to both him and to Augustus. This came close to worship, and the Jews wouldn’t hear of that; their loyalty and their worship was given to God alone, so that did not go well either. Herod would routinely arrest people, take them off to his fortress, and they would never be seen again. He killed anyone he thought might be a rival, including his favorite wife and her two sons. And to support his building projects, he levied huge taxes. When Herod died a painful death, no one mourned him (Barnett 21-27). Taxes, religious oppression, political disputes—this was the world into which a baby was born in Bethlehem. In many ways, it doesn’t sound much different from our own world, does it?

We often don’t think of the first-century world as being much like ours, especially at Christmas, and in large measure, that’s because we tend to have that “Christmas card” image of what the birth of Jesus looked like. Many of our images come not from the Bible, not from Matthew or Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth, but from a carol that was originally written as a children’s song. “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.” Now, there’s much in this carol that matches the Biblical account, but there’s also some images here that, in many ways, distance us from the actual manger. So, as we continue our reflections on popular Christmas carols, we’re going to take a look at this song this morning and match it up against what Luke actually tells us about the birth of Jesus. What was that holy night like, anyway?

The carol we now know as “Away in a Manger” first appeared in a magazine printed by the Universalist Church in 1884, and it claimed that the song had been written some four hundred years earlier by Martin Luther, the great German church reformer, as a cradle song for his children. However, no one’s ever been able to prove that; the song simply doesn’t exist in Luther’s writings. So we have no idea who wrote the first two verses; the third was added later in 1892. But the song does have a “lullaby” feel to it, and it certainly has the sense that it was written to tell the story of Jesus’ birth to children. Maybe the biggest problem with the carol is the claim that Jesus, as a baby, was absolutely silent. You know the second verse: “The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.” Really? If we believe, as we do, that Jesus was fully God and fully human from the moment of his conception, then that means Jesus as a baby looked, behaved and cried just like any other baby. He would have been hungry. He would have soiled his diaper. He would have spit up. And he would have most likely let out loud cries when he was unhappy. Everything you can remember about what it was or is like to have a baby, that’s what it would have been like when Jesus was born. And Mary and Joseph were just as unprepared for it as any of us were; they didn’t have access to “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” This is no picture-postcard scene. This is an ordinary birth in the midst of a dark and difficult world. A baby born into a world that was dark and seemed to be falling apart—that’s the real first Christmas.

We know, from Luke, that Mary and Joseph are in Bethlehem not because they want to be but because they have to be. They go in response to the Roman government’s call for a census. While we have grown used to responding to a census every ten years, Rome would call for a census on a much more irregular basis, and always for one of two reasons. Either they needed more taxes, or they needed to find out if there were people who were eligible for mandatory military service. Since the Jews were exempt from military service, this particular census was only about one thing: taxing the people more to be able to pay for whatever Rome had in mind to do next (Kalas, Christmas from the Backside, pgs. 46-47). Joseph was from Bethlehem, though he appears to have been staying in Nazareth, Mary’s hometown, preparing for a wedding, when the call comes out. Everyone had to return to the place where they owned property in order to register, and for Joseph, that was Bethlehem (Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 87). Now, there was no law specifically requiring Mary to go with him, though if she did own any property, she could be taxed also in this time and in their province. But more likely, Joseph took her with him because she was so close to giving birth and he didn’t want her to be alone (cf. Keener, Bible Background Commentary, pg. 193).

So off they go to Bethlehem, and when they arrive, it’s crowded. It’s packed. Everyone is in town because everyone has to register and pay their taxes. And we know the story: they found no room in the inn, so the baby was born in a manger, and wrapped in swaddling clothes. But it wasn’t like Mary and Joseph went door-to-door from the Super 8 to the Holiday Inn Express to the Hampton Inn. Luke isn’t describing what we usually picture: the couple anxiously searching for a commercial hotel. When he describes the place that was full, he uses the word that describes a guest room in a private home (Wright 21). Joseph took Mary to a place he knew he would be welcomed, to his family’s home, but because of the census, by the time they get there, there are already other relatives settled into the guest room. So the family does the best they can: they offer Mary and Joseph some semi-private space in the barn, the attached room that housed the family’s animals (Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes, pg. 29, 32). It would have been close enough that family members could help with the birth when the baby came, and yet distant enough to allow some privacy for the young couple. And when the time comes, Luke, who is most likely a doctor (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pgs. 16-17), tells it rather matter-of-factly: “The time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son” (2:6-7). Then, Mary wrapped the baby Jesus in cloths and placed him in a manger.

Now, lest we harbor any notions of baby Jesus having a comfortable place to sleep, a manger was a feeding trough. It wasn’t made for comfort; it was made just big enough that whatever animals the family had could get their head into it and eat. In fact, though most of our manger scenes depict Jesus sleeping in a wooden bed, it probably wasn’t made out of wood. Wood is in short supply in Israel, but stone is not. When we were at Megiddo, in the middle of the country, we got to see some stone mangers that were uncovered there, feeding troughs that were used for the king’s horses. Placing some hay or other grass-like material in the manger would help a bit, but it still isn’t something I’d want to sleep in. Once again, this was not a picture-perfect birth.

Before Mary placed him the feeding trough, though, Luke says she wrapped him in cloths. Older translations say “swaddling cloths,” but what Dr. Luke refers to is wrapping a baby with strips of cloth, a practice that, in the first century, was often done to help a baby’s limbs grow straight, (Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, pg. 63). But we also know that these cloths were a sign the angels gave to the shepherds later in the story (2:12). This was one way they were to know they had found the right baby. Perhaps the cloths were a sign beyond just mere medical necessity. The strips of cloth Dr. Luke describes very well might have been the only thing they had to dress the baby Jesus in. In some ways, these “swaddling clothes” (which sound nicer than they would have been) were a “token of his poverty” (Card 49). Several years ago, I knew a woman who found out that there were mothers who checked into the local hospital, had their babies and they had no clothes to take their babies home in. For whatever reason, they had not prepared or, in most cases, they simply didn’t have the money to provide adequate clothing for the baby. So she became passionate about that, and talked to her church’s mission committee, and pretty soon one of the missions of that church became a ministry aimed at new mothers. They didn’t just provide a onesie or clothes to take home. They put together new mom’s kits, with clothes, blankets, food and so on, to bless the mothers who struggled with the basics, mothers like Mary. Mary and Joseph welcomed a baby in poverty, a baby who in reality owned the whole world and yet, to identify with us, he came and was wrapped in rags. It was not a picture-perfect birth, though for reasons we may never fully understand, it was the way God chose to come to earth.

You see, Christmas didn’t come in the quiet of a silent night. Christmas didn’t come in a neat, orderly way. Christmas didn’t come with all the trappings and all the extravagance we’ve come to expect. Joseph’s family may have even been wondering where they were going to be able to get the resources to feed everyone the next day! No one had planned on this census, and yet Christmas came in the middle of the mess caused by the government, the middle of the mess of a young couple’s lives, the middle of the mess of poverty. It wasn’t a picture-perfect birth, and yet Christmas still came.

A couple of weeks ago, a soccer tournament was held in the city of Ypres, France, called the “Christmas Truce Tournament.” It has been held there since 2011 and will be held again at least through next year, because 2014 is the 100th anniversary of the World War I Christmas Truce that the event is named after. It’s one of the most famous stories out of that horrible war, when in the midst of a battle that was often brutal, British, German and French forces stopped fighting in the days leading up to Christmas. No one told them to. There was no official truce. And yet, the guns quit altogether on Christmas Day, and an informal truce was called as men began to come up out of the trenches, claim their dead, and help their wounded. Soon, a soccer game began out in No Man’s Land, and they found that even though they could not speak each other’s language, they could sing together. All of them knew the song, “Silent Night,” and there on the battlefield, three languages joined together to sing about the birth of the savior. Even in the midst of a dark, brutal, horrible time in history, Christmas still came. Peace was possible. Christmas often comes when we least expect it, into mangers that look like battlefields, or hospital rooms, or nursing homes. Christmas comes when we’re fighting cancer, when we’ve lost our jobs, when there’s too much month at the end of our money, and even when we’re battling loneliness.

Christmas 1989: Cathy and I had gotten married that previous May, and then in August, we had packed up everything we owned and moved to Wilmore, Kentucky to begin attending Asbury Seminary. When Christmas rolled around, Cathy had been in her job just about four months, and didn’t have enough vacation time built up for us to be able to travel back to Indiana to spend it with family. So we stayed in Wilmore, even as everyone else in the seminary community seemed to vanish. Pretty quickly, everyone we knew was gone, so we decided we’d go into Lexington for Christmas dinner. Do you know there was not one single restaurant open (at least that we could find) on Christmas Day in Lexington, Kentucky? So we came back to our tiny two-room apartment and managed to fix up something to eat. I don’t even remember what we had, but I do remember how lonely we felt. Far from home, just the two of us, and nothing much to our names. But Christmas still came. That evening, our neighbors from about three doors down came back into town, and when they found out we were there by ourselves, they suggested we go out for dinner. I tried to protest, because nothing was open, but Terry assured me he knew a place. And so we had Christmas evening dinner at the Chinese restaurant with two people are still wonderful friends. In fact, we spent several dinners together at that Chinese restaurant in the years to come. Christmas still comes, even in the midst of our loneliness and especially in the midst of our mess.

One of the most famous and favorite stories of Christmas coming in the midst of a mess is Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Pastor Deb did “A Charlie Brown Christmas” a few weeks ago, so I have to keep up! The Grinch, as you may remember, is a mean old creature who lives above a town called Who-ville, and the Whos living in Who-ville love Christmas. So the Grinch, because his heart is two sizes too small, decides to steal Christmas from the Whos. And he does that, dressed as Santa Claus, in the middle of the night. He takes everything: decorations, presents, even the roast beast and their last can of Who-hash. Then he waits, high above the town, to hear the disappointment from the Whos. But what he hears instead is shocking. The Whos still come together to sing their songs, even without presents and decorations! Dr. Seuss tells it this way: “Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small, was singing! Without any presents at all! He hadn’t stopped Christmas from coming! It came! Somehow or other, it came just the same!” Then, we’re told the Grinch has a thought he never thought before: “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

You see, Christmas still comes. Into the midst of a dark and difficult world, into the middle of a mess, Christmas still comes because the baby who was born on that day came to bring peace on earth, good will toward all people. Christmas comes to make sense out of and to bring peace to our mess and our muddle. Ultimately, if the “little Lord Jesus” really didn’t cry, then he really couldn’t relate to us, could he? He wouldn’t be “like us,” but the book of Hebrews assures us that Jesus was like us in every aspect, tempted like us, and yet without sin (cf. Hebrews 4:15). He went though his life bringing hope into the mess of people’s lives. When a woman ran into him at a well in Samaria, a woman who wasn’t loved and who was an outcast, a woman who had five husbands and was living with another man, Jesus brought hope to her mess (John 4). When some dear friends lost their brother, Jesus brought life out of death and hope to their mess (John 11). To a man who was possessed by a legion of demons, Jesus brought peace to a shattered mind and hope to his mess (Mark 5). To ten men who had leprosy, a disease which kept them at a distance from everyone else, Jesus brought healing and hope to their mess (Luke 17:11-19). And when a disciple named Peter, a man who had denied even knowing Jesus, jumped into the water after he saw the resurrected Jesus on the shore making breakfast, Jesus took him on a walk and brought hope to Peter’s mess (John 21). And because Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever (cf. Hebrews 13:8), what he did then, he can still do today. He can bring hope to our mess, because no matter where you find yourself today, Christmas still comes.

That’s why, even though it’s not part of the original song, I’m so glad that third verse is part of our tradition. It takes the song and turns it into a prayer: “Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray; bless all the dear children in thy tender care and fit us for heaven to live with thee there” (UMH 217). It’s obviously written as a children’s prayer, and yet Jesus said we should become like children in order to come near to him (cf. Matthew 18:3). So it’s a good prayer for us, as well. Be near me, Lord Jesus—that’s what allows Christmas to come in each of our lives, in the midst of our messes. But “the little Lord Jesus” will not force his way in, even in the Christmas season. So how do we prepare the way? How do we make room for him to come, for Christmas to come, into our hearts and lives this holy season, this busy week? There are many things we could do, but I want to quickly just suggest four simple things, all of which can be done this week, that will open our hearts for the arrival of the Christ child.

The first thing that’s so important this time of year is to read the story. Read the story yourself, share it with your kids and grandkids. There are so many stories being told this time of year—stories of elves and Santa and reindeer and snowmen and angels named Clarence. Lots of stories, lots of fun stories, but too often we let those stories take the place of the story. So take some time in these next few days and read Luke 1 and 2. Read Matthew 1 and 2. Let the story, as familiar as it is, soak into your soul once again, especially if you have young children and grandchildren. Our kids are older now, but I know when they were little, it was a constant challenge to make sure this story trumped everything else they heard and saw during this season. I wanted to make sure that, as they grew up, they knew this story was the most important one for mom and dad—and not just because telling it is my job. It’s the most important story because it is the only story that can change my life. Santa is great, but he can’t change my life. All he can do is give me things, and I don’t need more things. So tell the story, read the story, use a nativity scene to act out the story. Allow the birth of Jesus to be the defining narrative of your family time.

And then allow that story to lead you to worship. We have three opportunities this week for Christmas Candlelight worship, each of them different, but each of them celebrating the same story. Days and times are listed in your bulletin, but let me tell you why I believe worship is important during this week—and it’s not just because it’s my job! Worship is the constant and repeated response to the baby of Bethlehem. The shepherds, Luke says, glorified and praised God when they had seen the child (2:20). The magi, or wise men, bowed down and worshipped this child (Matthew 2:11). In fact, Matthew says they worshipped before they gave gifts. Think about that in terms of our own Christmas celebrations and preparations. Mary, we’re told, ponders everything that has happened in her heart (2:19). Can you imagine the conversation she has with God about all of this? So worship is absolutely integral to Christmas. I’ve heard people say that they have out of town company and don’t want to leave them. That’s fine—bring them along. We’ll make room for them, and we’ll welcome them warmly. I promise you that. How else will others know how important Jesus is to you if you don’t make worship a priority, just as those at the first Christmas did? So come and worship together. I promise you good music, great communion and candlelight, and a hearing of the old, old story. And if you come with an open heart, you will be drawn closer to Jesus by the praises of his people.

Another idea for preparing the way for Jesus to draw near: how about inviting someone you know who will otherwise be alone to be part of your Christmas? The shepherds, as we’ll talk about at Candlelight this week, were outcasts. They were people who were unwanted. No one had them on their gift-giving or card-sending list. They were not only outside the town because that’s where the sheep were, but because that’s where the community believed they belonged. Who are the people you know who are outsiders, who could very well be alone for Christmas? Folks whose family lives far away. People who have lost loved ones this past year, and for whom Christmas will be very different this year. Could you invite them to come and join around your table? I know when we’ve been privileged to do this, it always blesses us at least as much and maybe more than the people we’ve invited. Or here’s another twist: there are people in the hospitals and nursing homes who feel like outsiders this time of year. There are people who have to work on Christmas Day. How can you extend the love and the worship of Jesus to those folks? Our youth and adults began that process last Sunday, sharing music and smiles with those who are often alone this season. But a plate of cookies on Christmas, a warm smile, a card with a kind note can go a long way to pointing them toward the baby of Bethlehem. Who will help them know him? And, the amazing this is, as you’re pointing others toward him, you’ll find yourself being drawn nearer as well.

Then, one more idea. I shared this last week, but as has been our tradition for several years now, during our Christmas Candlelight services, we’ll be taking everything given in the plates and dividing it between Feed My Lambs and Africa University. Feed My Lambs, of course, feeds kids right here in Portage Township Schools, kids who might otherwise go without on the weekends. And Africa University is a United Methodist University in Zimbabwe that is setting out to transform a continent with the love and light of Jesus Christ. One thing I didn’t mention last week is that, for the last couple of years, I’ve challenged you to give to this offering an amount equal to what you spend on yourself and your family. In other words, bless someone else to the level that you’ve blessed yourself and your family this year—or even beyond that level if you want! Christmas isn’t what’s under the tree. Christmas isn’t what’s on the shopping list, for those of you who have yet to go shopping. Christmas isn’t what’s on the table or purchased online. Christmas is a baby, a gift of love from God to us, given right in the midst of our mess. Christmas is a call for us, in the middle our own mess, to bless others with the same hope, joy, peace and love Jesus brought.

There may not have been a messier time to live than the days in which Jesus was born, at least for those in Judea. It was a messy time, economically, politically and spiritually. And yet into that world, into that mess, came the little Lord Jesus, daring to draw near to men and women at the time when they were most desperate, at the time when the world seemed so dark. He still comes in that way today. He’s not lying in a stable somewhere in the Middle East today. He comes to our hearts and our lives when we make room for him. In those days—and in these days—Jesus still comes. Christmas comes to be born again in each and every one of us, right in the midst of our mess. Can you give your mess to the baby of Bethlehem and trust him to make something beautiful out of it? How will you prepare him room during this season? Let’s pray.