THE MANGER IN BETHLEHEM

Luke 2:1-20

December 24, 2011 – Rev. Jerry Duggins

Christmas day is a slow day in our household. Not that we get to sleep in much. Someone in the family insists that we not dawdle too long in getting out of bed, but frequently we’re still in pajamas and robes well into the morning. We put the kettle on for tea to start with, gather in the living room, each with our own stocking, and we mosey our way through them one item at a time to see what Santa has brought us. When we’re done or nearly done, we put the French Breakfast Puffs in the oven to bake, and scramble up some eggs. We may have mimosas or another cup of tea. It’s all very leisurely. No hurry, not going anywhere.

This year the Christmas Day service will of course interrupt this schedule, but I am hopeful that it will not interrupt the spirit of the day; it’s a sabbath kind of day, a pondering things in the heart kind of day.

I will not be thinking about the crowds in Bethlehem that left Mary and Joseph “no room at the inn,” but I might pause to reflect on and give thanks for the relief from the crowds of the season: the crowds at the mall, at the grocery store, at the post office, in the restaurants, on the roads.

I will not be thinking about angel messengers who “bring good news of great joy for all the people,” but I will certainly be mindful of the blessing of being with those most dear to me and say a prayer for those who have not found a sense of peace and joy in the presence of their families.

I may not ponder too much on the birth of a “savior who is Christ the Lord,” but scarcely a day passes when I am not aware of my own failed attempts to live as well as I might or of the seemingly hopeless state of a world that seems ambivalent about caring for one another, especially for the vulnerable. We seem indifferent many times even to protecting the planet on which our lives ultimately depend. Even on this slowest, most relaxing day of the year, my need and the world’s need will be apparent.

I am not expecting a heavenly chorus to make an appearance tomorrow, but the music of Christmas is always a part of the day, playing softly in the background. And as I wondered about those things that spoke to Mary’s heart, that provoked her beautiful song, the Magnificat, I am still thinking about the song God has given me to sing, and what will release it from the chains I have wrapped around it. I may tomorrow give some thought to what will move me to join the angel chorus.

I remain hopeful that there will be no haste as the shepherds made to see this thing of which they’d been told. I firmly believe that our culture encourages far too much hurry. Not that we shouldn’t be eager to join Mary and Joseph around the manger, but this is not typically the thing we are scurrying for. We have set a hectic pace to get the presents bought and wrapped, to prepare the feast, to send out the Christmas cards, to attend the social gatherings of the season, to schedule the extended family visits.

So the work is done and there is no need for haste. We have already joined Mary and Joseph by the manger. We sing with the angels and marvel with the shepherds and ponder with Mary every year and it seems like there is always something new.

One year we may see in this scene the poverty of the holy couple and be moved to establish more of a solidarity with the poor. Another year, we might focus on the simplicity of the scene and hear a call to simplify our lives. Or perhaps the story will engage our minds in pondering the mystery of the “Word made flesh,” this strange way in which God comes to us. Maybe it will inspire our thoughts in the opposite direction and we will feel a call to restore our spiritual connection to the sacred, the human made divine.

Some years we may identify with the singing of the angel host and be overcome by the joy of Christ’s birth, while other years we ponder the mystery in the silence of our hearts as Mary did. But it all centers around a babe wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.

This year I am thinking about the manger and the irony that Jesus’ first resting place is in a makeshift bed originally designed for the feeding of animals. I am wondering if it can be a coincidence that the Savior is born in a place called Bethlehem which literally means “house of bread,” Beth-lehem. How appropriate on this night when we celebrate the birth of a savior which shall be for all people, that we gather around a table to share bread in the Lord’s Supper which originally included one named Judas.

Forgotten in the sharing of a meal are the countless ways in which we have hurt or disappointed one another. Forgotten in the gathering around this manger will be the times we have felt God’s absence and we will again acknowledge the blessing of God’s presence especially through the times most trying. Forgotten in the city of David, Bethlehem, will be the unsatisfied hunger and longings of the heart. For on this day we will be well-fed and Jesus will be welcome and “well come.”

And tomorrow when I sit down to share food with my family, I may not think about the manger or about the sacrament we celebrate this evening, or about Bethlehem, but I will share in an unhurried meal that forgets the many ways in which we have failed to nurture each other and celebrates the joy of the day in which we are fully present to each other. I can think of no better way to celebrate the day in which God becomes fully present to us and reminds us that we are not alone even when this day is over and we return to the hustle and bustle of life. Amen.