And there were shepherds living
out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of
the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and
they were terrified.
But the angel said to them,
"Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all
the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is
Christ the Lord.
This will be a sign to you: You
will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. (Luke 2:8-12)
Have you ever heard
the expression, “Were you born in a barn?” I did a little research on the
subject and there are
two prevailing theories on the origin of that phrase. The first is from a blog
by Amanda Thomson who suggests that it was originally, “Were you born in
Bardney?” Bardney is the site of the Tupholme Abbey in Lincolnshire, England. Apparently,
years after the King, Saint Oswald, was killed in 642, his niece, Osthryth,
moved his bones to the abbey. Unfortunately, the good monks refused to have the
King interred in the abbey since, although known to be a godly man, he was from
another province and, thus, a “foreign king.” During the night, however, a
pillar of light shone from the cart of bones up to the heavens convincing the
monks that Oswald was indeed a saint and that they’d been wrong to shut out the
cart with his bones. Legend has it that, forever after, the monks left their
gates wide open. So, the phrase that developed, “Were you born in Bardney?”
means that you’ve left the door open.
Of
course, it’s also possible that the phrase’s original question was, in fact, “Were
you born in a barn?” It was a custom to leave barn doors open in the early
morning to let the cows out to pasture, and they stayed open all day until the
cows were herded back to the barn for milking again in the early evening.
Hence, leaving the door open.
I heard
it when I tracked mud in the house.
My youngest son, William, was born in one of those
birthing suites. He had the good fortune of being born at a time when they were
just coming into vogue. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Maybe
you’ve even been in one before. Yeah, it’s those comfortable, clean, warm and
brightly lit rooms where the entire family can be present for the birth,
surrounded by the latest in medical technology. It was exactly the sort of
place where you'd want your baby to be born.
But Jesus? Not so much. He wasn’t born in one of
those immaculate birthing suites. He was born in a barn and laid in a manger –
a place where they feed animals. And the question is, “Why?” I mean, of all the
places he could’ve been born, why was he born in a barn with a manger as his
cradle? And most of you know me. I ponder these things, especially during this
time of year. Maybe it’s because I was born in a barn; I don’t know.
But it got me to thinking. Maybe Jesus was born in a
barn and laid in a manger to fulfill the scriptures. You know, the prophecies
in the Old Testament predicting his coming? The problem is there are no
prophecies in the Old Testament about the Messiah being born in a barn. There
goes that idea.
So, then I thought that, well, since Jesus is called
the “Good Shepherd,” maybe he was born in a place cut out for shepherds. Now, it's
true that shepherds would often take shelter out in the fields, like in a
stable, to avoid the elements. But that kind of place was usually a cave of
some sort, and shepherds didn’t live there
– they just took shelter there. And they certainly didn’t give birth there.
I mean, shepherds were social outcasts and all, and they were the poorest of
the poor, but even a shepherd wouldn’t be born in a barn. Sorry. A manger.
And then it came to me. The obvious answer is
provided by the story itself: Jesus was born in a barn and placed in a manger
because there was no room at the inn. That’s it, I thought. You know. It wasn't
something that was planned – it was just an accident. Jesus must have been a
preemie. But then I got to thinking that in the life of Christ there were no
accidents – everything was planned. Everything. Down to the last detail kind of
planned. Planned before the beginning of time. OK, then why the manger?
Well, if you take stock of a real manger, a few
things stand out. First, a manger can be cold.
And if you subscribe to Jesus being born during an Israeli winter, it’s that
damp sort of cold that chills you to the bone. Further, the only heat source would
have been the body heat coming from the cows when they came in to feed, and their
breath. But in winter, their breath would have made for a cloud of steam that,
given the right conditions, could freeze, mid-air.
A manger’s dark, too. In fact, most mangers were located
underground, in a cave or below the house it served. So, even when the sun’s
shining, it's dark in there. And, perhaps stating the obvious, a manger is filthy:
it's full of slobber, drool, mud, dust and cobwebs. It smells bad, too. There's
no such thing as a clean or hygienic manger.
At Christmas time, however, we tend to romanticize
the manger. We turn it into something beautiful and heavenly – a first century
birthing suite of sorts. But a real manger just isn't like that. The truth is
that Jesus was laid in a place that was cold, dark, dirty and smelly. But
again, why? I mean, if Jesus was God Incarnate, God with skin on, couldn’t He
have picked a better spot than a filthy feeding trough – a mangy manger? Maybe
it’s because Jesus is always born in a manger.
You see, when Jesus comes into our lives, he’s born
in a manger of sorts because the human heart is just like one. Our hearts are
cold because we don’t know the love of God; our hearts are dark because we don’t
have the light of Christ, or the hope of salvation; and our hearts are dirty
because we are stained and soiled by sin. But the miracle of Christmas is that
Jesus is willing to be born into hearts just like that! No matter how cold and
dark and dirty our hearts may be, Jesus is willing to come in and be born – born
in the manger of our lives.
His birth, and where he laid, reminds us that Jesus always
meets us at the manger. He encounters us in that place where we feel utterly
lost, hopeless and helpless. He meets us in the darkness of our grief and
sorrow, and he meets us in the blackness of our despair. He comes into our
lives when we feel unloved, unlovable and alone – when inside we feel cold and
half frozen to death. Jesus meets us in all the mess and filth of our sin –
even those sins which we think are unforgivable.
A while back, I picked up a Newsweek
and read an article about Anne Rice. She’s a famous novelist, and her books
have sold 50 million copies the world over. Most of her books deal with the
occult and vampires, like Interview with
a Vampire. The article told the story of her life – how her mother died
when she was still very young, and how she grew up afraid of the dark. Later
on, she got married and gave birth to a baby girl named Michelle. But when Michelle
was just a few years old, she died of leukemia. Crushed, Anne began drinking
heavily and sank into a deep depression. So, she began writing about vampires as
therapy because vampires, so they say, are able to live forever.
Her novels brought her wealth and fame, so much so
that she bought a huge mansion in New Orleans and entertained her many guests
with lavish parties. But then a strange thing happened. Anne began reading the
Bible, including a number of Christian books. And even though she hadn't been
to church since she was a little girl, she felt a strange longing to take
communion. Then, in 1998, she renewed her faith in Jesus Christ, and in 2005
decided that she would no longer write about vampires. Describing that moment
she said, “I was in church, talking to the Lord, saying, ‘I want everything I
do to be for you.’ Then it hit me: ‘It
will be for you. All of it. Every word.’” So, it should come as no
surprise that when her autobiography, Called
out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession (2008), was released, it
rocked the publishing world; it was bordering on the inconceivable that Anne
Rice, the queen of the vampires, was now a devout believer in Jesus Christ.
But then again, maybe that shouldn’t surprise us
after all. Because Jesus is always born in the manger of dark, cold, and dirty
hearts that long to be called out of darkness into light. Out of bondage into
freedom. Out of fear and into joy. Out of self and into Christ.
Maybe being born in a barn isn’t so bad after all.
Grace,
Randy
No comments:
Post a Comment