Mangy Manger
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 found that there are two prevailing theories regarding the origin of that phrase. The first was from a blog by Amanda Thomson who suggested 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 at the abbey refused to have the King interred there 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 carrying the bones of Saint Oswald up to the heavens convincing the monks that Oswald was indeed a saint and that they’d been wrong to shut out the cart carrying his remains. Legend has it that forever thereafter the monks left their gates open wide. As a result, the phrase that developed, “Were you born in Bardney?” meant that you’d left the door open.
It’s also possible, of course, that the phrase’s original question was, in fact, “Were you born in a barn?” Long ago it was custom to leave barn doors open in the early morning to let the cows out to graze in the pasture, and they would stay open all day until the cows were herded back into the barn for milking again in the early evening. Hence, leaving the door open.
I first heard the phrase when I tracked mud in the house.
My youngest son, William, was born in what they called a “birthing suite.” He had the good fortune of being born at a time when birthing suites were just coming into vogue. Maybe you’ve been in one, or have at least seen one before. It’s one of those comfortable, clean, warm and brightly lit rooms where the entire family can be present for the birth, surrounded by the latest 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 an immaculate birthing suite. He was born in a barn and laid in a manger – a place where they feed animals. And the question is, “Why?” Of all the places he could have been born, why was he born in a barn with a manger as his cradle? I ponder these things, especially during this time of year. Maybe it’s because I was born in a barn.
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 went that idea.
Then I thought that 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. Shepherds may have been religious and social outcasts, and among 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. 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 never any accidents – everything was planned. Down to the last detail kind of planned. Planned before the beginning of time. So why the manger then?
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, including their breath. But in winter, their breath would have made for a cloud of steam that, given the right conditions, could have frozen in mid-air.
Also, a manger is dark. In fact, most mangers were located underground in a cave, or below the house that it served. So even when the sun is shining, it's dark in a manger. And perhaps stating the obvious, a manger is filthy – it’s full of slobber, drool, mud, dust, cobwebs and other stuff. 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 isn't like that. The truth is that Jesus was laid in a place that was cold, dark, dirty and smelly. But again, why? Because if Jesus was God Incarnate, God with skin on, Immanuel, 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.
As you may have heard, Anne Rice passed away last week. She was a famous novelist, and her books have sold over 100 million copies the world over. Most of her books dealt with the occult and vampires, like Interview with the Vampire and Queen of the Damned, both of which were the subject of film adaptations. Tragically, her mother died when she was still very young and, as a result, Anne 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. As her means of therapy, Anne began writing about vampires because vampires, so they say, are able to live forever.
Her novels brought Anne unimaginable 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 again, 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 a renewed believer in Jesus Christ.
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
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