Everything We Need Fits in the Manger

Everything we need fits in the manger. 

Everything we need as people… whoever we are, no matter our age, our location, our vocation, our gender, our race, our diagnoses, our political affiliation, our preferred sports team, our griefs, our joys… everything we need fits in the manger. 

This year has been a difficult year for most of us in this room. Almost no family in this community has been untouched by loss. Tight finances, family tensions, unexpected changes, instability in the world, and even random complications in routine procedures have affected all of us. With that level of complexity, we come here on Christmas Eve, wanting the familiar and the comfortable. 

It's also possible that many of us look at the simplicity of the manger and appreciate it only for this moment, an hour or so out of “regular” time, because otherwise, there’s no way it can meet the challenges of our everyday lives. 

Here’s the thing, though. You know me. I have been with you at the funerals this year. Our kids have been playing together. I sat through the same tens of thousands of political ads you did. I prayed for rain, fire suppression, protection of rescue workers, safety, and for healing in the same situations you did. So, I have no reason now to pretend or to lie to you when I need the same good news you do. You’re getting the Christmas message that I need to hear just as much as you- everything I need fits in the manger. 

The manger isn’t just a historical detail in an ancient story – it is a powerful metaphor for how God chooses to meet our deepest human needs. That wooden feedbox, whatever its original size was, holds the infant Christ who reveals God’s presence, provision, and peace. 

First, presence. In the Christmas story, we see God choosing to become present with humanity in the most intimate way possible – by becoming one of us. The manger represents God's desire to meet us where we are, in our messiness and vulnerability. Nothing is more vulnerable or messy than childbirth or, afterward, the baby. 

The reality of God coming into the world as an infant is a powerful reminder that we don't need to clean ourselves up or achieve some level of perfection before we can experience God's presence. God comes to us as we are, where we are. In the manger, we find Christ- God with us- in the same humble state in which we all entered the world. 

God’s willingness to take on the vulnerability of human infancy and the aches and pains of human growth is a witness to how God keeps all the divine promises. A God who is willing to show up like this will always be present in other unexpected and humble ways. The presence of God in the manger is the promise of the presence of God everywhere there is need- in a hospital room, at a dinner table, in the cab of a truck, in a classroom, or in the grocery store.

The manger shows us that God is not uninterested in our lives; God is intimately involved in them. Christ is not far off or distant, but close—close in our suffering, close in our joy, close in our loneliness, and close in our hope.

Now, let's talk about provision. At first glance, a manger might seem like a symbol of lack, not a fancy cradle or even a real bed. In that humble feeding trough, however, lay everything humanity truly needed – a Savior who would provide not just for our physical needs, but for our deepest spiritual longings. The manger teaches us that true provision often comes in unexpected packages and that sometimes, less isn’t really more. Less can be enough.

The manger tells us that God will provide what we need, not necessarily what we want. In the gift of Jesus, God gives us everything we need for life and salvation: the forgiveness of sins, the promise of eternal life, and the hope of a restored relationship with our Creator. In and through Christ, we have everything necessary to live a life of faith, to endure trials, and to be part of how God’s will is done on earth as in heaven.

Jesus is the answer to our deepest hungers—our hunger for purpose, our hunger for peace, our hunger for love. When we focus on how we have to do things for ourselves, we often miss the ways that God does provide for us- people around us who are glad to help, open doors and windows that create opportunities, the ability to focus on one day at a time and see blessings around us. 

Understanding God’s provision does not mean we won’t ever suffer or struggle. I am certain Mary didn’t imagine laying her firstborn child on a bed of straw in a strange house. God’s provision, though, meant that she had a safe place to give birth and revelation of God’s presence in clear and tangible ways through the location, the hospitality, and then the witness of the angels to the shepherds. The same God shows up for us in clear and tangible ways, providing for our needs. 

Finally, the manger reveals God’s peace. Peace isn’t merely the absence of conflict. The original manger was located in an occupied territory of the Roman Empire, whose emperor kept peace by squashing rebellions rather violently. Shortly after Jesus’ birth, Joseph and Mary will have to flee with the infant to Egypt in order to keep him safe from Herod’s slaughter of innocents. 

The peace that comes to us in the manger is a peace for our hearts and minds. In a world constantly clamoring for our attention, bombarding us with messages about what we need to buy, achieve, or become to find happiness, the manger offers a radical alternative. It whispers to us that peace is not found in external circumstances or accomplishments, but in recognizing and embracing the presence of God in our lives.

This peace reminds us that we have been made by God and we are loved by God. This is a truth not only for us, but for all people. When we see the infant prince of peace in the manger, the Spirit stirs us to hear an echo, “With God as our Father, we are family”. With that sense of an enlarged family, we see peace on earth beginning here and continuing through us in words and deeds. 

Pope Francis said, “God never gives someone a gift they are not capable of receiving. If he gives us the gift of Christmas, it is because we all have the ability to understand and receive it.” 

Everything we need fits in the manger and God has made us capable of receiving the gifts that have been provided in love.  

This Christmas, let us ask for our hearts to be opened so that we might receive the peace, provision, and presence that God offers through Jesus. And may the joy of knowing that everything we need can be found in the manger fill us with all hope, joy, and love as we celebrate His birth. 

May God’s peace, provision, and presence be with you always. And when any of those seems far away, no matter the time of year, return to the manger. It all fits right here. Amen.

 

Andrew Jackson, Jesus, and Me

Recently, I needed a haircut. By that, I mean that I suddenly couldn’t tolerate my hair situation (last cut in May), and I wanted a trim RIGHT NOW. I wasn’t even willing to wait for my regular place in my town, but instead looked online where I was to see if I could get it done IMMEDIATELY. 

(If you’re neurotypical, the idea of being unable to wait for a haircut probably seems very odd. All my neuro-spicy folks know what I mean.) 

I went into a place where I knew they probably couldn’t mess up a trim and was the only customer in the place. As I was checking, a woman and a tween (her daughter?) came in behind me. They also checked in and we were seated in side-by-side chairs, probably six feet apart. 

After I had discussed my instantaneous trim needs with the stylist, I was then listening to the other stylist discuss the desired haircut with the tween. She wanted all her hair gone, a dramatic chop! As she spoke with her stylist, she explained why and included that her father had passed away a few days earlier. 

The stylist gasped and offered condolences. She asked what happened. The child said, “Illness”, but the adult (mom?) said, “He lost his battle with depression.”

The stylist offered condolences again and then told a story about loss in her family. I know this was to show understanding and solidarity, but the end result was the mom walking away to examine the product display. When your grief is fresh, you don’t always have the capacity to process other people’s stories or even to receive them graciously. Everything you have is concentrated on keeping yourself going for the people who need you. 

As our haircuts continued in tandem, I listened to the tween talk about hair and then listened to the whisper of the scissors in both our stations. I thought about what I might say to the woman. I knew some good books to offer, and I had colleagues in the location I trusted, if she needed a clergyperson or just someone to listen. 

I also know that, in grief and overwhelm, it can be hard to discern good intentions. Sometimes an encounter with a stranger, no matter how well meaning, is just too much information to process. 

I wanted to do something, anything, that could be helpful, and I felt that I had one choice. As I gathered my things after my cut, I motioned to my stylist that I wanted to pay for both haircuts. I paid, tipped well, and left without saying anything to anyone. 

I have fairly extensive experience in being with people in grief. I am not a stranger to a conversation around the pain and mixed emotions of being left behind after someone completes suic*de. I have worked with children after loss. 

I also know that sometimes words are not the thing. Sometimes silence is the thing. Silence may involve listening. Silence may involve service, even for someone you don’t know. 

That woman expected to pay $20 or so for that haircut, so I don’t think I made a significant financial contribution to her situation. I do think, though, that a paid for haircut could be a tiny bit of hope or comfort in a bleak midwinter. It is enough to know that someone heard her pain and wanted to help a little. And if many people around her help a little, it can change a lot. 

When we treat money as a taboo subject, it means we also don’t discuss what good can come from it. The cost of that haircut wasn’t nothing to me. I have kids. I have bills. I have student debt I’m still paying. It was, however, what I hope someone would do for me or for someone I love in the same situation.

Little generosities, small kindnesses, gentle silent service can make big differences. You don't have to have the right words. It is often enough to just do one small thing.

Andrew Jackson was not Jesus. 

But an Andrew Jackson can do the work of Jesus in a moment. It can dispel a kernel of the shadow of grief. Sometimes that’s all you can do. 

And it is enough.