Away From the Manger

My birthday comes up just after Jesus'. It's ok, I don't need a cake or anything. And I'm not as old as Him. But it got me thinking about the day I was born, wondering if any songs got written and who came to visit and what the room looked like?

I was born in a hospital in Indianapolis, between Christmas and New Year's. It was probably cold, there might have been snow on the ground. Birds and squirrels would have been abundant outside. Inside, it probably looked like this:

With my mom in the bed and me either in a crib or another room where they kept babies. The flowers are nice. Probably a few cards were scattered around. My grandparents and uncle would have visited. Certainly a nice upgrade from a stable and feed trough, but not terribly romantic, either. Not enough for songs to be written.

So is there anything weird about all that now?

If you were to send me pictures of my time in the hospital, pictures of me as a baby, and wrote songs about the room and the birds outside, and my visitors bearing who knows what gifts, I'd be a little weirded out.

That's not where I am in the story.

That was decades ago.

So I wonder why we keep Jesus in the manger? That was millennia ago. And it's not where He is in the story, either.

It occurs to me, though, that Jesus is rather safe in the crib. He's not threatening or demanding. He doesn't disrupt our lives or ask us to make any decisions. He's safe. We can ignore Him unless He's crying and just go about our business as if nothing is different. So we sing the same songs over and over and over again. We hang pretty lights and go look at them. We haul trees in from a field or the attic and hang shiny stuff and lights all over them. We decorate our houses and some folks stick antlers on their cars. We buy presents for each other, eat way too much food, especially sugar. We put on the "Merry" mask and act as if all is well inside us and in our worlds. And we can ignore that manger thing we see here and there. It is rather irrelevant, after all.

Oddly, the church goes along. A really insightful message will note that Jesus came to die, so His crucifixion gets included in the memory-making, and we remember that this Christmas thing is important. But it's even more than that. He's still here. Alive. Calling out to us. We sing our songs and put on our plays and decorate our lobbies and stages.

The Jesus who lives today is rather different than that baby, confronting us with questions and offers. He invites us into an adventure with Him, to learn who we are, who He is, how to come to life again and get our hearts and our hopes back. How to remove the "Merry" mask for some real healing. But we have to be willing. We're still free to ignore Him and go about our business, but we'll be haunted sooner or later. The offer of Life, the life we yearn for, is usually too much to ignore forever. Troubles and fears, failures and brokenness, usually have a way of driving us to Him, wondering how He can help. Or the desire for the life we always wanted, with hopes and dreams and successes and loves that last.

What if you bumped into Him at Kohl's as you're buying new shirts?
What if He looked like this:

 

What if He told you that He was here, watching you, waiting for you? What if He told you that He had something special for you? What if He just hugged you?