The Mess of the Manger
When I was a little girl, I loved helping my mother decorate the house for Christmas. My favorite part was setting up the nativity scene. I remember it well. It was minimal by today’s standards, just a small wooden stable with coarse grass on the roof and a few faceless, hand-carved wooden figures. Baby Jesus was so tiny, wrapped in a simple white cloth with a lackluster gold halo over his head no wider than a paper clip. I would save him for last, gently laying him in the manger after all the other pieces were in place. The nativity scene came with a small bag of straw to spread around the stable floor. The straw had a distinct smell, reminiscent of a petting zoo, and it made such a mess.
Over the years my mother amassed a large collection of nativity scenes. They ranged vastly in color, size, and style. Each one was beautiful in its own way, but my favorite remained the original nativity, unsophisticated as it was. It seemed to be the most authentic of them all. It was unadorned and messy, but so was the first Christmas.
As a child, it was easy to miss the mess of the manger when I read of Jesus’ birth. I looked at the illustrations in my story Bible or on the felt board in Sunday school and I saw a flawless family bathed in a halo of light, surrounded by a group of happy barnyard animals and kindly shepherds. Now, as a wife and mother, I read the passages in the gospels of Matthew and Luke and I see the unfiltered truth: nothing about that first Christmas was picture-perfect.
A young, unwed Mary, made pregnant by the Holy Spirit, no doubt led to awkward and emotionally charged conversations with family. Before giving birth, Mary and Joseph were required to leave the comforts of their home and travel to Bethlehem for the census. The last place any woman wants to be in her third trimester is on the back of a donkey. Wayfaring with his wife, pregnant with a child he did not father; this was hardly the honeymoon Joseph anticipated. To complicate matters further, when they arrived in Bethlehem there were no rooms available. The best the innkeeper could do was offer up a stable for the young couple to stay the night. Shoving their way through the crowded streets, discouraged and exhausted, they found themselves with no choice but to give birth amidst barn animals, placing their newborn son in a feeding trough. Talk about a mess. Every part of the Christmas story has my organized, plan-for-everything, label-making self, cringing. As a wife and mother, if I had looked around the stable that night, fatigued and emotional as Mary surely was, I would have struggled to see past the mess.
I love the holiday season, but it sure can be chaotic. My home is never messier than when my kids are home on winter break. My kitchen table is usually littered with art supplies. Unrinsed cocoa mugs and sticky marshmallow residue clutter the countertops. The sink is filled with remnants of the latest cookie-baking marathon. Blankets, books, and pillows cascade off the couch. My hardwood floors are riddled with pine needles and glitter. We frantically prepare for holiday gatherings, school performances, and church events. No matter how well I plan, there’s always at least one person I forget to shop for and by then I’m well over budget. I often stare at our December calendar and wonder where all the margin went. It’s easy for me to grow frustrated and stressed. I yearn for order. (I have been known to start the clean-up process before everyone’s done opening gifts on Christmas morning.) By the time January rolls around I am anxious to declutter and restore peace to my home and my schedule. When the day comes that I can do just that, I realize I missed it. I didn’t stop to take it all in. The miracle of Christmas got lost in the mess.
After Jesus was born, the Bible says “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart,” (Luke 2:19). A lot had happened since that night she was visited by the angel. There was much to consider, sure, but treasure? Things had been chaotic and complicated, but somehow, Mary found merit in the mess. Amid the disorder, Mary had the sense to stay present. She looked around at her situation and saw it all as valuable, a treasure to keep safely tucked away in the corners of her heart. Where I would have seen failed plans, Mary saw God’s faithfulness. I would have dwelled on the lack of cleanliness in the stable; Mary dwelled on the face of God. Where I would have seen a mess, Mary saw a miracle.
This Christmas, I am brought back to the simplicity of my mother’s nativity set. I pray my heart aligns with Mary’s this holiday season. I don’t want to be distracted by the mess, I want to treasure it. In the thick of mountains of wrapping paper, a sink full of dishes, tricky family dynamics, an overstretched budget, and endless messes, I want to see Jesus. I want to sit back and take it all in. I pray I have a heart that sees all God lovingly orchestrated to give me the gift of Christmas. I pray I see the miracle in the mess of the manger.