The Manager is the Message

Ralph W Sockman once said: “The hinge of history is on the door of Bethlehem’s stable.” This statement almost blows your mind with its possibility. Today, I would like you to go with me and make the hinge squeak and open the door to explore these possibilities. First of all, I liked the article in the December A.D. magazine that stands up for the innkeeper in the Christmas story. Paul Trudinger asks: “Was the innkeeper really that stupid?” His answer is beautiful.

It is very easy to read our modern western customs into the Bible story. This place was not a modern hotel, nor even an 18th century English inn. This was a typical Eastern traveler’s resting place in the first century AD or BC. For that matter there are parts of the East where things haven’t changed that much.

There was probably just one large room where everyone stayed. They all bedded down, where dressed and washed was a luxury of whatever water was available. At a busy time, such as during a census, this room would be packed. This place was no proper place for the delivery of a baby. Surely at such a time, the mother should be allowed some sheltering from public gaze. Surely some privacy was demanded. The landlord, I suggest, was a human sensitive enough to know that this was not the kind of place or company suitable for such a moment in Mary’s life.

The scriptural text may simply conclude: “For there was not a place for them in the inn.” The landlord may have very well been compassionate. He may have sensed the awkwardness and possible embarrassment of a delivery in a crowded inn. He may have offered the only other accommodations available, the animal stalls located at the back of the inn.

Here at least Mary and Joseph could have sheltered privacy. Here Mary needed not to be stared at, nor did she need to hear the course remarks from the uncouth characters they would be among, with the crowd coming in the time of the census.

Thus, she gave birth to her first-born son and laid him in a manger thanks to the thoughtfulness and sensitivity of an innkeeper who felt it was not an appropriate place for Mary to have a baby.

Now, the more I thought about this interpretation of the innkeeper’s act, the more I agreed with it. As a boy, I spent much time around a stable. Our stable used to be about 100 feet from the house. In a cold winter, many times I would play in the stable. There’s something about the smell of hay that is romantic. Have you ever jumped from the rafters of a barn into the hay? It is so soft. The hay just seems to open its arms to receive you and just hug you all over. In fact. The image of the article set my memories leaping into my past consciousness. Have you ever sat in the hay in a manger and watched the cow eat? The cows have such big ears. When I was a boy, the cows were all my friends. I used to sit and watch the cows. I used to like to hear the crunch of the hay in their teeth. Many times, I’d reach out and pat them on the nose. They put their cold nose against my arm. In fact, I was just thinking last night, so I began to look back, there’s something even about the smell of manure in the stable that is nostalgic.

So, I come to the door of the Bethlehem stable this morning. I pull it open and hear the hinge squeak. (By the way, hinges on the stable door always squeak in the winter period as I open the door.) I feel I’m entering the stable of this history and I feel right at home. In fact, I feel like a little third grader from Portland, Maine who had his little poem published in January issue of A.D. magazine.

A Key
There was a key
And a door
I opened it up and found
A whole new world
I want to see
And I found that
I belong there.

I feel like this when I open the door of the stable of Bethlehem.

I opened it up
And found
Her whole new world
How much you see
That world
And I found that

I belong there just because I like the feel of hay and the Manger. I sat there as a boy. I felt it. The softness and warmth of the hay in the winter. The hay in my mouth and the taste of it. I like the cows too. They were my friends. It must have been fun to watch Mary Joseph as they rejoiced over their first son.

I can still remember the November day when our first son was born. It was such a wonderous thrill. The long days were over for the mother, and now you are holding the baby in your arms. I felt some of the thrill again last night when I talked to my son David on the phone. I had not heard his voice for four months. He was faraway and his voice was wonderful. Then, there was this baby. As Howard Thurman put it, the symbol of Christmas. What is it? It is the cry of life from the newborn babe born for its mother and claiming its right to live.

Here’s a little baby crying for its right to his future. The world he is born in has the potential to give him his future. And the future of the little baby is a wonderful thing. It is so unpredictable. It is so full of possibilities and potential. Is the future unclaimed. There’s a possibility of life yet to come and to be lived meaningfully. There are possibilities of loving, hoping, believing, and risking. And there are possibilities of changing things. These are all built into the life of a baby.

And this little baby was particular wonder. His parents had received a message from an Angel about this baby. Truly, he was to hold the hinge of the door of history in his hand. He was to be Emmanuel. God with us. He was to be Jesus, which means “God saves his people.” Our Lord. Commanding the respect from all whom he called. He is Christ. Messiah. Appointed for destiny. Appointed by God to lead his people through the day of history. He is also a baby, with soft skin, a dimple, a smile, a little butterball. The baby is a thing that brings tears into Mary’s eyes when she touches him. Joseph’s face lights up when he sees that tear. This child is theirs and it is made of something beautiful. Then there are the other ones, who see the babe in that stable. There is a strange blending of cows, and people, and straw. There are the smells and sights of the world around, all blending together in the dim glow of a candle. This speaks to us of nature and ecology and beauty.

A beautiful illustration was written by a lady correspondent who writes of recently having to adapt to living alone she writes:

One of the toughest things to face is not having someone with whom to talk over things at the point of things happening. The disappointments and happy discoveries of each day. I was thinking of this the other afternoon as I drove home across a low bridge that spans the Bay. There was a spectacular show of clouds, and I realized that my enjoyment of it was diminished, because I couldn’t say to anybody “Isn’t it great?” Then came the thought: “God is present, and I could share it with him.” That helped me some but not much. Then, it really hit me it’s the other way around. God is sharing this beauty with me. He wants someone, me you, or anybody to see that he’s created this world with water, earth, and light with splendid glories that he paints every day. “Look,” he says. “It’s for you. Isn’t great?” So, it was greater than it ever had been before, and I knew the moment had been truly shared.

That’s how I feel about the stable in Bethlehem with the baby in the straw and the animals and the wise men and the shepherds. God is sharing this with us. This marvelous coming together of people and animals in earth and sky and God and man. The whole creation is represented there celebrating the birth of this child, for me or anybody to see what he’s created with water, earth and light, and it’s all there in the stable.

I like to think of the people who came to this stable. There were rich people and poor people together. The magi brought their rich gifts. I wonder what the shepherds brought. I’m sure the gospel writer Matthew was so excited about the gold, frankincense, and myrrh that he forgot what the shepherds brought. I wonder if a little shepherd boy brought him a fuzzy, soft little lamb. So, they came together. The Jews and gentiles in the stable. The wise men were gentiles, and the shepherds were Jews. So were Mary and Joseph. I like to think that the baby was just an everyman created to show us all what it means to be human. In his stable, the rich and poor, wise and simple, adult and child and baby all come together with one thing in mind, to see the newborn baby and bring him a gift. And that is really why we’re here together today. We are all different. From different homes, different backgrounds, different families, and different origins, but we are all here one with one purpose to talk about a baby in a Manger and bring him a gift.

Finally, there was a star shining on this stable, shining a mystery. I saw a beautiful illustration of that the other night, when I went to see the Singing Christmas tree at the Civic Auditorium. It was soloist by the name of Paul Bergen, who made me wonder about the mystery. I had never before heard the song of the Jesus story sung with such a beautiful bass voice. He talked about the mystery when he said: “Hold your hand in front of you and wonder at your fingers. That is a great miracle. It’s a great miracle to be able to quickly move your fingers.” I looked at the bearded man who was telling us to wiggle our fingers and watched him wiggle his fingers. Then, I saw his crutches and his dangling legs, which were paraplegic with no movement from his hips down. He knew that it was indeed a miracle to be able to wiggle one’s fingers and to walk.

That is what the star says to me. The mystery stands over the stable pointing up where the child was born. It says this is a miracle. You look at the world around him. Herod had heard about the Christ child who would lead in love. He threatened to have all the little babies put to death. His fear was that this little baby in the Manger would be a threat to his throne. I think the people who crucified him. They were afraid of him because he wanted to change things from what they were. He caused a man with a withered hand to stretch it out be healed, but it was the Sabbath. He said to the prostitute on the temple steps and said: “Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more.” Yes, but the law says she should be stoned to death. He said to the thief beside him on the cross: “Today you shall be with me in paradise.” Yes, but the law says: “The wicker shall be cast into hell.”

This is the baby that was born in the stable. The star stood still over the stable and said: “This is the baby who have been looking for.” You have been for this child for a long time. His name is Jesus meaning “God saves his people.” He is Emmanuel, meaning “God is with us.” This is the mystery and the miracle. You go to the stable. The hinge of history is on the door. You pull the door open, and the hinge squeaks. You go into this stable, and you look at the baby. You feel you are standing in front of God in human flesh. You cry out “Emmanuel!” Then you look again, and you see a new mystery. You see a little baby, and you say: “I was like that once.” You see how he will grow into a beautiful man. You say, “I wish I was like him. I can be like him. Behold the man!”

This whole bundle of life is all there in that stable.