So, when Luke notes that there was no room for Joseph and Mary in the inn, there is more to it than meets the eye. This detail is more than symbolic for just as well that the Holy Family was not housed in any inn because we would have lost the Eucharistic symbolism.
She wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger. Many Churches carry the custom of placing the little Baby in the manger during the various Christmas Masses. It is such a heart-warming tradition. We know that a manger is a trough or tray used for feeding farm animals. If they took shelter in a barn, then the manger would have been fabricated from wood. If they settled in a cave, it more likely that the trough would have been moulded from clay or hewn from stone. Wood or stone, the connexions are clear. The manger made from wood shows us the future of the Cross. Thus, the Child laid in the manger will one day be the stretched on the Cross. In built, a manger is also shaped like an open coffin which reminds us of how the Child will one day lie in a tomb to await His Resurrection. More importantly, as the cattle gather to feed on the hay, so too will we surround the altar to feast on the Body and Blood of the Child whose destiny is to feed us in order to save us.
The Gospel context is clear for us at this midnight Mass. A Saviour is born for us. The lack of shelter may be explained by the fact of that a census was taking place but it serves to remind us that even before His birth, He was already rejected and later on, He would be humiliated on the way to Calvary. His sacrifice will ensure that we shall have the possibility to live forever. A question which we might ask is this: For all that He has given and done for us, what are we willing to sacrifice for Him?
It is not an easy question to answer and it does sound like a mean question to ask. On this most serene of nights, it feels like a lecture and a shame. The truth is no one is seeking an answer for now. It is after all Christmas—a time when we should be moved deeply by the mere fact that tonight the Prince of Peace makes His appearance.
According to historical records in 1914, deep in the trenches stretching from Flanders to France, opposing soldiers in World War I laid down their arms and enmity in order to savour the peace that descended on them during Christmas. In fact, this frowned upon ceasefire provided a moment of hope and joy for the beleaguered soldiers in the trenches. For a few brief but magical hours, men from both sides of the line shared food, sang carols, played games while the guns lay silent. Though enemies to each other, the respite came from their shared faith in the Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the King of kings and the Prince of Peace.
Through that miserable wintery fog, there arose a profound recognition that Christmas comes to us because the world is despondent. In itself, this statement is truly an understatement. Why? The world has been in anguish and agony ever since the Fall—ever since Adam bit the apple. Last year we were constrained from being present in person. This year the enquiries that came in were expectant but also apprehensive. Anxiety has surrounded this Advent waiting. Will the same restriction be imposed at the last minute? We desperately need the assurance that God still cares for us. In the dead silence of the night, never mind that we may be unable to even love God, we are given a great gift, that is, the Son of God Himself.
Whatever our disposition, the Prince of Peace bids us make room for the only peace that will ever restore our balance and heal our relationships. Sadly, in terms of our devotion, we cannot even come near to the Crib because we have to avoid crowding. But maybe let the symbol of the manger—the symbol of the Cross and Resurrection—be a timely reminder to us that as we receive the Body and Blood of Lord, He is coming to us. We should worship Him as He makes His home in our hearts—that where we go, we now bring Him along. Blessed Christmas.
