Your
Place at the Manger
by:
Pastor Dan M. Appel
One of my favorite Christmas poems is a short free verse by J.T. Ledbetter titled "The Journey of the Magi." I'd like to share it with you.
No one says anything
about the men who came with them to Bethlehem.
The women too.
Someone must have fed
the mules and
brought water for the mighty one's feet at
night and washed the dust from them and
lit the fires
and cooked whatever food
they managed
from the people in the
huts and cases
along the way. But no one
says much about them,
as if they existed only as shadows
of the ones with crowns and gifts
and could not count for praise or be in need
of comfort. Where are the songs for them?
Where are the words that bring them
to us so that we may see their eyes and mark
the tears of sudden joy as they too,
beheld the baby? Where are the signs set
in heaven or angels' voices heard in waterfalls
or the rush of evening that calls us
to them that we may thank them too.
For there is something in us that cries
out
for them, needs them to exist, forms them
out of our own dust and desires and canny
words because we are not wise or kings
and our gifts sour on our tongues too quickly
when we pray. We want the old men or the tired
women who carried the baskets and watched
from behind the oxen when the treasures were
laid before him. Then we are happy!
Then we are a part of it! There is our presence,
and there we take hold of that power
they helped to find, this glory we share.
I thought of this poem the other night when Charla and I were out doing a little Christmas shopping. Charla left me sitting on a couch guarding our purchases while she went to find a picture frame and I took a few minutes to look around and to reflect on what was happening. The first thing that hit me was how little there was about Jesus in all that surrounded me. Santa was prominent; there was an abundance of tinsel; the music was quickly becoming oppressive it was so omnipresent; ornately dressed wisemen strutted in windows and displays; even shepherds, dressed in freshly laundered robes and smelling not at all like sheepherders appeared in such numbers that it seemed like round-up time; but where was Jesus in all of this? It seemed like the birthday boy must be like some poor child peeking through the fence at a group of children celebrating at a party he was not invited to. Only in this case, the party was His, and He was still on the outside.
Which brings me to another thought I had sitting there on that couch in the front of the Pottery Barn in Walnut Creek. Maybe Jesus wasn't in the picture, because we have a hard time putting ourselves in the picture. We see a place at the manger for wisemen and shepherds, but how about us? Where do we fit in? I guess that's why I like this poem so much. It reminds us that there is a place in the Nativity Scene for us; and it reminds us that there is, because there is a place in our Father's heart for us. After all, we're the reason Jesus was there in the first place.
