“And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:12)
Earlier this evening, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ at Saint Catherine’s Basilica in Bethlehem. Some of the Palestinian Christian families present at the celebration claim to be descended from the first Christians in the vicinity, who in the first and second centuries kept alive the memory of the exact location where Christ was born—a cave among trees at the end of a ridge, so it was said.
Saint Justin Martyr wrote of this cave in the mid-second century, and Origen of Alexandria wrote of it in the third – even though the Emperor Hadrian had turned the site into a pagan shrine of Adonis in a vain effort to wipe out all vestiges of Judaism and Christianity in the region after the Bar Kochba revolt (of 132-135 AD). In the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine constructed a Christian basilica at the site, which was rebuilt by the Emperor Justinian in the sixth century, and has been restored and renovated many times in the years since.
To this day, one can descend a stone staircase to visit the Grotto of the Nativity, located directly underneath the basilica’s high altar. Set in the stone floor, a silver star marks the spot with the Latin inscription, Hic de Virgine Maria Iesus Christus natus est: “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.” Close by, a small side chapel marks the location of the manger.
Saint Luke’s Gospel tells us that Mary wrapped her newborn in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger “because there was no place for them in the inn.” Recent cultural-linguistic and archeological research suggests, however, that “inn” is a misleading translation. The Greek word kataluma is more accurately rendered “guest room.” And this translation invites us to re-imagine some of our traditional pictures of the Nativity.
When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem, one of the villagers – perhaps a relative of Joseph’s – would have given them lodgings. The customs of hospitality demanded no less. But since many others had come to Bethlehem for the census, all the available guest rooms in the village were occupied. In that area, peasant dwellings were often built against hillsides in front of, next to, or above natural or man-made caves used for family activities during the day and to shelter animals during the night. So, Mary and Joseph probably stayed as guests in just such a cave, because there was no place for them in their host’s guest room. Most probably, they were among family; Mary likely gave birth surrounded by caring relatives, even if distant relatives of Joseph.
In Luke’s Gospel, the word translated “manger,” phatne, is derived from the Greek verb “to eat,” and denotes a feeding trough or stall for cattle or horse feed. In the Latin Vulgate, Saint Jerome translated this word as praesepium, whence we get the title of this evening’s choral Mass setting, George Malcolm’s Missa ad praesepio, or “Mass at the Crib.” Of course, the English word “manger” has a similar derivation, coming from the French verb manger, to eat. The cave in which Mary and Joseph received lodgings would have been furnished with a stone manger or feeding trough for the animals, ready to serve as a makeshift cradle for the newborn Jesus.
We don’t know at what time of year Jesus was born, but Mary’s bundling him up in swaddling cloths suggests that it was cold, even if not "the bleak midwinter." In any case, the sight of a newborn wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger was sufficiently unusual that it could serve as an effective sign confirming the truth of the angel’s announcement to the shepherds of the birth of a Savior, the Lord Messiah.
Some early Christian writers, such as Saints Ambrose and Augustine, noticed that the image of Jesus at his birth, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a stone manger in a cave foreshadows Jesus at his death, taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen shroud, and lying on a stone slab in another cave. The symbolism is that his death fulfills the purpose for which he was born into the world.
There was no place for them in the guest room. The word kataluma, translated “inn” or “guest room,” appears only three times in the New Testament: here, and in Mark’s and Luke’s Gospels where Jesus and his disciples have entered Jerusalem, and Jesus sends Peter and John to prepare the Passover meal, telling them: “When you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow him into the house which he enters, and tell the householder, 'The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I am to eat the Passover with my disciples?' And he will show you a large upper room furnished; there make ready.”
It’s interesting and perhaps more than a coincidence that the same Lord who was denied the guest room at the time of his birth, occupies another guest room on the eve of his death, and there hosts the Passover meal where he institutes the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. But again, that is why he was born into the world in the first place. And that is why we’re here this evening: to celebrate the Holy Eucharist, where he promises to become sacramentally present with us, just has he became physically present with Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, and the wise men in Bethlehem.
Every December, we’re subjected to somewhat tiresome polemics about putting Christ back into Christmas, and Christmas back into “the holidays.” Various devotional commentators write columns and letters about how to discover the real meaning of Christmas, and where to find Christ amidst all the busyness and commercial glitz of the season: perhaps in quiet moments or quality time spent at home with gathered and reunited family members. I want to suggest, however, that this evening we’ve come to the right place; before we find Christ anywhere else, we find him here.
In Hebrew, the name Bethlehem means “House of Bread.” This evening, this church is “Bethlehem in Providence” – the house where Jesus the Bread of Life comes to us and feeds us. The manger, a feeding trough, signifies that he is our spiritual food and drink. By sharing in our life and death, he invites us to share in his Resurrection to eternal life, beginning here and now, in this sacred and sacrificial banquet.
I give the last word to Sir John Betjeman, who sums up far better than I can all that I’m trying to say:
No love that in a family dwells,
No caroling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single truth compare –
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.
Acknowledgment: some key ideas for this sermon came from Aidan Nichols, O.P., Year of the Lord's Favour: A Homiliary for the Roman Lectionary, Vol. 2, pp. 61-62.
Every December, we’re subjected to somewhat tiresome polemics about putting Christ back into Christmas, and Christmas back into “the holidays.” Various devotional commentators write columns and letters about how to discover the real meaning of Christmas, and where to find Christ amidst all the busyness and commercial glitz of the season: perhaps in quiet moments or quality time spent at home with gathered and reunited family members. I want to suggest, however, that this evening we’ve come to the right place; before we find Christ anywhere else, we find him here.
In Hebrew, the name Bethlehem means “House of Bread.” This evening, this church is “Bethlehem in Providence” – the house where Jesus the Bread of Life comes to us and feeds us. The manger, a feeding trough, signifies that he is our spiritual food and drink. By sharing in our life and death, he invites us to share in his Resurrection to eternal life, beginning here and now, in this sacred and sacrificial banquet.
I give the last word to Sir John Betjeman, who sums up far better than I can all that I’m trying to say:
No love that in a family dwells,
No caroling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single truth compare –
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.
Acknowledgment: some key ideas for this sermon came from Aidan Nichols, O.P., Year of the Lord's Favour: A Homiliary for the Roman Lectionary, Vol. 2, pp. 61-62.
