December 23, 2024 at 3:00 p.m.
Manger
Latin text
O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
iacentem in praesepio!
O beata virgo, cuius viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia!
English translation
O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the newborn Lord,
lying in a manger!
O blessed virgin, whose womb
was worthy to bear
the Lord Jesus Christ.
Alleluia!
From the Matins of Christmas (Roman Breviary). For a beautiful musical setting of this hymn see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KvrbYZB2vY
Whether or not one took French, the soft pronunciation of the word “manger” (mahng-ZHAY) is doubtless familiar to all, often evoking haute cuisine. Not the usual meaning of “manger” we come across, however, as Christmas symbols show up around us.
We all know what a manger really is, a trough from which animals feed or, frankly, “chow down.” I use the crude phrase deliberately. I am talking about the rude way in which the world received its Savior. Or, better, the humble way God presented the Son to us: as food to be eaten. Yet how else is total Love to present itself in the world except as a complete and unconditional gift of self, to be sacrificed and consumed?
The German language has a different word to describe animals eating. Human beings “essen,” but the beasts “fressen.” Something we might want to keep in mind when tempted to become critical — or eclectic — about certain liturgical manners. God was hardly particular about how Jesus would be torn apart to become the Bread of our Life.
When animals wolf down their feed, they are not particularly neat about it. We may be sure that at the Last Supper, a few crumbs dropped to the floor as Jesus broke the loaves, investing himself sacramentally for generations to follow, and allowing us to become full partakers of his Divine Presence — without the brutality of what he was about to suffer.
Were there dogs at the Last Supper? Remember the clever remarks of the Canaanite woman who dared to spar with Jesus, winning his admiration. “Even the little pups gobble up the crumbs that fall from their master’s table” (Mt 15:27). It was common for feral dogs to wander in and out of where people dined. Even if none made it up the stairs to the Upper Room, Judas did! For all the loyalty we expect from dogs, his behavior that night was hardly of a higher order. Yet Jesus offered him a place at the table, consistent with what he did all his life! Why else had he come but to dine and die among sinners?
There were surely animals in the stable. Jesus never dissociated himself from the company of lepers or the smell of the sheep. “It’s not the healthy who need the doctor. Sick people do!” (Mt 5:31). We may be excused, I suppose, of the urge to sanitize our depictions of the infancy narratives. Few artistic renditions of the Crucifixion itself portray the full horror and filthiness of Golgotha, the Place of the Skull. Like all garbage dumps one suspects it attracted rodents, flies and other vermin. So do stables, if one has ever been in a barn.
St. Francis is reputed to have been the first to design a crèche. He was careful to include animals as essential in the panorama. And, of course, a manger with hay in it. On a recent visit to Assisi I saw a replication of his design. Oddly, I learned, it did not include human figures. Maybe Francis wanted no distractions with the well coiffed hair or richly stitched colors of attire our more domesticated Nativity scenes feature. The only festive “garment” needed to come to this table is the humblest faith. “Lord, I am not worthy” (Mt 8:8, cf. Mt 22:11). And no, I did not notice any gifts tucked under the manger. Maybe the Magi are best imagined as seekers from afar whose hearts are led by the star over the center of the world’s one true hope, not the wealth of their deeds or earnings to distract from the true meaning of Christmas: Emmanuel, God-with-us, so close, so low, as almost not to be noticed.
Indeed, we know shepherds were the first to hear what the angels heralded. And the animals — probably even stray dogs among them — were the first to witness the arrival of the Savior of the world and eat in his presence. Does this not give us reason to hope that no matter how far away we may have strayed, or been pushed to the margins by unwelcoming managers of “God’s house,” there may be room for us all in this place?
The real church may not be present only in the edifice that reserves our Divine Guest in a locked, gilded chest, but the tabernacle of every human heart, open to receive and embrace the entry of this King of Kings and Lord of Lords whose rightful throne is, after all, our hearts. If we seek a welcoming church — as close to another person as the breath of an ox or an ass to the cheek of the babe in a manger — then we might best emulate that tender innocence which offers each of us the same intimacy.
Finally, the “door” of “the church” is not farther or more impenetrable than the heart of every disciple. If we open it to the One who knocks gently, then we welcome salvation into our home (cf. Rev 3:20). And the One who knocks may well come to us as that “child” who is our neighbor. Our heart, a manger, where Jesus can be born again. Merry Christmas!
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