Have you ever noticed how Jesus changes things? Today’s passage is Luke 2:6-7.
6 And while they were there, the time came for her baby to be born. 7 She gave birth to her first child, a son. She wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no lodging available for them.
There are all sorts of practical applications to make of this, but the one that sticks out this morning is the manger again.
I mean, it was just a dirty, stinky, smelly manger. Probably rough. Maybe made of wood or stone. The stable was definitely filthy, and so was the manger I’m sure. But in a matter of moments, it went from something ugly and filthy to the bed of a King.
But that’s what Christ does with all of us. We start out common and broken, but when He comes into our lives, He transforms us into something else. His family.
He takes the broken pieces of our lives and weaves them together into an amazing tapestry. And the parts of us that are ugly become our most beautiful features. And when we used to be wretched and miserable, we can say now that we have hope and life and joy, even on the worst days and in the most difficult circumstances.
That’s transformation. That’s taking something that was and turning it into something else. That’s what happened to that dirty, smelly manger in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago. And that’s what happened in my life when Christ became my friend.
It’s a really simple thought this morning, but it’s also kind of deep, I guess. Just to think that all of us are just like the manger Christ slept His first night in.
So this is brief because it’s simple. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but every time I look at a manger now, I can honestly say that I’m the same way it is. Where once it was just a piece of furniture in barn, now it’s famous. It’s on everyones’ yards and Christmas cards and mantlepieces and bookshelves.
I’m not famous, obviously. But I am a new person, thanks to Christ. And He has transformed my life into something He can use.
And if that isn’t a happy thought on the frigid first day of winter, I don’t know what is.