Message: An Empty Manger / Luke 2:1-19

My name is Phatne. I am a manger, more than a hundred years old. I have lived my whole life in a stable behind an inn in Bethlehem. My job was simple. I held hay for the horses and cows. For a long time, I thought that was my whole purpose.

But time was not gentle. My wood grew rough and cracked. Old nail holes darkened, and splinters began to show everywhere.

Then one day, everything changed. My owner replaced me with a new manger. It was big and sturdy, and it held water and hay perfectly. I was moved to a corner of the stable. At first, I told myself, “It’s okay. I’m old. It’s time to rest.”

But as time went by, I began to feel lonely. No one came to me anymore. They all went to the new manger. I was forgotten. I sat empty and cold. Sometimes I even thought it would be better if the owner took me apart and used me as firewood.

Still, I had one old friend. She was an old horse named Mal. She was very wise. She listened to the other horses and the people, learned what was new, and then told me what was happening in the world.

“Rome is still at war,” Mal told me one day.

“There is always a war,” I said with a shrug.

“But it has become worse,” she said. “They needed more money for the war, so they began counting everyone to raise more taxes. They are forcing people to travel back to their hometowns just to put their names on a list. They are checking what people own.”

“Is it really that serious?” I asked.

Mal let out a long sigh. “They are turning lives into numbers. When everything is counted and measured, the world turns grey. The powerless become easier to control, and easier to exploit.”

Her words stayed heavy in my heart. I couldn’t stop wondering if there might be a way for everyone to live well together.

Then, three days ago, Mal passed away quietly. It was a night when the stable felt even more silent than usual. Now I was truly alone. The space where my friend had been felt even larger. I felt like a useless piece of junk.

But the world grew busier because of the census. People kept arriving at the inn. The rooms filled quickly, and the footsteps never seemed to end. The owner had no time to get rid of me, so I stayed in the corner of the stable, left there as an empty manger.

Then it happened. The stable door opened, and cold air rushed in. A young couple stepped inside. The man held the woman’s arm tightly, and she bent forward, breathing hard. I knew right away a baby would be born soon.

The owner led them in and said, "There are no rooms left, but you can stay here."

The man thanked him and looked at his wife. “Mary,” he said, “I’m so sorry we couldn’t find a real room.”

Mary smiled through her pain. “It’s okay, Joseph. We have a place to rest… but the baby is coming now!”

Pain tightened Mary’s face. She held her belly. Joseph ran into the inn to get help. Soon an old woman hurried in and took Mary’s hand.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll stay with you. I’m not a trained midwife, but I have some experience. Breathe slowly.”

Those words warmed the stable. The horses stopped moving, and the oxen lifted their heads. It felt as if everyone was breathing with her. As Mary’s labour grew stronger, her husband held her hand and said, “I’m here. I’m right here with you. Just a little longer. Hold on.”

That was when I saw a strange light. It was like warm hands wrapping around the darkness. In that light, an angel appeared. The angel spoke to me and to the animals in the stable.

“Do not be afraid,” the angel said. “This baby is very special. He is bringing hope to everyone who is hurting.”

I asked carefully, “Why would such a special baby come to a stable? Why not a palace, not even a clean room?”

The angel smiled. “That is why the baby is here. God does not look for the fanciest places. God looks for the lowest places, the corners where people feel forgotten or sad. He comes to be with them.”

I was shocked. The Roman emperor, called the son of the most powerful god, ruled from a high throne. People feared him and said the gods were always on the side of the winner. But the angel told the opposite: the dearest place to God is the lowest place.

At that moment, the baby was born. His cry filled the air. Joseph, overwhelmed with joy, said, “Welcome. I have been waiting for you. Your name is Jesus. It means ‘God saves.’”

Mary held the baby close and kissed him. But they had no place to lay him down to sleep. The new manger was still full of wet hay. Then Joseph saw me in the corner. He came over and touched my rough wood.

“This one is empty,” he said. “If we put some clean straw inside, it will make a soft bed.”

Joseph filled me with clean straw. For the first time in a long time, I felt full and warm. They tucked the baby into me. And as his warmth sank into my wood, I realized something. I had spent my whole life holding food for animals, but now I was holding Life itself.

The angel whispered to me, “Phatne, nothing is useless to God. Because you were old and empty, you had space for this child who had nowhere to lie. Many will remember this moment, and they will sing of you. The manger that held the child.”

I looked down at the baby. His tiny breaths stirred the straw. I realized that being “empty” was not a bad thing. It meant I had room for those who truly needed comfort and rest. My cracks and scars were not signs of failure. They were the marks of my long and honest life, the very places where warmth could come and settle.

Then footsteps sounded outside. Some shepherds entered the stable. They knelt down in front of me, their faces filled with wonder and awe.

“An angel told us,” they said, “to look for a baby lying in a manger. This child is the sign, the sign that God is with us.”

I will never forget that night. It was full of hope. But the world outside did not change overnight. Rome still ruled with sword and spear. People still hurried just to survive. The census went on. The wars went on. The taxes went on.

Yet something changed in me.

I used to feel ashamed of being who I was. I used to think my cracks meant I was finished. But that night, I held the child, and I understood this: when I was empty, God filled me with something beautiful.

So, I decided to be a sign of hope. I was not sad about being old anymore. Day after day, I told the other animals what I had seen. I prayed for the lonely. I sang for the tired.

My name is Phatne. I am an old manger. And I know this is true: God comes to the lowest places. God begins new hope in the places that seem useless and forgotten. Amen.

Rev. Min Hwang