Away in a manger.
In the United States, we are used to
the light and joyful version of this song—which is really a kind of lullaby. The
song happily recounts Jesus’ birth:
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…
But, if you lived in France, you would likely hear another
version—and not only in French, but to a totally different tune.
[Normandy version]
This version is more haunting and sounds almost like a
lament walked in a slow, step-by-step pace. When I first heard this version, I
felt more compelled to linger about the words. And I realized something: the
very first word: Away.
Away in a manger.
Away means to be distant, to be separated from. Away in a
manger—somewhere, out there. It means that somewhere, away from me, Jesus is
being born—not near to me, but away. Why does the song begin this way? Because
there was no crib for a bed: the rooms at the inn were full. Jesus didn’t want
to be born “away,” but it was our own distance, the distance of our hearts,
that provided it. Hence, the lament.
* * *
No matter how hard we try to prepare for Christmas, no
matter how much we say “I’m not going to become busy this year,” we do. We get
wrapped up. We often can be away.
Advent always has this quality—this quality of being
away. Even the readings throughout the entire season speak of the Old Testament
and how ancient Israel was in exile and distant from the Lord. In the New
Testament, we hear about how we are not yet in heaven and at home with the
Lord; we are on pilgrimage. We still are, in a way, away.
Even here at Holy Mass, Jesus is so close to us—but we
can be so distracted, which is another way to say that we’re away. Jesus is so
close!
In this year of mercy, in particular, I think too of all
of our brothers and sisters who have fallen away from the practice of the
sacraments….
* * *
Note the last verse of Away in a Manger.
Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay.
Close by me forever and love thee I pray.
There is our prayer! Be near me, Lord. Be close, Lord,
because I have fallen away. Be near to me—be near to all of us who are distracted, whose hearts are distant. Be born in us, Jesus! And not only in us, but in all who have fallen
away.
This is the Year of Mercy, so let us pray in
a particular way for this mercy: for ourselves and for those who are not here—that
God will give us His grace. Because all of us can take this faith for granted
and we can fall away.
God says: I want to be near to you! I want to be close to you! So, Lord, be close to us!
God says: I want to be near to you! I want to be close to you! So, Lord, be close to us!
* * *
And if we’re honest, we must admit: we can’t do this
ourselves. We’ve tried for four weeks now, haven’t we?—to slow down and be
close. But we can’t do this ourselves. We need a Savior.
In the Gospel, we see Elizabeth in our similar
predicament. Pregnant with John the Baptist, Elizabeth must be visited. Like
the peoples of the Old Testament—and, even, like ourselves—she seems that she cannot
take another step toward her salvation.
And who brings our Lord close? It’s Mary! Mary will take
those steps, Mary will walk with the Lord, still in her womb. Mary brings
Elizabeth her salvation!
And so too with us who are away! It is Mary who will draw
our Lord close to us. If we cannot be near our Lord, if we struggle being close
to Him, then look to Mary! “Mary, bring Jesus close to me! Because, Mary, I
cannot take another step. Mary, visit us with your Son!”
Yes, Our Lord will be near. And not only to us, but to
all who are away.
* * *
Let us offer that final verse of Away in a Manger for all
who are away, who don’t know how to come back, or who are looking for home
again. Let us offer this verse as a prayer for all who will visit here on
Christmas, that they will know that God is close and so near and that they don’t
have to be away anymore….
Be near me Lord Jesus
I ask thee to stay
close by me forever
and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children
in thy tender care
And fit us for heaven
to live with thee there.
Normandy version:
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