Unboxing the King: Why the Manger Still Matters

When my youngest son was little, he once said to me, “Dad, I love Amazon more than Santa.” I asked him why, and without missing a beat he replied, “Santa comes once a year. Amazon comes a couple of times a week.” Nothing like your own child reminding you that maybe your Christmas budget needs deliverance.

Christmas today is filled with boxes.

Big boxes.

Little boxes.

Boxes sealed with enough tape to be harder to break into than Grandma’s secret sugar-cookie recipe.

Amazon alone ships more than a billion boxes every holiday season. If you stacked them end-to-end, they could probably stretch from here to the North Pole and back—with enough left over to build a respectable suburban igloo.

But the first Christmas began with one box.

Luke 2:7 says:

“She gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger…”

A manger—a feeding trough—was basically an ancient-world cardboard box for animals. It was a symbol of poverty, but God turned it into a symbol of royalty. It held the greatest gift the world had ever seen: the King of Kings.

Timothy Keller once wrote,

“The gospel is not about choosing to follow advice. It’s about being called to follow a King.”

And this King still has power:

Power to break addiction.

Power to mend relationships.

Power to calm anxious minds.

Power to provide when your December bank account looks like Santa’s empty sack on the 26th.

Even power to help you survive another season of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

We sing:

“Joy to the world, the Lord is come.

Let earth receive her King.”

But the question is:

Have we?

The Manger Isn’t Cute — It’s a Declaration

The manger isn’t sentimental decoration—it’s a coronation announcement. Jesus isn’t a baby anymore, waiting to be packed into a Rubbermaid bin on December 26. He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

The New Testament opens by calling Him a King.

The wise men travel 500 miles and ask,

“Where is the one who has been born King of the Jews?” (Matthew 2:2)

Jesus is called “King of Kings” twice in Scripture—a title used for God Himself.

Compare that to U.S. presidents. Presidents come and go. They can be impeached, term-limited, voted out, or meme-ified. But Jesus doesn’t campaign, doesn’t run ads, and doesn’t take polls. His kingdom is not up for re-election.

Revelation 1:5 calls Him “the ruler of the kings of the earth.”

His face may not be on a dollar bill, but He rules over Washington, Lincoln, and Franklin— even Jefferson on that awkward two-dollar bill.

Yet during the holidays, many of us treat our anxiety like it is the king instead.

When Christmas Feels More Heavy Than Holy

Christmas was hard for me for a few years.

My dad died shortly after Christmas—and he loved Christmas. The man put up more lights than Clark Griswold. If you flew over our house, you’d think O’Hare had added a new runway.

During his final year, his eyesight was failing because of cancer. But he told us all he wanted was to go see Christmas lights. So one night we drove him through nearby neighborhoods. And one of my last memories is him leaning forward—pressing his face against the cold window—straining to see every sparkle he could. He didn’t want to miss the light.

A few weeks later, he was gone.

And suddenly, Christmas lights… hurt.

What used to be magical felt hollow.

What used to be holy felt heavy.

Christmas felt ruined.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

The empty chair.

The seasonal depression that sneaks in like an early winter storm.

The strained relationships.

The traditions that don’t feel like they used to.

The exhausted bank account.

The ache that shows up right when the world starts singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

But here’s the truth I’m learning:

Jesus is King even over the painful things that surround Christmas.

King over grief.

King over memories that hurt.

King over empty chairs and weary hearts.

King over broken traditions and broken people.

Christmas doesn’t ignore our pain; Christmas meets us in it.

A Savior born into a broken world for broken people.

My dad couldn’t always see the lights that last year… but he could see Jesus.

And the older I get, the more I realize: the Light he strained to see through the window is the same Light shining into my grief today.

A Worry-Free King in a Worry-Filled Season

This season brings a special kind of stress. Researchers say 43% of adults feel more anxious than last year. One guy said, “Life has been overwhelming so long, I no longer feel overwhelmed. I’m just… whelmed.”

Jesus knows this. He tells us “Do not worry” repeatedly—not because life is easy, but because He is King.

The Greek word for “worry,” merimnao, literally means “a divided mind.” That’s exactly what worry feels like—your brain playing tug-of-war with tomorrow.

Corrie ten Boom said:

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.”

Last Christmas, I learned that firsthand.

Our van finally gave up the ghost. It was held together by duct tape, prayer, and whatever hope the disciples used when they cast their nets. One night, all the dashboard lights went out—just… darkness. My wife is a woman of deep faith, but she prefers to drive with headlights.

We’re a one-vehicle family, and Christmas is a terrible time to lose transportation. You’ve got gatherings, errands, parades, and Amazon returns to drop off before January 31.

All we could do was pray.

Then I received an unexpected email. An organization heard about our situation and wanted to send us a check to help buy a new vehicle.

We prayed for something that would get us from point A to point B.

God provided above and beyond.

A bonus Christmas miracle.

I was more excited than if I bumped into my wife under the mistletoe—without the kids around.

Jesus says “Do not worry,” not to shame us, but to steady us.

Christmas doesn’t promise trouble-free days—

it promises a worry-free King.

A King Worth Worshiping

The angels aren’t in heaven humming “Away in a Manger.”

They’ve got a bigger soundtrack.

A louder one.

They’re too busy singing:

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,

to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might

and honor and glory and blessing!”

—Revelation 5:11–12

Even the angels know:

Christmas is about a King.

And sooner or later, we all bow to something—

fear, grief, expectations, perfectionism, pressure, or Jesus.

When the wise men found Him, Matthew 2:11 says,

“They bowed down and worshiped Him. Then they opened their treasures…”

Worry closes our hands.

Worship opens them.

This Christmas, open your hands.

Open your heart.

Open your life.

Because the manger wasn’t the beginning of a holiday.

It was the unveiling of a King—

a King who still shines in the dark,

still heals what hurts,

still steadies weary hearts,

and still brings light, no darkness can put out.

Let earth receive her King.

And let you receive Him too.