Every Christmas, we revisit the nativity story, and over time, it becomes wrapped in soft edges and warm sentiment. The manger scene in our minds looks peaceful, clean, candlelit, and organized. Everything is just as it should be.
But the first Christmas wasn’t like that at all.
The manger wasn’t accessible.
It wasn’t clean.
It wasn’t safe.
It wasn’t prepared.
It wasn’t designed for a king…
and definitely not for the King of kings.
And yet, in that imperfect, unready, unpolished place… Jesus showed up anyway.
He didn’t wait for a proper room.
He didn’t demand better conditions.
He didn’t require the space to meet a standard.
He stepped into what was—and transformed it.
Because his presence made that space holy.
Not its perfection. Not its readiness. Not its comfort.
Just him.
And that is a powerful reminder for the Church today.
We often carry a quiet pressure—spoken or unspoken—that we need to have everything in place before we can fully welcome people with disabilities into our communities. We worry that we’re not prepared enough. Not trained enough. Not equipped enough.
We tell ourselves:
If we had every ramp built…
If every light dimmer were installed…
If we had all the sensory tools purchased…
If every volunteer were perfectly trained…
Then we could start welcoming everyone well.
But that mindset unintentionally delays belonging. It makes welcome something that happens after we think we’re ready—when the truth is, belonging is the first step, not the last.
Belonging starts before accessibility is complete.
Accessibility is important—and it absolutely matters. It should grow, improve, and expand. It reflects the heart of a God who sees, values, and draws near to every person. But accessibility grows best in communities where welcome has already taken root.
Because welcome doesn’t require perfection.
It requires presence.
It requires love.
It requires seeing people the way Jesus sees people.
This Christmas season, the manger invites us into a new posture.
Show up, even if the space isn’t perfect.
Open the doors, even if you’re still learning.
Make room, even if you’re not fully ready.
Holiness begins wherever people are welcomed.
Holiness grows wherever love leads us toward one another.
Holiness fills imperfect spaces that choose to include.
May our churches become modern-day mangers—imperfect but open, messy but welcoming, unfinished but full of the presence of Christ. Merry Christmas.
May your welcome be wide, warm, courageous, and full of hope
