Previously, I wrote an article calling for discernment while scrutinizing the lyrics of the popular Christmas song, Mary Did You Know? I knew it would be a provocative piece, as it was meant to be. However, my intent was not to dissuade you from enjoying these tunes, but rather to approach the lyrics with wisdom and discernment.

Christmas songs have a way of burrowing into our hearts, don’t they? From the sweeping grandeur of O Holy Night to the cheerful jingles of Deck the Halls, these melodies become inseparable from the season itself. But sometimes, the words we sing betray theological missteps that go unnoticed—because, let’s face it, who’s stopping to dissect a carol when it’s wrapped in nostalgia?

Just like the previous song I covered, Away in a Manger is another such song. For all its sentimentality, it subtly embeds ideas about Christ that crumble under the scrutiny of Scripture.

The origins of Away in a Manger are tangled in a bit of myth. It was long attributed to Martin Luther, the Protestant Reformer, and even labeled “Luther’s Cradle Hymn.” But this claim is little more than a charming fiction.

The song was first published in 1884 in the Little Children’s Book for Schools and Families and set to music by William J. Kirkpatrick in 1895. Kirkpatrick, a Methodist hymn writer known for penning such classics as ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus, was prolific but not without theological blind spots. And Away in a Manger—a sweet, childlike lullaby—contains more than one.

On the surface, the song’s simplicity is disarming. “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.” It conjures a peaceful, idyllic image of the nativity, complete with starlit skies and gentle animals. But as the verses unfold, its sentimental veneer starts to show cracks. Let’s take a closer look.

“The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.” A sweet image, but where in Scripture does it say the stars had anything to do with this moment? It’s poetic license, sure—but it subtly embellishes the biblical narrative with fanciful details. Now, poetic imagery isn’t inherently bad, but when songs become vehicles for unbiblical ideas, they risk skewing our understanding of the gospel.

Then comes this line: “The cattle are lowing, the Baby awakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes.” Stop and think about that. A baby who doesn’t cry? Who doesn’t express the most basic human need? This seemingly innocent line introduces a theological problem so glaring, it’s astonishing it has survived this long in Christian tradition. The line undermines one of the most essential truths about Christ, the hypostatic union—the reality that Jesus was fully God and fully man.

If Jesus didn’t cry as a baby, what does that imply? That He wasn’t fully human? That He didn’t experience the range of human emotions or physical needs? Scripture tells us otherwise. Hebrews 2:17 says, “Therefore He had to be made like His brothers in every respect, so that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people.”

Every respect. Not some. Jesus cried. He hungered. He felt pain. He experienced anguish, and even prayed, asking His father to remove the forthcoming cup of wrath from Him if possible. The absence of these things would render Him less than human—and if He wasn’t fully human, He couldn’t fully atone for human sin.

Some may think this is just nitpicking, but I believe that without discernment, it opens the door to a theological landmine. By stripping Jesus of the most basic aspects of humanity—like crying as an infant—the song inadvertently suggests a sanitized, almost docetic version of Christ. It’s as if the baby in the manger was merely playing the part of a human while remaining aloof from human experience.

But the Scriptures tell a different story. Jesus wept (John 11:35). He groaned in His spirit (John 11:33). He sweat drops of blood in agony (Luke 22:44). These weren’t theatrical displays of disingenuous human-like emotions, they were genuine human emotions and responses. To suggest otherwise is to chip away at the foundation of the incarnation itself.

The song concludes with a plea: “Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask You to stay, close by me forever, and love me, I pray.” It’s heartfelt, to be sure, and there’s nothing wrong with praying for Jesus’ presence in our lives. But by this point, the damage has already been done. The earlier lines have painted a picture of a Jesus who isn’t quite human—a Jesus who doesn’t cry, who seems untouched by the struggles of life. And this image, however unintentional, is at odds with the Jesus of the Bible.

Now, don’t misunderstand me—I’m not here to ruin Away in a Manger for anyone. I’m not suggesting you banish it from your Christmas playlist. But let’s be clear about what it is. This song, like so many others, reflects a sentimentalized version of Christ’s birth, shaped more by Victorian ideals of innocence than by Scripture. In reality, the manger scene was probably replete with strong, unsanitary animal smells, a cool uncomfortable chill, and a tired, moody, worn-out teenage mother doing everything she could to appease a screaming baby.

This is not a hymn designed to teach doctrine or ground us in truth. It’s a lullaby—simple, sweet, but theologically thin. So, if you sing it, sing it with discernment. Let it remind you not of an uncrying baby in a perfect nativity scene, but of the glorious reality that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Jesus was fully God, yes, but He was also fully man—a man who cried, who suffered, and who redeemed us through His humanity. Let’s not trade that inexpressible truth for the sanitized emotionalism of a song. Christmas deserves better. So does Christ.