Who Will Come to Bethlehem: Tales from Stable

Who Will Come to Bethlehem:
Tales from Stable and City
TRACEY LIND
!
Dedicated to the children and their grown-ups of Trinity Cathedral
in Cleveland, Ohio
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Who will come to Bethlehem on
Christmas Morn?
Tales from Stable and City
This book is intended to be a private gift and is not for public distribution.
All stories were written by Tracey Lind, and are the property of the author.
All photographs were made by Tracey Lind, and are the property of the photographer.
The song lyrics are for private use only and copyright permission has not been granted for
those not already in the public realm.
©
Tracey Lind, Cleveland, Ohio, 2014
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The Stories
Stories for Young Children
Michel, The Tired Donkey
Leah, The Family Cow
Rebekah, The Little Gray Mouse
Hooter, the Big White Barn Owl
Sammy, the Sleepy Sheep
The Lost and Found Ducks
Stories for Children at Heart
The Innkeeper’s Daughter
Shiphrah, The Midwife
The Gift of the Beggar Girl
Slouching Toward Bethlehem
Just Another Homeless Family
A Very Special Christmas Tree
New Ways to Think about an Old Holiday
The Light of Darkness
When God Pitches a Tent
10RH
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The Songs
Who Will Come to Bethlehem
The Friendly Beasts
Away in the Manger
Silent Night
Hark the Herald Angels Sing
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Go Tell it on the Mountain
A Stable Lamp is Lighted
What Child Is This
In the Bleak Midwinter
O Little Town of Bethlehem
The Star
O Christmas Tree
This Little Light of Mine
The First Nowell
We Wish You a Merry Christmas
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INTRODUCTION
Samson the Cat
!
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Shall I tell you who will come
To Bethlehem on Christmas Morn,
Who will kneel them gently down
Before the Lord, new-born?
One small fish from the river,
With scales of red, red gold,
One wild bee from the heather,
One grey lamb from the fold,
One ox from the high pasture,
One black bull from the herd,
One goatling from the far hills,
One white, white bird.
And many children -- God give them grace,
Bringing tall candles to light Mary's face.
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This Spanish Christmas carol, set to music by Ruth Sawyer, Jimmy Webb, my
friend Eleanor Robinson, and probably other composers speaks to a missing link in the
Christmas story. The storytellers neglected to mention some of the characters that
were in that Bethlehem stable on a cold, December night. The Bible’s version of the
story includes: Mary, Joseph, Jesus, the angel Gabriel, the shepherds, King Herod, the
Magi, and the heavenly host. Everybody knows that there was also an innkeeper, a donkey, some sheep, and a few camels.
As the words of this Christmas carol suggest and as many pageant costumes attest, there were others present at the birth of Jesus. If all the characters and details were included, the Christmas story would be far too long to fit into one book,
and there wouldn’t be any room for our imagination.
Over the year, I have conjured up other characters, the one who never made it
into the written story. They came to the stable, witnessed the birth of Jesus, and
gave what they could give.
Take for instance, Samson the barn kitten. He belonged to the Innkeeper, but he
had to live in the stable. There was no place for him in the inn. On the night that Jesus was born, he was sleeping on a pile of hay.
When Mary and Joseph came into the barn, he hid behind a pile of wood and
watched everything from out-of-sight. After the exhausted new parents laid Jesus in
the manger and fell asleep, Samson snuck up to the little baby and purred. He brought
Jesus a little piece of string. Then, he lay down close beside the baby and kept him
warm. On that special night, I think Samson offered the kind of hospitality and generosity that Jesus taught for the rest of his life.
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In this book, I want to tell you the story of Christmas from the perspective of
some of those unsung characters that watched in shadows and helped in the night. In
the first section, there are short stories for young children that can be read on a
grown-up lap by the Christmas tree. In the second section, there are stories for children at heart, stories that can be read by older children or grown-ups after the
younger ones have fallen asleep. In the third section of this book, I offer some new
ways to think about this old holiday. I’ve also included the words to some of my favorite Christmas carols in hopes that you might teach them to the children in your
life.
Perhaps, you’ll be inspired to write your tales of Christmas and add your own
characters to the nativity scene because Christmas is one of those stories that is simply too good not to be not be told over and over again in all kinds of ways. By the
way, I hope you’ll consider trying a 10RH holiday season.
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CHAPTER 4
Michel, The Tired Donkey
!
“Are we there yet?” That’s what I kept saying on the road to Bethlehem. It had been a
very long walk up and down winding mountain trails. I was exhausted carrying pregnant Mary on my back all the way from Nazareth. I know it was my job - after all, I’m
a beast of burden – but it was hard work! “Come on, Michel” he said. “It’s not much
farther.” I was bone tired, and so I kept asking over and over again, “Are we there
yet?”
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As we entered the home stretch, all I could think about was a warm stable, a
bucket of cool water, and a manger filled with fresh hay. But everywhere we went, we
saw the signs: “No room.” and “We’re full.”
The city of Bethlehem was booked to capacity that cold December night. Everybody was in town for the registration. That’s the reason my owner Joseph had to
travel to his hometown with his very pregnant fiancée Mary.
“Are we there yet?” That was all I could think. I just wanted to rest my weary
legs and get the heavy load off of my back.
Eventually, an innkeeper took pity on us and told Joseph that we could stay in
his drafty barn. After showing us the way, he excused himself. Joseph lifted Mary off
of my back, and I let out a loud “hee-haw” and shook the road off of me.
Joseph brought me a bucket of water and filled the manger with fresh hay. I was
just about to settle into my evening meal, when Mary went into labor. The midwife arrived, and told Joseph to prepare a birthing bed for Mary. So what did he do? He
took the straw that I was about to lie down on and made her a cushion. Then she told
him to fetch her some water. What did he do? He took my bucket of drinking water.
With all the excitement, I could not concentrate enough to eat. The baby came
very quickly and the midwife handed him over to his mother. Finally, I thought I could
eat my supper in peace. Just as I was about to dig into my meal, Joseph brought the
baby over to the manger, pushed me out of the way, and placed him on my dinner of
hay. What’s a donkey to do?
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Then a group of excited shepherds and noisy sheep arrived. Great, I thought,
some more noise to keep me awake. I bet I’ll have to share my water and hay with
these smelly animals. What’s a donkey to do?
After everybody got settled, I lay down next to the manger and watched the
baby sleep. I listened to his parents talk quietly with the shepherds and the innkeeper’s family. I heard them name the baby Jesus.
I whispered to the other animals. Why is this baby so special? Nobody knew for
certain, but there was rumor that he was God’s very own son.
Eventually, that baby grew up to be a great teacher, healer and prophet. He
talked about a special place called the Kingdom of God. He said it wasn’t far away. If
you looked hard, you could see it. If you listened carefully, you could hear it. If you
reached out your hand, you could touch it. If you opened your heart, you could feel it.
Jesus was so popular that people began to follow him everywhere. When they
got tired and asked, “Are we there yet,” he would respond, “Come to me, you are struggling and are carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Put on my yoke and learn
from me. I’m gentle and humble. My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” I think he
must have learned that wisdom from me who first carried him when he was still in his
mother’s tummy.
You know what? Many years later, when he was all grown up, my grandson carried
him on his back into Jerusalem.
The Friendly Beasts
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Words by Robert Davis (1881-1950)
Jesus our brother kind and good
Was humbly born in a stable rude.
And the friendly beasts around him stood
Jesus our brother, kind and good. "I," said the donkey, all shaggy and brown,
"I carried his mother up hill and down
I carried his mother to Bethlehem town."
"I," said the donkey, all shaggy and brown. "I," said the cow, all white and red
"I gave him my manger for his bed
I gave him my hay to pillow his head."
"I," said the cow, all white and red "I," said the sheep, with curly horn,
"I gave him my wool for a blanket warm
He wore my coat on Christmas morn."
"I," said the sheep, with curly horn. "I," said the dove, from the rafters high
"I cooed him to sleep so he would not cry
We cooed him to sleep, my love and I
"I," said the dove, from the rafters high. Thus every beast, by some good spell
In the stable rude was glad to tell
Of the gift he gave Emmanuel
The gift he gave Emmanuel
The gift he gave Emmanuel
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CHAPTER 5
Leah the Family Cow
Of course, I was there. Everybody knows I was there. That’s why I’m in many Christmas carols, and I always make an appearance in the Christmas pageant. I’ll bet you’ve
never seen one without my smiling face.
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!
My name is Leah. I was minding my own business, enjoying my dinner when all this
commotion began. My owner, the innkeeper, opened the door to my stable. It was
dark outside, and he had a lantern. With him were a man and a very pregnant woman. They had a donkey laden with blankets. He had a water gourd hanging off his saddle, and a couple of side bags filled with bread, cheese and olives.
The man explained to my owner that they had come into town to get registered
for taxes. He wasn’t very happy about it, but there was nothing he could do but comply with Roman law. He said that the road from Nazareth to Bethlehem had been
crowded with travelers, just like him and his fiancé. The man and my owner complained about those awful Roman officials, watching over them with spears and
swords.
The man (I think his name was Joseph) thanked my owner for the hospitality, and
they parted company. Some hospitality – My owner didn’t give him a room in the inn. He insisted that this pregnant woman (I think I overheard her called Mary) sleep in the
barn - my inn, so to speak.
Joseph and Mary, along with their donkey came into the stable and hung the lantern on a peg in the wall. Joseph helped Mary settle in on the floor, taking some of
my hay to make her a mattress.
I introduced myself to the donkey and learned that his name was Michel. I offered him some of the hay in my manger and some water from my trough. We were
getting acquainted. Michel was telling me how exhausted he was. After all, he had
walked for several days on some terrible roads, carrying a pregnant woman on his
back. What a beast of burden he had become.
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Eventually, everybody settled down. I went back to eating dinner and was interrupted again. Mary cried out, “The baby’s coming, the baby’s coming!” Joseph went
looking for help. Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to find the local midwife, who
by the way helped me deliver my last baby calf.
Siphrah is a good woman, and a real beauty. She patted me on the head and asked
after my calf, now a grown cow herself, providing milk for a family down the road.
You know what happened next. Siphrah sent Joseph to get hot water and rags for
the birth. She got Mary to squat and begin to push and push and push….
The stable got really hot with all the activity. But who am I to complain? I’m a
warm-blooded lady to be sure. Mary was huffing and puffing, and Joseph (who had
never witnessed a birth) was sweating up a storm.
It also got awfully noisy in the barn. Mary was breathing hard. Siphrah was encouraging, “Push!” Joseph was whimpering under his breath. Michel started to bray. A couple of lambs that were sitting in another stall
started to bleat. And I began to moo.
Then, it happened. A baby was born. Siphrah pulled him out, wiped him off, and patted him on the back. He then SCREAMED, startling and silencing the rest of us. His was
a greeting that would echo down through the ages: “Hello world, it’s me!”
Siphrah swaddled him in rags and placed him in his mother’s arms. She turned to
Joseph and asked, “What will you name this child?” And without hesitation, Joseph re16
sponded, “Jesu” (or Jesus as he’s become known to you). Remembering the words of
the angel, he said, “Yes, we will call him Jesu,” which means “God delivers.”
After Mary held him for a few minutes, she fell asleep with exhaustion. Siphrah
picked up the little baby and held him in her arms, wondering who he really might be
and who he might become.
Joseph came over to me and asked for a favor. He wanted to use my manger – my
food trough - now half-empty from sharing my dinner with Michel. He wanted it as a
cradle for his newborn son. What could I say, but “Sure.” Hospitality was the least I
could offer to this little baby. Joseph freshened the manger with new hay and gently
laid the infant in it.
As curious as a cow is, I kept looking at his face. In fact, I got so close that my
wet nose nuzzled his warm, little cheek. When I looked into his eyes, I just knew he
was special. Cows have a special sense of intuition. And then, a little song came into
my head.
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Away in the Manger
Traditional 19th century carol
Third verse attributed to John Thomas McFarland, ca. 1906
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed,
the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay,
the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,
and stay by my side until morning is nigh.
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.
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CHAPTER 6
Rebekah,
The Little Gray Mouse
Rebekah was sound asleep when she was awakened by the gruff voice of the innkeeper
shouting: “There’s no room in the inn, but you can spend the night in the stable.”
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Irritated by the interruption to her night’s sleep, Rebekah got up to see what was
going on. She witnessed the Christmas miracle with very own eyes.
Rebekah was a tiny gray mouse with very long whiskers. She lived in a little nest
in an old manger in the stable. She shared the barn with Leah, the family cow, and two
goats. There was also a big white owl that sat in the rafters.
Oh and yes, there was Samson, the cat. Samson was more of a nuisance than a
threat. He was always chasing Rebekah around the barn, but she didn’t really think
that he would hurt her. It was more of a game.
Rebekah had a pretty good life. Since the goats were messy eaters, there were
always crumbs on the dirt floor of the stable that she would grab and drag into her
nest. She was able to keep her nest clean with fresh straw that the innkeeper threw
into the stable for the cow. It was interesting to watch the comings and goings
around the inn.
Lately, it had been very busy. There were many visitors in town registering and
paying their taxes to Caesar. It meant lots of guests at the inn and animals in the
stable.
When the innkeeper’s voice awakened her, Rebekah opened her eyes and poked up
her head up through the straw and saw a man, a woman, and a donkey enter the stable.
The innkeeper’s daughter was leading them in.
She carried a lantern to show them the way. The man pulled the rope of the donkey. On the donkey sat a very pregnant young woman. All three of them – the man,
the woman and the donkey – looked exhausted.
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The innkeeper’s daughter helped the man make a bed of straw. Then she and the
man helped the pregnant woman off the donkey. The woman lay down on her rough
bed. The innkeeper's daughter got them a bucket of water. She went back into the
house and got an extra blanket and some leftover bread and cheese. Meanwhile, Rebekah kept looking at Mary and wondering: “Is she going to have a baby tonight?”
Eventually, Rebekah crawled back to her nest under the straw in the manger and
fell asleep. Several hours later, Rebekah woke up again with a start. There was something on top of her. She was being squished.
Rebekah quickly crawled out of her nest and poked her head out the straw. There
he was, a beautiful little baby boy. He was wrapped up in old cloths. His parents were
staring at him. His mother was humming a lullaby, and his father had a look of amazement on his face.
Soon a group of shepherds arrived. They said they had been minding their own
business, keeping watch in the fields over their flock of sheep. An angel had visited
them and told them that a special child would be born in Bethlehem. They had come
to see this thing that God had made known to them.
After the shepherds looked at the baby in the manger, they turned their attention to the man and the woman. They sat down and shared some fresh bread and milk.
Eventually, they all fell asleep.
Rebekah was now wide-awake. She wondered: What could be so special about this
baby? He looked, smelled and sounded like an ordinary baby. Very carefully and quietly, so as not to be noticed, Rebekah crawled closer to him, and her whiskers tickled
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his little feet, and he started to giggle. Rebekah laughed to herself. She had made
the baby giggle. So she brushed her whiskers up against his feet, and he giggled
again.
Then, she quietly crawled up and gave him a kiss on the nose, and her whiskers
tickled his chin. He opened his little eyes, and they sparkled. The baby looked at her,
and she knew. Yes, Rebekah knew: this was a very special child of God.
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Silent Night
Words by Joseph Mohr (1792-1848)
Translated by John Freeman Young (1820-1885)
Music by Franz Xaver Gruber (1787-1863)
Silent night! holy night!
All is calm all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night! holy night!
Son of God love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord at thy birth
Jesus, Lord at thy birth
Silent night! holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia
Christ the Saviour is born
Christ the Saviour is born
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CHAPTER 7
Hooter, The Big White Barn
Owl
!
My name is Hooter, and I’m a big white barn owl. I’ll bet you didn’t know that I was
there, but I was at the stable when Jesus was born. I saw him, and he saw me. I was
sitting in the rafters when Mary and Joseph came into the stable.
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It was early evening, and I was just waking up. You do know that I sleep during the
day, and at night I keep the rat and mouse population under control. Since it was December, the days were short and the nights were long. It’s really my favorite season.
I can get a lot done around the barn during those long hours of darkness. I think December was made for barn owls and other animals of the night.
So, there I was minding my own business. I was getting ready to go out for breakfast, and then take a quick flight around the neighborhood: my daily constitutional,
if you know what I mean. After that, I had planned to come home and clean up a bit
around the old place. With all those animals and hay, it’s hard to keep the barn up to
snuff, but I give it my best effort.
Now where was I? Oh yes. The evening cock had crowed – my own alarm clock - no
batteries required. I was just waking up. As was my custom, I was standing on one
foot with the other tucked under my feathers. I was hooting quietly to myself and
getting ready to comb my feathers and powder my nose. Suddenly, there was much
commotion. The barn door opened, and in walked the innkeeper.
The innkeeper wandered into the barn with a man and his very pregnant wife. He
gruffly apologized to the exhausted couple that this was the best he had to offer.
With the census in Bethlehem, there was simply no more room in his house. They
thanked him, and he went on his way.
I just stood around watching very quietly. First, they tied up the donkey that
looked so tired from such a long walk. I winked at him, and he smiled back. Nice guy,
I think. Then, the man made a bed of straw for his wife. She lay down and removed
her blue cloak. He took a few handfuls of hay and made a stool for himself. He lit a
little stable lamp; it didn’t offer much more light than a candle. He opened up his
pack, and took out some food. They silently ate – some cheese, bread, olives, and a
bit of wine. It made me hungry to watch them eat.
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I saw Rebekah, the little gray mouse, scamper by. I was about ready to swoop
down and grab her for breakfast, but I thought better of it. I didn’t want to scare
everybody so I let it go. That little mouse won’t be so lucky next time she walks by.
The other animals in the barn started to move about. The goats began to bleat.
The man calmed them with his hand. Leah, the family cow, needed to be milked, so the
man got out a bucket and knelt beside her.
Everything was going along just fine – when all of the sudden, the woman started
to whimper. The next thing I knew, she was hollering at the top of her lungs: “Joseph
– It’s coming.”
Before I knew what hit me, there was all of this commotion. Joseph ran for help
from the innkeeper’s wife. She fetched Siphrah, the local midwife. The animals
started howling in an effort to keep pace with the woman’s cries. Everybody was
breathing heavily. And…1-2-3…there was a baby. He came out just fine.
Siphrah wrapped him in some rags. The man put the little baby in the mother’s
arms and covered them both with her big, blue cloak. Suddenly, as I was still standing
there on one foot, I looked up through a hole in the roof. I saw the heavens open, and
there appeared angels. They were singing, “Glory to God in the highest and peace
among all people.” It was quite beautiful.
Just as things were quieting down again, in came some shepherds – what a motley
crew. They knelt before the baby and his mother and quietly offered prayers and
good wishes. And then, it happened. The baby looked up at me, opened his eyes, and
smiled. He really smiled, and his eyes sparkled. I opened my eyes wide – as wide as I
could and I smiled back. Actually, I quietly hooted three times.
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I carefully pulled a feather from my wings - a great, big, white feather. No, it
didn’t hurt – well maybe, just a little bit. I dropped it down on the baby. He grabbed
at it.
I’ve been told that he carried it with him all the days of his life. In fact, when he
died, witnesses say that the feather fell to the ground. But he found many more
feathers in heaven.
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Hark the Herald Angels Sing
Words by Charles Wesley (1707-1788)
Music by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)
Hark! the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the new born King,
peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!"
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
join the triumph of the skies;
with th' angelic host proclaim,
"Christ is born in Bethlehem!"
Hark! the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the new born King!"
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
risen with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
born that we no more may die,
born to raise us from the earth,
born to give us second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the new born King!"
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CHAPTER 8
Sammy, the Sleepy Sheep
!
I was minding my own business, along with a dozen of my friends and family. We had
spent a pleasant day, wandering around the hills. After supper, our shepherds played
a game with rocks and twigs. They were laughing and joking, well into the night.
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As for me, I was tired. I had been running around all day playing hide-and-goseek with the shepherds. We hide and they seek. I was sound asleep when it happened.
The night sky lit up. I opened my eyes and saw a big, bright star shining in the
dark. Then I heard singing, and I looked up and there was an angel telling my shepherds to go to Bethlehem and see a newborn baby in a manger. A manger – no way.
That’s what I eat out of when I’m at home in the barn.
The shepherds were all excited by this news. Immediately, they got up and
started packing. “Sammy, get up.” I just wanted to go back to sleep. But no – we all
had to go with them. That’s the way it is with us sheep. Nobody gets to stay behind.
We always have to travel in a flock. Sometimes, it’s so embarrassing. People even
think we’re stupid, plodding along with some shepherd carrying a big stick and clucking his tongue.
I laid down and tried to go back to sleep without any luck. My mother poked at
me with her nose: “Sammy – get up!” “All right, already,” I said. So, I got up and, followed the crowd. That’s what I always do, unless I get lost, which I did only once.
Luckily, my shepherd searched and found me and carried me back to my family. Boy,
was my mother upset.
We walked for a few hours into town. It was so crowded with people and animals. It was like going to the county fair. We roamed all over looking for a baby in
a manger. My shepherds asked everybody they saw. They were told to go down this
back street where there was a little inn. They knocked on the door of the house.
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The innkeeper’s wife told them to look in the barn. It wasn’t much of a barn.
Really it was just an old cave. But, there they were - a man, a woman, a donkey, and a
newborn baby lying in a manger.
It was so quiet. Above the barn was the star, and there was that angel hanging
around. My shepherds quietly approached. They took off their hats, bowed their
heads, and extended their hands in friendship to the man by the baby.
The baby’s mother was shivering. Her bare feet were cold. I felt sorry for her. I
had a nice warm coat, but she didn’t even have socks. So I decided to lie down on top
of her feet to warm them up. She stopped shivering. It was a sight to behold, but I
was really sleepy. So there by the manger, I slept right next to the baby and on top
of his mother’s feet.
The next morning we walked back to the hills. I was tired. I didn’t play hideand-go seek. I just walked along thinking about that baby. I thought wouldn’t it be
nice if my shepherd would cut my wool and make a blanket for the baby so he could
stay warm, just like me!
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Do You Hear What I Hear?
Words by Noel Regney AND Music By Gloria Shayne in 1962
Said the night wind to the little lamb,
“Do you see what I see?
Way up in the sky, little lamb,
Do you see what I see?
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite, With a tail as big as a kite.
Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,
“Do you hear what I hear?
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea, With a voice as big as the sea.
Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king,
“Do you know what I know?
In your palace warm, mighty king,
Do you know what I know?
A Child, a Child shivers in the cold~
Let us bring him silver and gold, Let us bring him silver and gold.
Said the king to the people everywhere,
“Listen to what I say!
Pray for peace, people, everywhere,
Listen to what I say!
The Child, the Child sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light,
He will bring us goodness and light.”
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CHAPTER 9
The Lost and Found Ducks
!
We were a small flock of ducks, but we stuck together because ducks don’t travel
alone – unless one of us gets lost or left-behind. Fortunately, when we got lost that
day, nobody got separated.
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Here’s what happened. We were making our way south for the winter, flying
along the Mediterranean Sea. A big storm drove us inland, and we got lost. Instead of
going south, the wind currents pushed us to the east and we found ourselves passing
over Bethlehem.
We were tired from flying against the wind. We looked and looked for a place
to stop, but since we were in very dry country, we couldn’t find a lake on which to
land. Instead, we found an old stable. We said to one another: “Quack, quack,
quack,” which means, “Let’s rest here for the night.” So down we swooped and landed.
When we got on the ground, there was much commotion. A baby had just been
born. He was lying on straw in a manger that served as a feeding trough for the family cow. He had a ragged blanket, but no pillow. We also saw a bunch of animals, some
shepherds, a mom and dad, a few angels, and an assortment of bystanders.
Since we were ducks, we couldn’t really talk to the people, so we talked to the
other animals: “Quack, quack, quack.” The animals told us about this very special
baby that was born God’s very own son!
We were so excited. We couldn’t believe our eyes and ears. We were still concerned that the baby didn’t have a pillow for his head. So, we whispered to each
other: “Quack, quack, quack.” We decided to give up some of the feathers from the
underside of our wings to make a down pillow for the baby Jesus.
After carefully plucking a few fluffy, soft feathers from each other’s wings, we
put our down padding together in a pile and wrapped it all in a rag we found on the
floor of the stable. Barvaz, the leader of our flock, waddled over to Mary and Joseph,
and presented them with the pillow. They smiled, took the pillow and thanked us.
34
We rested for a while longer, ate some seed that was spilled on the floor of the
stable and drank a little water from the bucket. We who were once tired and lost
felt like we had found a little piece of heaven in that old barn.
Eventually, it was time to continue our southward migration. Into the night sky,
we took off in perfect V-formation. Soaring under a full moon and guided by the
light of the star, the wind picked up and re-formed our flying flock into the shape of
a cross. We guessed it was a sign of things to come.
Everywhere we went, we told all the other ducks, birds, fish and animals about
the birth of Jesus. We too were Evangelists for our Lord, for without us, who knows
how the word would have spread to the animal kingdom?
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Go Tell it On the Mountain
African-American Christmas spiritual
Adapted by John Wesley Work (b. 1901)
While shepherds kept their watching
Over silent flocks by night,
Behold throughout the heavens,
There shone a holy light.
Refrain:
Go, Tell It On The Mountain,
Over the hills and everywhere;
Go, Tell It On The Mountain
That Jesus Christ is born.
The shepherds feared and trembled
When lo! above the earth
Rang out the angel chorus
That hailed our Saviour's birth:
Down in a lowly manger
Our humble Christ was born
And God send us salvation,
That blessed Christmas morn:
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C H A P T E R 10
The Innkeeper’s Daughter
!
She was a young girl, not much older than ten or twelve. She had been up since daybreak: hauling water, cutting wood, kneading bread, feeding animals, and sweeping
floors. She had been yelled at more times than she could remember: “Get over here; I
need your help.”
37
She hadn’t sat down since lunchtime, and she certainly had not been outside to
play. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she last had to spend time alone or with
friends. But she really couldn’t complain: she had enough food to eat and a roof over
her head; she didn’t have to beg like some of the children in her village; and she didn’t
have to work in the fields during the heat of the day. Her life was hard, but wasn’t
everybody’s life hard in Bethlehem? And now, with the census, there were so many
out-of-towners coming through town that every room in every inn was full.
And then they appeared: a man, a woman, and a donkey. It was late in the day and
darkness was about to fall. The woman was pregnant. In fact, she looked like she was
about to burst. The man was tired from walking all day long, and the donkey looked
like he was going to collapse.
They came up to the inn just as she was hanging out the sign saying, “No vacancies.” The man asked about a room, and being so shy, she just pointed to the sign.
But he persisted. He knocked on the door, and her father opened it.
“Good evening, sir,” said the young man. “What do you want?” replied the innkeeper. You can see we have no vacancies.” “We’re from Nazareth, but we had to
come to Bethlehem for the census,” explained the young man. “I told you, there’s no
more room,” insisted the innkeeper as he was closing the door. “We don’t have any
family living here, so we need a place to stay tonight” begged the young man. “ I told
you already, we’re full,” said the frustrated innkeeper. “But my wife is about to have
a baby. Are you sure there’s no room for us? We’re desperate, so we’ll take anything.”
The innkeeper was also exhausted. He too had been up since dawn: cleaning
rooms, carrying bags, registering people, feeding animals, sweeping out stalls, fixing
broken benches, and serving food and drink to guests.
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He didn’t have any patience for folks who couldn’t read signs. He just wanted to
have his dinner and go to bed. So he gruffly responded again: “Read my lips -- No
room! You’ll have to look elsewhere in town.”
But the little girl, standing off to the side, watching and listening to this exchange, saw the look of disappointment in their eyes. Quietly, she pulled on her father’s robe and said, “Abba (which means Daddy in Aramaic), can they stay in the stable?” “Child, don’t interfere. Go help your mother, and I’ll handle this, responded her
father. “But Abba, why not? They really need a place to stay.”
The more he said “no,” the more she persisted. By now, the innkeeper was getting angry and was about to lose his temper and yell at his daughter. But something
stopped him. He looked down at her, then at the couple, and then back at her. And for
some reason – unbeknownst even to him, the innkeeper’s heart softened.
After a long silence, so long that the little girl couldn’t hold her breath, the innkeeper gave in to her persistence and said gruffly, “All right, take them to the stable.” And then, to Mary and Joseph, he added: “Don’t make a mess out there, and make
sure you’re gone in the morning.”
So off, they went. The innkeeper’s daughter got them a bucket of water and
some fresh hay for a bed. She even sneaked into the house and got an extra blanket
and some leftover bread and cheese.
Later that evening, when the only light was a bright star in the night sky, the little girl woke up. She heard noise in the stable. Quietly, so as not to awaken her parents, she climbed out her window and walked across the yard.
39
She looked in the stable, and there amidst the cows, the chickens and the donkey,
lay a little baby in a manger, wrapped up in the blanket from the inn. The innkeeper’s
daughter smiled. She wanted to visit with the family, but she went back to bed quietly humming a lullaby to herself. After all, morning would soon come with another
day’s work.
The baby grew up to be a wise and gentle man. The little girl grew up to be a persistent and gracious woman. Many years later, their paths crossed again. This time he
was passing through Bethlehem on his way to Jerusalem and she was running the family inn where he stayed the night. Somehow she knew that he had been the baby born
in her stable, and somehow he knew that she had been the innkeeper’s daughter, one of
the angels who sang at his birth.
40
A Stable Lamp is Lighted
Words by Richard Wilbur, b. 1921
My favorite musical setting is by Anna Hernandez
A stable lamp is lighted
whose glow shall wake the sky;
the stars shall bend their voices,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
and straw like gold shall shine;
a barn shall harbour heaven,
a stall become a shrine.
This child through David's city
shall ride in triumph by;
the palm shall strew its branches,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
though heavy, dull and dumb,
and lie within the roadway
to pave his kingdom come.
Yet he shall be forsaken,
and yielded up to die;
the sky shall groan and darken,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
for gifts of love abused;
God's blood upon the spearhead,
God's blood again refused.
But now, as at the ending,
the low is lifted high;
the stars shall bend their voices,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
in praises of the child
by whose descent among us
the worlds are reconciled.
41
C H A P T E R 11
Shiphrah, The Midwife
!
She was called Shiphrah. She had been named after her spiritual ancestor, one of the
Hebrew midwives in the story of the Exodus. In ancient Hebrew, her name meant
“beauty.” Shiphrah lived in the village of Bethlehem. She helped deliver all of the babies in town.
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When Joseph and Mary arrived in Bethlehem, the innkeeper’s wife told them
where Shiphrah lived, and Joseph asked that she get her. Shiphrah had spent all day
doing what women have always done: cleaning house, baking bread, looking after children, tending the fire, and fetching water from the village well. So when the innkeeper’s wife got to her house, Shiphrah had already put in a good day’s work and was
settling in for a nice long rest.
The innkeeper’s daughter was out of breath. “A woman from Nazareth is here
with her husband. There’s no room for them in the inn, but my father said they could
stay in the barn. She’s about to have her baby, and she needs help.”
So, Shiphrah grabbed her straw basket filled with rags, a pot for water, some
herbs, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Knowing that the night would be cold, she
wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and followed the girl to the barn behind the
inn.
Since there were so many travelers in town for the registration, there were
anumber animals in the stable. “Oh dear,” she thought, “This is going to be a dirty
and smelly place to have a baby. But, I’ve seen worse.”
Joseph appeared at the door of the barn. “Thank you for coming. I don’t have
much money, but I’ll pay what I can.” Shiphrah, like most midwives, wasn’t worried
about money.
The first thing she did, was say a prayer: “God, help me to do my job. Protect
this mother. Guard this child. And, please God, calm down this expectant father.”
And then she got to work. She instructed Joseph to find two bricks or stones on
which Mary would squat and have her baby. Then she carefully placed them about a
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foot apart. She told Joseph to build a fire just outside the cave, and to make sure he
had plenty of firewood to keep it going. She asked the innkeeper’s wife to fetch lots
of water, a few more rags, and maybe an extra blanket, if they could spare one.
The midwife walked over to Mary who was resting against a bale of hay. “Shalom, my name is Shiphrah, and I’m here to help you. How are you feeling?”
Mary, looking very tired and dusty after the long donkey ride from Nazareth
looked up at her face, and said, “I’m all right, but I wish my mother or my cousin Elizabeth were here.”
Shiphrah took Mary’s hand and assured her that everything would be just fine.
They sat for a little while and talked about the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem.
Then, Mary asked, “Can I trust you with a secret?” Shiphrah was accustomed to hearing
such things from expectant mothers. “Of course, you can.”
Mary told Shiphrah about how an angel visited her one day and told her that she
was going to have a baby boy and name him Jesus, and that he would become a great
man and would be called Son of God. Shiphrah listened carefully to Mary’s story.
When Mary finished speaking, Shiphrah squeezed her hand and said, “All will be well,
and all manner of things will be well. For with God, nothing is impossible.”
Then, it began: the birth pains – the labor – the process of a child being born. At
first, Shiphrah held Mary’s hand and wiped her brow and coached her saying, “Breathe,
breathe, just breathe.” The labor pains got stronger, Shiphrah helped Mary squat on
the two bricks. Wrapping her strong but gentle arms, around the young woman, she
held Mary from behind and said: “Push, Push, Push.”
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A few minutes later, a baby boy was born with the vigor of life, like his ancestors before him. Somehow, some way, known only to his Creator, this beloved child of
God entered the world, and for just one moment, the world stood still.
When Shiphrah looked into the infant’s face, she saw the whole of the universe,
and she prayed: “Blessed are you, Lord of God hosts, the whole world is full of your
glory.” She gently wrapped the baby in swaddling clothes, placed him into his
mother’s arms, and went to tell Joseph that he had a newborn son.
Returning to her house, Shiphrah noticed a shabby group of shepherds coming
down the path pointing to the sky. She looked up to the heavens and saw a very
bright star. She smiled, and with the nod of her head, she pointed these seekers to
the place where the child lay.
45
What Child is This, Who Laid to Rest
Words by William Chatterton Dix, c. 1865
Music: Greensleaves
What child is this, who laid to rest,
on Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
while shepherds watch are keeping?
Refrain:
This, this is Christ the King,
whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
haste, haste to bring him laud,
the babe, the son of Mary.
Why lies he in such mean estate
where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
the silent Word is pleading. Refrain
So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh,
come, peasant, king, to own him;
the King of kings salvation brings,
let loving hearts enthrone him. Refrain
46
C H A P T E R 12
The Beggar’s Gift
!
When Mary and Joseph came into the stable, the beggar girl woke up with a fright.
Shaking from the cold night air, she huddled in the corner, wrapping up in her ragged
cloak, and peeked to see who had invaded her secret sleeping shelter. She was relieved to see that the intruders were a young couple. And then she realized that the
woman was pregnant.
47
When Mary’s water broke, this young child emerged from the shadows and offered to help. Joseph asked her to fetch the innkeeper’s wife who then went to get Siphrah, the local midwife. “And get some water from the well,” he shouted as she ran
on her most urgent errand. Carrying a bucket nearly half her size, the little beggar
returned to the old barn to watch with amazement as Mary pushed a new and holy life
into the world.
When the baby was born, the beggar girl sat in the corner and wiped away tears as
Mary and Joseph cuddled the little infant in their arms. When the shepherds arrived,
she hid again, fearful that these rough-and-tumble men from the countryside might
hurt her. When the eldest among them offered Mary and Joseph a baby lamb, she
wished she had something to give. When the magi showed up with their gold, myrrh
and frankincense, she felt so poor and unworthy. When she looked at the face of the
infant Jesus, she also felt a tinge of jealousy that nobody had loved her enough to
hold her close and offer gifts when she was born.
After the other visitors had departed, Mary and Joseph gently placed their newborn infant back in the manger and fell into an exhausted sleep. The baby Jesus woke
up, started to whimper and shiver with cold. The little beggar girl crept over to the
manger and reached out her hand to comfort the child, the baby Jesus took her hand
in his, stopped shivering, and fell back asleep.
That night the beggar girl gave all she had to give – the gentle hand of friendship,
the warmth of her body, and a broken heart of love; and in return she experienced
healing, warmth, love and acceptance. In that simple moment, the abandoned girl of
the shadows realized that she had something to offer – herself – and that it was
enough.
A few days later, as she roamed around town begging for leftover food and handouts, she looked on the ground and saw a little stone in the shape of heart. She
48
picked up, dusted it off, and said, “Now, I have something to give to the baby.” She
ran to the stable behind the inn, but they were gone. The manger where he had lain
was empty. So, she put the stone in her pocket and carried it with her all the days of
her life.
A postscript…
Many years ago, I was in a Christmas pageant. The Shepherd’s Play is one of the oldest traditions at the school I attended. It performed by the sixth grade each December on the day before winter vacation.
As was usually the case with many of my school’s traditions, the leading characters in this production were passed down from grandmother, to mother, to daughter.
Since I didn’t have a grandmother or mother who had attended the school, I got a bit
part in the play. I was given the role of a beggar, and my assignment was to enter towards the end of the play, kneel by the manger, and join a chorus of other beggars for
the second-to-last verse.
I remember being hurt that I had only gotten a small part – and a beggar, no less.
At the same time, I was worried that I would forget my line and embarrass my class
and myself, so I practiced it over and over again. Years later, just before Christmas,
the little beggar girl resurfaced in my memory.
I was visiting a friend who was bed-ridden with a chronic, debilitating condition.
Her ninety-year-old mother was caring for her. We were having communion by my
friend’s bed. After reading the Christmas story I asked, “What would you bring as a
gift to the Christ Child?” My friend thought for a while and then finally responded, “I
don’t have anything to give.” Her mother interrupted, “Oh yes, you do. You have your
love to offer, and that’s good enough.” She lay there quietly and looked off into the
distance. At first tears came to her eyes, and then a smile fell upon her face.
49
“You’re right, I do have something to offer to the Christ Child,” she said. “I would give
my heart of love.”
Sitting with my friend, confined to her bed, I recalled my verse as a beggar in the
sixth grade Christmas play:
Yes, we lowly folk who have no gold, nor rare, nor precious thing to give,
May we bring our loving hearts to lay at the feet of the Savior here?
Many us walk through life feeling like we have nothing valuable to give, especially
to God. I certainly felt that way as the beggar in the Christmas pageant so long ago.
If I had been someone important, if I had had a mother or grandmother who was an
alumna; or if I had a rich father who gave much money to the school – then I would
have had a more prominent role in the play. But I didn’t so I was a beggar. Along with
the other beggars, as I spoke my single verse, I gave it my best, because that’s all I
had to give.
Christmas is about just being enough. A baby was enough for God to come into the
world. Mary was enough when she consented to be the Mother of God on earth. Joseph
was enough when he surrendered his pride and agreed to raise Jesus as his own son.
The innkeeper was enough when even in his stinginess he offered a place for the holy
family to stay. The shepherds were enough when they overcame their fear, left the
fields and went to Bethlehem to witness the birth of Jesus. The magi were enough
when they abandoned their loyalty to Herod, followed the star and offered precious
gifts to our Lord. And kneeling in the shadows, with nobody paying much notice, the
young beggar was enough when she offered the only thing that she had to the one
whom she knew to be God among us.
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To be enough in the face of God requires that we surrender and relinquish whatever we’re holding back. In this competitive world of ours, surrender is usually considered a bad thing. It is a sign of weakness and defeat. Hence our military might, our
corporate combat, our ethnic wars, our addictions, and even our family feuds go on
and on, generation after generation. They are passed down like parts in the Christmas play. How can we possibly expect to surrender to the God whom we can’t see when
we are unable or unwilling to surrender to our relative, co-worker or neighbor whom
we know?
Imagine what the world would be like if we all surrendered our hearts to God. If
we all heard and answered to the voice of the divine speaking deep within each of us,
crying out from the depths of the earth, whispering through the wind – imagine what
the world would be like.
If the hope of Christmas is peace in our hearts, our lives, and our world, then the
way of Christmas is to surrender in love. On that first Christmas so long ago, God surrendered the divine heart of love to the world in the innocence and vulnerability of a
newborn baby. Most of the world didn’t stop and take notice. However, those with
eyes to see, ears to hear, and loving hearts to surrender, paid attention. And in that
moment for them – even the little beggar girl – the world stood still and the glory of
God appeared.
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In the Bleak Midwinter
Words by Christina Rossetti, 1872 AND Music by Cranham
In the bleak midwinter,
frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron,
water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold him
nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away
when he comes to reign:
in the bleak midwinter
a stable place sufficed
the Lord God incarnate, Jesus Christ.
Angels and archangels
may have gathered there
cherubim and seraphim
thronged the air;
but his mother only,
in her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.
What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would bring a lamb;
if I were a wise man,
I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him my heart.
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C H A P T E R 13
Just Another Homeless
Family
!
It was early winter, not too cold but cold enough. They had just arrived into town. He
was an unemployed autoworker. He had been laid off, and had been looking for work
for over two years. He’d had a few odd jobs: packing cartons in a warehouse, night
clerking at a convenience store, dish washing in a diner. His unemployment had long
since run out. He was hoping for an extension, but now it looked hopeless.
53
She once had held a steady job in an office, and then at a department store. However, with the local economy suffering from so many plant closures, she couldn’t even
find a fulltime waitress job. Besides, she was now nine months pregnant. Nobody was
willing to hire her.
Life had been hard for the past few years. First, the auto plant closed. Then the
house was sold with just enough profit to replace the transmission on their late
model used car, pay some overdue bills, and make a deposit on an apartment – the deposit that the landlord kept after they got evicted, for back rent. To make matters
worse, their health insurance expired months ago, and they didn’t know how they were
going to pay for the baby about to be born. So they packed up the few belongings
that hadn’t been sold or repossessed and headed east.
They had been in town for a few days, staying in a rundown motel, the one with
the broken Coke machine and the sign advertising weekly, daily and hourly rates, the
one across from the big church with the men’s shelter. They had received help from
its food pantry, but without a kitchen, it had been hard to cook, and eating out had
taken every last dime.
Now their money had run out, and they were running on empty. The hotel manager said that they had to go. “NO CREDIT – PAYMENT IN ADVANCE” read the sign behind
the Plexiglas barrier at the registration desk. The manager’s wife whispered something to her husband about the woman’s state of pregnancy, but all she got was a
scowl and a muttered, “I told you that we can’t keep doing this.”
The couple went down to the local welfare office. Having patiently waited in line
for over two hours, they were met by a haggard and hurried social worker trying to
get away for the holiday weekend. Politely but curtly, as if to avoid eye contact, she
said without even looking up from her desk, “It’s going to take a few days for your paperwork to be processed. Come back early next week.”
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“Where do we stay for now?” they asked. The caseworker opened her jam-packed
file cabinet and pulled out a list of family shelters as well as the men’s shelter at the
big church downtown. “What about a place for my wife to stay if we have to be separated?” asked the man with a worried wrinkle on his brow. Still avoiding eye contact,
the social worker shrugged her weary shoulders and replied, “Unfortunately, there are
no shelters for women in this county. Our only one was closed a few months ago. Perhaps you can find something in the next county over.”
The young couple looked at each other in the determined way couples do, knowing the unspoken thoughts of the other. No, they wouldn’t be separated – no matter
what. Resolved that somehow things would work out, they left the welfare office and
spent all day looking for a shelter that would take them both. They had no luck; the
shelters were full.
They were sitting in a restaurant, drinking cups of coffee, staying warm, and wondering what to do next. They needed to find a place to go before dark. They walked
out into the parking lot and saw a woman in her mid-twenties standing alone, leaning
on a building across the street and staring at the passing traffic. Every now and then,
she would run up to an approaching car, yell “Hi there,” and lean into the window to
talk with the driver. She seemed like she knew her way around, and she had a friendly
smile.
They looked at each other and thought, “What do we have to lose?” They walked
up to her and asked: “Do you know where we might stay for the night? We’re not from
around here; we’ve run out of money; we’re waiting for welfare; the shelters are full;
we’re expecting a baby; and we’ve got to find a place – just for tonight.” With expectant eyes, they pleaded, “Can you please help us?”
55
The woman looked at them for a few seconds, and then with a grin she said,
“Sure, follow me.” Off they went, following this stranger, not knowing exactly where
they were going, but knowing that they really had no options left. As they walked,
the woman introduced herself, saying her name was Lisa. She barraged her new acquaintances with a constant stream of friendly questions, but interrupted their answers with a running commentary on the neighborhood.
Eventually, this angel of the night led them to a big, dilapidated house. Paint
peeled from the broken shingles, garbage filled the overgrown yard, and several abandoned mailboxes hung on the front porch. The house was boarded up, but a piece of
plywood had been pryed loose from one of the windows. Lisa and the man helped the
pregnant woman through the window and then climbed in behind her.
Once inside, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness of a building without windows, they could see many rooms and much stuff in various states of dirt and decay:
clothing, newspapers, mattresses, blankets, dishes, pots and pans, beer and wine bottles, along with some discarded syringes and empty crack vials. There was a hose running through the wall from a spigot outside the house next door. Somebody had even
hot-wired electricity, thus allowing a few single light bulbs hanging from old ceiling
fixtures and wall sconces to light up the interior maze of rooms.
As they looked around, the soon-to-be parents realized that other people were
living in this supposedly abandoned house. Lisa introduced her new friends to the others and explained their situation. She showed them to a soiled mattress surrounded
by clothes, pillows, blankets and bags. “This is my space. You can stay here. Nobody
will bother you. I’ll be back in a while.” And then she crawled out the window they had
just crawled in.
The couple cautiously sat down on the mattress. They were exhausted, too tired
to speak and lost in their own thoughts. He was reminiscing about days past, better
56
days, and wondering if he would ever see them again. Why did the plant have to
close? Why did they travel to this God-forsaken town? Where was their family when
they were most needed? And, why, Lord, did she have to get pregnant? Leaning his
sore back against the dirty wall, Bill recalled the discussion, the argument they had
about abortion so many months ago. Without the utterance of words, he wondered:
“Did we make the right choice?” “Too late now,” he concluded.
Angry, frustrated and scared, his thoughts turned to money. They didn’t have
enough money for a hotel room, much less a hospital bed. “How will we handle this
one?” he asked himself. Evading his own question, he thought, “At least we have a few
more days before the baby is due.” He felt more alone than he had ever felt in his
whole life. He just looked at his wife asleep on the mattress and sighed.
Meanwhile, the pregnant woman lay quietly on the stained mattress. She couldn’t
sleep; she was too tired and too scared. Thinking to herself, many questions raced
through her mind. Where were they? Who were all these people in this house? Were
they safe? Were they foolish to follow Lisa here? She too remembered the argument
in the early days of her pregnancy. “Were we stupid to have this baby?” Glancing
over at her husband, she was thankful they were off the streets and relatively warm.
“Fortunately, the baby isn’t due for a few days. We’ll figure things out.” She fell
asleep.
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, the woman awoke to the breaking of her water – all over Lisa’s mattress. The contractions began coming fast and furious. She
was frightened, and he didn’t know what to do. People in the house began to stir.
Someone turned on a broken lamp and brought it over to their corner.
Shouldn’t they go to the hospital was the question on everybody’s mind. Nobody
had enough money for a cab, and it was too late to walk. And if they called for an am-
57
bulance, they would risk losing their safe haven. “Could she have the baby here?”
somebody asked.
Lisa had returned and was frantically running around trying to decide what to
do. After all, they were her responsibility now. A middle-aged woman staying in the
room upstairs came down. Her name was Pearl. Standing next to her was a sleepy
young child, about the age of five. Pearl looked at the young couple and then at Lisa
and declared with the wisdom and authority of age, “When I was growing up, babies
were born at home. I guess she’ll have to do it here.” Taking charge, Pearl instructed
Lisa to get some hot water and some towels. She told the expectant father to calm
down and hold his wife’s hand.
The contractions started coming harder and faster. The pregnant woman was determined. Her anxious husband was shaking. A small group of people staying in the
house began to form a circle around them. Lisa shooed them away, back into the shadows.
After an hour and a half, she pushed hard, and a baby was born. Pearl took the
baby and slapped it on his behind exclaiming: “You know, they say that when a newborn is spanked on its bottom, he forgets everything he learned in his mother’s
womb.” Cutting the umbilical cord with a kitchen knife, she placed the baby on his
mother’s breast whispering, “Here’s your angel child. He’s a boy.”
As the group stood quietly around the mattress, each with his or her own
thoughts, Pearl’s child crept up to the young mother and her newborn infant. He
leaned over them, kissed the baby on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, “I hope you
find a place to live.”
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The Star
Words by Peter McCann AND Recorded by Kathy Mattea
Just another homeless family
Hoping for a stranger’s charity
Just one night in one safe place to stay
Underneath a star so far away
She carried everything they had and more
The little one the world was waiting for
And somewhere in the night her child was born
Into every heart so tired and torn
And the light shining from that star
Will show you who you are
And his life shining with it slight
Will lead you through your darkest night
They couldn’t find a room for him back then
But he found a place in the hearts of men
The hope that all the world would come to know
Born beneath that star so long ago
Just another homeless family
Hoping for a stranger’s charity
Just one night in one safe place to stay
Underneath a star so far away
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C H A P T E R 14
A Very Special Christmas
Tree
!
It was my first year of seminary. I was living in a run-down, fifth floor, walk-up
apartment in New York City. I was broke, lonely and miserable.
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It didn’t feel at all like Christmas. I wanted to be home with my family, but my
job made that impossible. I didn’t have a Christmas tree; I couldn’t afford one, and I
didn’t have room for it anyway. I was waiting for Christmas to come and go.
On Christmas Eve, I was walking down the street, and there on the sidewalk, was
the biggest Christmas tree I had ever seen. It was so big that it had either fallen off
the back of a truck or didn’t fit in somebody’s living room. I stared at it for some
time, and then I walked away. Later that day, I walked by the tree again. Nobody had
claimed it. I rang a few doorbells, and asked about it. I was told that it was just
there, and the neighbors wished that it would be taken away.
I decided to take it. I dragged it for three city blocks. Since it wasn’t going to
fit in my apartment, I decided to set it up outside, in front of the church across the
street from my building. I called the priest to share my find. She was thrilled.
There were some neighbors hanging around outside, and they offered to help me set
up the tree. We wired our great big tree to a fence and several window gates.
I went to the local hardware store. I ran in and explained to the owner what I
had found and asked him if he would donate some lights so we could brighten up the
block. Since it was closing time, he emptied an entire display of outdoor bulbs into a
bag and with a big smile said, “Merry Christmas.”
I ran back to the church with my bag of gifts. We got out a ladder and hung the
lights. Then we started making decorations out of anything we could find. Soon it
was dark. Everybody stood in absolute silence as we lit our special Christmas tree. It
was magnificent – as beautiful and grand as the tree in Rockefeller Center – someone
exclaimed. I was thrilled.
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I went upstairs to my apartment and sat by my window looking out at my new
friends enjoying my Christmas tree. It was the biggest, best tree I’d ever had. It cost
me nothing, and I could share it with the world. Tears came to my eyes, and I realized
that it was Christmas. In the midst of my loneliness in the big city, separated from
family and far away from home, Christmas had found its way into my heart.
No longer was I alone; now I had a new group of friends and neighbors. No longer
was I deprived of a tree; I had the biggest tree I’d ever had, and I could share it with
the world. No longer was I far from home; I had a new place to call home. Sometimes,
it takes a miracle.
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O Christmas Tree
Translated from Tannenbaum
Words by Ernst Anschutz, 1824
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,
How lovely are your branches!
In beauty green will always grow
Through summer sun and winter snow.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
How lovely are your branches!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,
You are the tree most loved!
How often you give us delight
In brightly shining Christmas light!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,
You are the tree most loved!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,
Your beauty green will teach me
That hope and love will ever be
The way to joy and peace for me.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,
Your beauty green will teach me.
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C H A P T E R 15
Slouching towards
Bethlehem
!
He walked ahead of them, shoulders slumped, eyes staring at the ground, and his feet
dragging. He was a young man with hands as rough as the wood he hammered and
sanded. He was tired and angry. He resented leaving behind his home, friends and job
to walk all the way to Bethlehem, just to register with the government. He had no
choice.
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Like his brother Joseph, David was also a subject of the Roman Empire. He had
moved to Nazareth at a young age, and that was the village he loved and called home.
Who was he to argue with Caesar? It only got you arrested, thrown into prison and
crucified on the edge of town. Yes, the Emperor wanted to make sure his tax rolls
were current. For David, and others like him, that Roman tax burden cost more than
half his paycheck.
Why did they have to bring along Mary who was nine months pregnant? David just
wanted to take care of his imperial business and hurry back to Nazareth. No, now he
would have to go with his brother, his soon-to-be sister-in-law, and a newborn baby
to Jerusalem for the rites of purification, and then return home. Thankfully, he felt
certain that she could have the baby in the guest room of an inn owned by relatives in
Bethlehem.
Finally, they arrived. They wandered into town late in the day after being on the
road for the better part of a week. They were exhausted and filthy, and they smelled
like the donkey on whose back Mary rode. Thank goodness, no one noticed their notso-grand entrance into town.
When they got to inn, an exhausted and frazzled innkeeper greeted them with a
hostile glare. For over a month, he had been providing guest quarters to all of his
out-of-town relatives seeking a place to stay during the census. It was no surprise
that the innkeeper was not very hospitable when they arrived at his doorstep.
“Sorry, but we don’t have any more room in the house. You’ll have to stay in the
stable.” You’ve got to be kidding me, thought David. We’ve been on the road for five
days. This woman is about to have a baby. You’re telling us that we’re going to stay
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in your barn. David started to say something he would regret, but his brother Joseph
touched his shoulder and signaled with his eyes to keep his mouth shut. “Thank you,”
replied Joseph. We are grateful for your hospitality.”
David was about to explode. As they started walking toward the stable, he
turned to his brother and said, “I’ll be back later.” Joseph shrugged his shoulders and
led Mary and the donkey into the stable.
David walked around town for a while, and then entered a local tavern to get
something to eat. He listened the conversations of other frustrated and tired peasants. He also heard the pounding of boots on the pavement as a company of imperial
soldiers marched through town. He wondered if life would ever get easier for his people. He didn’t have much hope.
Eventually, David decided to return to the inn. It was late, and he needed a good
night’s sleep before standing in the long line at the government registration office.
Walking into the dark stable, lit only a candle, David was taken aback.
There, in a rough-hewn manger, lay a baby boy. He looked at Mary sound asleep
on the hay. He smiled at Joseph who was resting with his eyes open. He looked back
at the vulnerable, newborn infant lying in the manger, and for reasons that he would
never be able to explain, he realized he was looking at the face of God. He stood
there for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn’t. It was just a few minutes. He sat
down next to Joseph, gently put his rough hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiled and
closed his eyes. The next morning, David awoke with nothing the same as it had been
before.
1. The phrase “slouches towards Bethlehem,” is found in a poem by W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming” (1919). It has been quoted frequently in a variety of settings, and it is the title of Joan Didion’s 1968 collection of essays entitled, Slouching Towards Bethlehem.
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O Little Town of Bethlehem
Words by Phillip Brooks (1835-1893)
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy darkness shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God, the King,
And peace to [us] on earth.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous Gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
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We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Immanuel
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C H A P T E R 16
The Light of Darkness
!
I am a fool for holiday lights. I love the candles of Advent, Hanukkah, Solstice, Christmas and Kwanza. I enjoy seeing holiday lights as I drive through various communities, noting the diversity as I move from one neighborhood to another. I also like
festive downtown office buildings and department store windows. I even appreciate
what some people call “tacky” Christmas displays – the bigger, the better, I say.
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I am particularly fond of a suburban home with a decorated pond and a singing Elvis on the roof. My all-time favorite was an unassuming cottage located across the
street from a Fraternal Order of Police Hall in a working class neighborhood. This cottage was so well lit that it could be seen for miles, even from the freeway. As we
neared the house, there were dozens of people crossing the street, walking up the
driveway and paying two dollars apiece to ooh and ah at the array of thousands of
sparkling lights in all shapes, sizes and colors. Among the various displays were an
American flag, a jack-in-the-box and a gingerbread house. There were numerous Christmas trees, choirs, snowmen and Care Bears. There was a crèche complete with the holy
family, attending shepherds, barn animals and angels by the dozen. Of course, there
was Santa Claus and his playful elves and reindeer. The entire display was constructed of twinkling, multi-colored holiday lights. Christmas carols were blasting
out of stereo speakers, and volunteers collected money for local charities.
As we walked away, I asked myself, what makes folks go to all of this effort and
expense? Moreover, I wondered, what makes people like me travel a distance in the
cold of the night to witness such extravagant displays of holiday cheer? The answer
is quite simple. We need light. During the bleak midwinter, we human beings develop
a craving for light. When the sun retires, we light candles and turn on artificial
lights; when the trees are a leafless brown, we bring fresh evergreens inside; when the
cold wind blows, we drown out its howling with music; when the harvest is over and
the fields are bare, we feast; when the days are short, we party long into the night.
No wonder we overindulge at the holidays; we’re trying to compensate for the dark
and barren days of the winter season.
I love decorating my own home for the holidays. I look forward to putting candles in the windows and lighting the Advent wreath. I like the ritual of picking out
and cutting down the “perfect” tree that is never perfect when we get it home. I enjoy the challenge of stringing lights on the tree, only to realize that at least half of
them don’t light up when they are plugged into the socket. I love hanging the orna70
ments, especially the shiny red bulbs with gold crochet made by my grandmother. I
really relish the moment when we turn off the lights and turn on the tree. If left to
my own devices, I will play Christmas music on the stereo and sit and look at the tree
for hours upon hours as it twinkles in the darkness.
One of the best things about my job as a cathedral dean is that I get to help decorate a really big house – God’s house – and then periodically sneak in for a private
glimpse of several trees lighting up the darkness. I usually get the inspiration for
my Christmas sermon during these private moments.
One year, on the day before Christmas Eve, I wandered into the church to turn on
the lights and stare at the trees. As fate would have it, when I plugged in the lights, I
found that one of the trees had fallen over. Unsuccessful in my attempt to upright
the tree by myself, I went into the men’s shelter and recruited a helper. My plan to
fix one Christmas tree turned into a few hours of readjusting all the trees, moving
some sanctuary benches, and having a lengthy conversation about the real meaning of
Christmas. Unfortunately, I came home still perplexed about what I would say in my
Christmas Eve sermon.
After dinner that evening, still in search of a Christmas sermon, I decided that I
needed to buy additional lights to hang on the bushes in front of our house. I jumped
in my car and with Christmas music blasting on the radio drove to the drug store. I
ran into the store, bought a half dozen boxes of lights, practically threw my money
at the sales clerk, leaped back into my car and drove home. After hanging the new
lights, I plugged them in, and they didn’t work. I had bought several boxes of defective lights. I tore the lights off the bushes, threw them in a bag, and drove back to
the store, only to find a young man locking the door. “We are closed,” he said, “Come
back tomorrow.” “I can’t come back tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve got to work
and I just bought these defective lights, and I simply want to exchange them. Please
let me in. It will take me just a minute.” As the exasperated clerk shook his head
and I was about to burst into tears, the store manager walked by, recognized my
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panic-stricken face, looked at the lights in my hands, and opened the door. “Come on
in,” he said with a tired smile. “Let’s get you some working lights.” This kind man
took the time to open the boxes and test the lights. As they twinkled, my face lit up
like a Christmas tree, and I started to weep like a child. Embarrassed by my unexplainable behavior, I thanked the generous store manager and apologized to the disbelieving store clerk. I went home, hung the lights and climbed into bed – still without
a Christmas sermon.
The next morning I got up, turned on the Christmas tree, sat down in front of it,
and opened my Bible to the passage that is read in the dark every Christmas Eve just
around midnight. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1: 4). As I read those words from John’s gospel, I realized what was going on inside of me. I was trying to overcome my own darkness. I was doing my best
to dispel the dark shadows of night from my own life.
Over the years, I’ve looked back on that crazy pre-Christmas Eve with a modicum
of laughter and embarrassment. What a fool I made of myself running into the drugstore at closing, insisting like a mad woman that I had to exchange my defective
Christmas lights when those tired employees were trying to lock up and go home for
the night. You would have thought that I needed a prescription from the pharmacy to
save my life. Maybe I did. Maybe those lights were antibiotics to ward off the darkness that had interrupted my life.
That Christmas Eve I went to church for our traditional midnight mass. At the end
of the service, the lights were turned off, and by the flicker of a single candle I read
aloud from the prologue of John’s Gospel. When we sang “Silent Night” by candlelight
in a darkened church that year, for one brief moment time stopped and the world felt
safe. The darkness felt safe.
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That Christmas Eve I realized that the darkness was not so bad. In the darkness
my fears could rest in God, the quietness of God’s peace could enfold me, and I could
wait for the dawn of new life and love to be born.
Each year, Trinity Cathedral hosts the Boar’s Head and Yule Log Festival, a Christmas tradition dating back to the 14th century at Queen’s College in Oxford, England.
Following the great procession and adoration of the Christ Child, at the end of the festival, the Dean and a young sprite skip out of the darkened cathedral carrying a candle into the night. Some think this is cute, others believe it’s irreverent, and the
most cynical say it’s down right hokey. Personally, as the one appointed to carry out
this annual task, I take it very seriously and almost literally. It is not only my responsibility but also my privilege to bound joyously into the world with a child in
hand bearing the light of Christ. What a perfect role for one who, as much as is humanly possible, wants to light up the midwinter night and sing out to remind the
world that the Word of God is very alive. Sometimes as I skip down the aisle of the
cathedral into the darkened night, I feel like singing, “This little light of mine, I’m going let it, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” Instead I give thanks for the darkness
because I now know that without it the light cannot shine.
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This Little Light of Mine
African American Spiritual
This little light of mine
I'm going to let it shine
Oh, this little light of mine
I'm going to let it shine
This little light of mine
I'm going to let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Ev'ry where I go
I'm going to let it shine
Oh, ev'ry where I go
I'm going to let it shine
Ev'ry where I go
I'm going to let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Out in the dark
I'm going to let it shine
Oh, out in the dark
I'm going to let it shine
Out in the dark
I'm going to let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
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C H A P T E R 17
When God Pitches a Tent
!
A number of years ago, I received Christmas greetings from an old friend. Attached
to her letter was a button of a baby crawling on all fours. She wrote that God appeared on earth as the “most vulnerable and appealing creature imaginable”1 so that
we would take the Living Christ into our hearts and spread God’s message of peace
and justice around the world.
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For almost a decade, I’ve kept that button on my own little altar next to a simple
wooden cross, a tiny painted icon of the face of Jesus, and a rock in the shape of a
battered heart. Together, they remind me of the heart of God poured into the world
through the birth of a helpless and vulnerable baby, who grew up to be a courageous
and faithful adult. This vessel of love, the Son of Man or the Human One (as he called
himself), proclaimed the reign of God, was executed by those who were threatened by
his message, rose again in the broken hearts of his followers, and lives on in the witness of the church around the world.
The real symbol of Christmas is not the Christmas tree, Santa Claus, an angel, or
even a star; no, the real symbol of Christmas is a newborn baby. Writing from a Nazi
prison during World War II, Dietrich Bonhoeffer articulated this radical truth about
Christmas. “We are talking about the birth of a child, not the revolutionary act of a
strong man, not the breathtaking discovery of a sage, not the pious act of a saint.” 2
The radical claim of Christianity is that, in Jesus, the Word of God entered the
world as a human being, and yet somehow remained God. Moreover, when imperial
power was threatened by the words and actions of the Human One and sought to eliminate him, Christian tradition maintains that God raised him to new life in the hearts
and minds of his followers. Christianity teaches that in the incarnation, God decided
to show, rather than tell us about the divine hopes for humanity. As Verna Dozier, a
great theologian of the Episcopal Church once said, “God did not become incarnate as
a book, but as a body.”3
According to the gospel accounts that offer a birth narrative, Jesus was born in
humble circumstances. His parents were poor and unwed, a teenage mother and her
fiancé who were forced to travel far from home to register for taxes with an oppressive government. Then, after a brief, but powerful, public ministry, at roughly the
age of thirty-three, he was condemned of treason and heresy, and was executed as a
criminal of the Roman Empire.
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God’s coming into the world through the birth of Jesus was like that of thousands of children born in similar circumstances every day. His ministry has been both
an inspiration and a threat to people, institutions, governments, and yes, even
churches. While his death has been repeated all too often in every country on earth,
his spirit lives on as an eternal flame, even if only sometimes as a lone candle burning faintly in the dark.
Although the doctrine of the Incarnation has a particular meaning in Christianity, it has deep roots in many ancient religions and all three of the Abrahamic faith
traditions. In Greek mythology, the gods would periodically mate with human beings
producing demigods as their offspring; the Pharaohs of Egypt were thought to be divine; and the Hindu god Vishnu is said to occasionally take the form of a human being.
Ascending to the imperial throne of Rome, Augustus Octavian Caesar, Julius’
adopted son, declared that his father had become divine, and therefore, he was now
officially “son of a god.” As N.T. Wright points out, “If you asked anybody in the Roman Empire…who was the son of God…the politically correct answer would have been
“Octavian.”4
If we believe that incarnation is God’s word embodied in the material world and
enfleshed in human form, then the concept of incarnation was introduced in the opening sentences of the Hebrew Bible: “In the beginning…“God created humankind in
[God’s] image,” and then “God blessed them…and it was so” (Genesis 1.27-28, 30).
In the beginning, God intended for all the diversity of creation, including humanity, to live in harmony and right relationship. As the ancient text reveals, from the
beginning there was brokenness and alienation, rupture, disharmony and division. So,
the Author of Life and Creator of it all tried every trick in the book: angels and
prophets, miracles and signs, stories and symbols, laws and commandments, judges
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and priests, warriors and monarchs. God came to humankind in every way imaginable;
and some understood and were faithful to the divine intentions for human life; but
others, for whatever reason, just didn’t get the message. So the Holy One tried again
in Jesus. Why couldn’t God try another tack so that one more group of people might
get or stay on the path to abundant life?
No matter how you understand the complexity of this revelation, the incarnation asserts that the very character of God is revealed in a human being – a vulnerable, powerful, and passionate human being who lived, worked, ate, slept, loved,
prayed, sweated, bled, and ultimately died like one of us, or as singer-songwriter
Joan Osborne once shouted out, “just a slob like one of us.”5
The 12th century mystic Hildegard of Bingen expressed the movement of incarnation as “divinity…aimed at humanity.”6 Whenever I read the account of Jesus’ baptism, I imagine God reaching down to Jesus and claiming humanity, and Jesus reaching
up to God and claiming divinity to restore the unity intended for all creation.
St. Augustine explained the Incarnation was a “new mode” of God’s activity, designed to narrow the gap between divinity and humanity.7 I liken this gap to a tear in
the tapestry of the created order. Throughout history, God has tried repeatedly to
narrow this gap and repair the tear.
Born and raised in an interfaith family, with a Christian mother and a Jewish father, I have – for my entire life – wrestled with the tension between the Jewish insistence on monotheism and the Christian claim of incarnation, and my own theology has
developed and shifted as I’ve matured. At this stage of my life, I’m coming to believe
what a rabbi once told me: some are called by our Creator to see and follow the Word
of God through Jesus, and some are called to see and follow the Word of God through
other revelations. While the historical particularity of God’s revelation in Jesus
might be what distinguishes Christianity from other religions, especially its Abraha78
mic cousins Judaism and Islam, it is also what summons Christians into unity with people of other faith traditions as children of one God – a God who is called by many
names and revealed in many ways.
The evangelist John tells us that in the life of Jesus, “The Word became flesh
and dwelt among us” (John 1:1). The English word “to dwell” is derived from a Greek
word that literally means to “pitch a tent.” Though not poetic, the Gospel of John
reads, “The Word became flesh and pitched a tent among us.” John’s words are reminiscent of God’s instructions to Moses and the Hebrew people in the wilderness to
make a sanctuary, so that the Holy One could dwell among them. (Exodus 25.8)
I love the image of the great “I Am” pitching a pup tent, or perhaps a tarp, to be
one of us, to stand with us, to eat, work and sleep with us – to occupy our human
realm. I think that by pitching a tent with us, God wanted to be up close and personal,
deeply involved in our complicated and messy lives, and in the increasingly complex
and often chaotic life of the world.
If you come into town and build a fort, a mansion or an office building with a
fence, a wall or a moat around it, it says that you don’t want to have a lot to do with
the community around you. If you pitch a tent in my yard, my parking lot, or on my
sidewalk, you will probably want to knock on my door, use my bathroom, eat at my table, and maybe even have some meaningful conversation with me and my family. This
is why God became human. God came to pitch a tent among us and occupy our space so
as engage fully with our humanity, thus allowing our bodies and souls to feel our
worth so that we might encounter the divine word and really hear what God has to
say.
At Christmas, I am particularly mindful of those who, because of war, economic
hardship or natural disaster, are forced to sleep in tents and under tarps around the
world, and I believe that God is dwelling among them. I am also aware of those who,
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throughout the centuries, have intentionally pitched tents on public squares, sidewalks, parks, parking lots, and even on the steps of government buildings and
churches in protest for justice and freedom, including that which has became as the
Occupy Movement. I believe that God pitches a tent with them as well.
Wandering about the Occupy Wall Street encampment in New York City a few
years ago, I kept seeing the face of Jesus in the crowd. In the midst of what might
have seemed to be chaos, conflict and confusion, God was there. He was teaching and
preaching, comforting a crying child, and helping elders carry water. She could be
seen picking up the garbage, serving soup and coffee, taking a nap, and sorting
through donated clothes and books. I saw him praying with the sick or weary and visiting folks in jail. Tenting among us and occupying human reality, the Word of God
was again dwelling with determined people who were crying out for justice, peace and
freedom.
The Gospel of Jesus Christ is good news for all of us, but tent camping with Jesus
is not a cheap holiday. Reflecting one Christmas on the Occupy tent city in front of
the cathedral in Exeter, England, Dr Siobhán Garrigan from the University of Exeter
wrote: “The image of the tents, the sincerity of the organizers, the theological soundness of their challenging message: could it not be that these serve as an unusually literal reminder of what it is like when God’s Word is made flesh?”8
Unfortunately, people’s movements can get really out of control, even those
whose members believe they are acting in the name of God. It is sometimes hard to
discern whether they are a blessing or a curse. Often it’s a matter of perspective influenced by ideology, politics, self-interest or point of engagement. Yes, people’s movements are chaotic, and for some, they are downright threatening, but might they not be, in part, God at work in the world? Everybody knows that
demolishing and renovating a falling-down structure can be dirty and messy. In to80
day’s world, there’s so much wrong, there are so many possibilities for what could be
right, and there are so many people that want to be part of the rebuilding. No wonder they are muddled, messy, sometimes disorganized, and even conflicted human efforts.
As I reflect on such movements, I am reminded of the first disciples who were
frequently incompetent in their earnest attempt to follow Jesus and spread his message of justice and love. As much as Jesus tried to teach them his ways, they constantly missed the mark, stumbled over their words, tripped over their feet, and fumbled the ball down the field. The church, Christ’s beloved community of disciples, has
been doing the same ever since.
You see, when God wants an important thing done in this world or a wrong
righted, God comes and sleeps beside us, sometimes as an innocent newborn child and
sometimes as an angry and frustrated adult. Then God waits to see how we respond.
To the world was born one who came to sleep and stand beside us. He didn’t own a
home, didn’t drive a car, didn’t possess a credit card or even a savings account, and he
didn’t have health insurance. No, Jesus was born into poverty, lived simply, and died
a political criminal’s death.
The good but radical news of Christmas is that God, first as an infant and then as
an adult, decided to pitch a tent among us. The radical challenge of Christ is to join
in making a tent of justice for all creation. The radical hope of Christian faith is
that we will receive in our battered hearts this “most vulnerable and appealing creature imaginable” and spread his message of love throughout the world while respecting those who know, worship and follow God in other ways.
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Notes:
1. The Rev. Dr. Dianna Beach is the old friend who sent me that Christmas card. Dr. Beach is an Episcopal priest
and Jungian analyst now living with her dog on the coast of Maine. This quote is used with her permission.
2. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Predigten-Auslegungen-Meditationen, 1935-45. Reprinted in The Mystery of Holy Night,
edited by Manfred Weber and translated by Peter Heinegg (New York: Crossroads Publishing), 27.
3. Verna Dozier, Dream of God: A Call to Return (Boston, Cowley Publications, 1991), 89.
4. N.T. Wright, Simply Jesus: A New Vision of Who He Was, What He Did, and Why He Matters ( New York, HarperOne, 2011), 29
5. Eric Brazilian “One of us,” Recorded in 1995 by Joan Osborne on her album Relish
6. Quoted by Fredrica Harris Thompsett in Courageous Incarnation In Intimacy, Work, Childhood and Aging, (Boston, Cowley Publications, 1993), 14.
7. Marcia L. Colish, Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition, 400-1400 (New Haven, Yale University Press, 1997), 29.
8. Dr Siobhán Garrigan, Senior Lecturer in Theology and Religion at the University of Exeter,
http://www.exeter-cathedral.org.uk/content/news/occupy-exeter-a-theological-reflection-by-dr-siobh.ashx
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The First Nowell
English Carol, 17th century
The first Nowell the Angel did say
Was to three poor Shepherds in fields as they lay.
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
In a cold winter's night that was so deep.
Refrain: Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell.
Born is the King of Israel.
They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the East, beyond them far,
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued, both day and night. [Refrain]
And by the light of that same Star
Three Wise Men came from country far,
To seek for a King was their intent,
And to follow the Star wherever it went. [Refrain]
This Star drew nigh to the North West;
O'er Bethlehem it took its rest.
And there it did both stop and stay,
Right over the place where Jesus lay. [Refrain]
Then entered in those Wise Men three,
Full reverently upon their knee,
And offer'd there, in his presence,
Their gold, and myrrh, and frankincense. [Refrain]
Between an ox stall and an ass,
This Child truly there born he was;
For want of clothing they did him lay
All in a manger, among the hay. [Refrain]
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C H A P T E R 18
Christmas = 10RH
!
Like many great ideas, necessity was the mother of this invention. It was 2008, the
stock market had plummeted, and everyone was feeling strapped and not wanting
Christmas to be too costly.
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So, we came up with some simple rules for family gift giving – every present had
to be under $10, recycled, or homemade. Christmas = 10RH. Once the rules were communicated and agreed upon, everybody went to work.
Christmas Day arrived and we had the best time. My mother made fudge, and
then we wrapped up her barely-used collection of purses for every woman and girl in
the family, and to the men she gave a slightly used briefcase or backpack. My in-laws
gave away very special items from their home, and the room filled with shouts of
glee as sons, daughters, grandchildren and in-laws unwrapped precious books from
childhood and special pieces of family furniture or silver that had been lovingly polished anew. The farmers in our family presented frozen pork chops and sausage from
Squealer, the 4-H pig, dilly beans from their garden, figs in earl grey tea, pickled
quince and fresh eggs from a new flock of chickens. I gave photographs in recycled
frames, and Emily made incredible batches of olives brined in a secret recipe of
spices and oils. Nobody spent more than $10 on any gift.
We set up a table for a CD Exchange, and what was one person’s tired music became another’s great discovery. Then, over eggnog and olives, we had the funniest
Yankee Swap and watched a family of girls fight over a Jane Austin CD collection that
ended up being a box without the CD’s, that a year later we discovered in our attic.
Financial necessity changed our family Christmas. The holidays have become
more creative, thoughtful and less hectic. That holiday season changed our family attitudes about consumption and gift-exchange.
Gift-exchange is circular in its very nature. When a gift is given and received in
love, both the giver and the recipient are blessed. I remember that principle every
time I serve lunch to the hungry at our doors. Our Jewish sisters and brothers call it
a mitzvah.
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Gift giving is a part of the holiday season. I believe that the holiday gifts we
give and receive are really symbols and reminders of the greatest gift – the love of
God freely given to all of us. As history has shown over and over again, that love
overcomes everything - even economics.
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We Wish You a Merry Christmas
16th Century English Carol
We wish you a Merry Christmas; We wish you a Merry Christmas; We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Good tidings we bring to you and your kin; Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year. Oh, bring us a figgy pudding; Oh, bring us a figgy pudding; Oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer
We won't go until we get some; We won't go until we get some; We won't go until we get some, so bring some out here.
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
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Notes and Credits
Chapter 17
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