If you act quickly, and bid $19,001, you just might win a handmade, hand painted Fontanini nativity set on ebay. This set has a very handsome shepherd wearing a two-piece, earth tone ensemble that perfectly accentuates a tapered, mauve tunic. He is also fitted with an intricately cobbled pair of sandals. Joseph appears to have just come in from a salon where he had his nails as well as his beard and hair done. Mary, beautiful as always, is smiling slightly and looks very composed and relaxed—like she just got up from a refreshing nap. The wool on the pair of sheep is curly and well coiffed. Baby Jesus, looking very European with blue eyes and blond hair, smiles from a cozy manger outstretching his arms to offer a hug.
Just Once
Just once, I would like to see a nativity set that interjects even the slightest bit of realism into this scene. Take, for instance, the shepherds. Men became shepherds when they were unable to find any other work. They clung tightly to the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder and feared getting kicked off. They were thought of so poorly that their testimony was not permitted in court. They were outlaws and outcasts. Shepherds lived in the fields. They slept on the ground. They didn’t have a clean set of clothes to their names, let alone matching outfits with coordinated colors. They stunk, too, as did the sheep. For once, just once, would someone please create a nativity set that has a couple of mangy, scruffy looking shepherds with matted hair and dirt on their faces.
Just once, I’d like to walk past a nativity scene and have my nostrils confronted with the gifts of the sheep as well as those of the Magi. Just once, I would like to see a nativity set that depicts Mary looking like she just gave birth without the benefit of an epidural and nurse’s aid to clean up the blood and amniotic fluid.
Just once, I would like to see a scene that captures Joseph about to toss his taco salad at the sight of so much blood and suffering. I’d buy a nativity set like that—I really would.
Why?
Why do we do this? Why do we romanticize and sanitize the second most important event of human history? Why are we afraid to let God come all the way down to our level? Why do we deny the pain and fear of this little girl, who just got her period the year before, as she gives birth in the middle of squalor? Why do we do this?
Christian theology teaches us that Jesus was both fully human and fully god. There is one point, however, that makes his human experience completely unique. Unlike any of us, he chose all the details of his arrival on planet earth.
He chose Mary and Joseph. He chose a manger. He chose a country under siege and a race of people living in bondage. He chose to enter a world without painkillers, antibiotics or fetal monitors. Why?
He chose to come as a baby. He could have come as a super hero, with or without the cape. He could have impressed the world with His power, wisdom and creativity. He could have put on a show that would make George Lucas’ special effects look like the work of kindergartners limited to three crayons. Instead, he voluntarily surrendered bladder control and put himself under the leadership of two people who had never raised a child before, let alone a deity. Why?
Maybe he didn’t want to frighten us. After all, we’d all be pretty nervous if God’s secretary called to set up a meeting with Him for next Tuesday. Babies don’t intimidate most people, you know. I bet you’ve never had a baby pointed at you as someone shouted: “I’ve got a baby here and I’m not afraid to use him!”
Maybe he chose to enter our world as He did so He could look every one of us in the eye and say: “I know your pain and I know your poverty.” Maybe he hoped to disarm our skepticism and fear the same way a baby drains your macho uncle of his tough guy persona.
This Christmas, why don’t you let him come all the way down to where you live? I’m afraid if you don’t, you’ll miss the whole point. He came all the way down here so you could reach his hand and let him lead you to a better life and ultimately to a better place.
I’ve come to the conclusion that this story is far too wonderful to capture with pastel porcelain figurines, but I haven’t been able to totally convince my wife. She loves to display several nativity sets around the house and won’t let me “fix” the shepherds for her. So, in the interest of domestic tranquility, please do me a favor and don’t show Debbie this newspaper article.
Merry Christmas.
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