Shiny Christmases

I had a teacher in grade school that didn't like me much. I think it was a grudge against my family that somehow got redirected towards me, but I'm not sure. Regardless, my teacher didn't like me much, and I sometimes got into trouble. (I would NEVER get into trouble otherwise! Uh-uh, no m'am! lol)

One year, we were drawing pictures of the Advent- you know, classic manger scenes- and I got into trouble for making mine too realistic. In my drawing, Mary was lying in a pile of straw on the floor of an empty, dirty barn, her dress hiked up to mid-thigh, blood all over her legs, and bags under her eyes. Yeah, in retrospect, that may have been a bit graphic. I mean, aren't ten year olds supposed to be sheltered from that kind of thing? But I was tired of all the serene, surreal manger photo-ops that had ushered me through so many holiday seasons.  I wanted to draw it how it really was, how it really happened- dirt and blood and lack of sleep and everything. (To placate the teacher, I went back with an eraser, got rid of the blood, and lengthened Mary's hemline. The bags stayed.)

Today, the church service got me thinking... we tend to make Christmas so shiny and magical, we lose sight of what really happened. It's become so sparkly and tinselly that it has lost all relevance to every-day living.

What really happened?

First of all, you have a girl, probably younger than myself, facing her first pregnancy and her first marriage, all at the same time.

Will he believe me? I mean, what a story! He's going to divorce me, and then what will happen to me? I can't support myself, especially with a child! I have to believe that God will work it out somehow, because this was his idea, but... seriously?!


And I thought applying for schools was tough.

After Divine intervention, Joseph decides to go ahead with the marriage after all. Stressful for the both of them, as people are prone to talk, but probably a great burden off of Mary's mind. She had stability and economic security for the future, both for herself and her coming child.

Then, they get news that they have to travel to Joseph's ancestral home-town, in relation to a tax hike. Great. Just what they need- heavier taxes, not to mention traveling expenses! But they make the trip regardless.

A modern day walk from Nazareth to Bethlehem is 157 km (97.5 miles), which would take about a day and a half, depending on how fast you walk.

If you think about it, the trip is probably what induced Mary into labor, irrespective of whether she rode a donkey or walked.

So, there they are in a foreign city, all the hotels booked, and Mary is going into labor with her first child. She has no women around to help guide her through this very important event, no hospital to check in to... no private place to have this child. Is she going to have the baby on the street? No, someone offers the use of the barn. The barn. You know... the place where animals eat, sleep, and relieve themselves. Not exactly the most sanitary place to have a child.

So Joseph helps his wife have her first baby. She has no anesthesia. They have no umbilical clamps. Where did they get the water to clean up Mary and the baby? Where did they get the cloths? You can't exactly use a towel and then throw it in the washer for the next day. Did she bring a spare change of clothes? Did she have a spare change of clothes?

But, really, I see the beauty in God's bringing shepherds as the first people to come pay their respects to the very new family. Shepherds are accustomed to birthing sheep, and know what to do in the aftermath of the entrance of a new life. Perhaps they were able to assist Joseph in making Mary more comfortable, offering tried and true remedies to relieve the pain, practical tips on keeping the baby safe and sound, making sure infection doesn't set in, etc.

The manger scene we present now is gilt-edged and sparkly, echoing with the sounds of the Vienna Boy's Choir. In reality, it was a pretty crappy day from our perspective. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan.

That amazes me. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan. God's hand was still on them, even though it did not fit the mold of the typical situation.

I think we tend to do that to Christianity, in general. We airbrush it, spray paint it with gold, scatter some glitter on it... we pretend it isn't hard. We present this glamorous, sparkly facade so that people will want some of what we got, but when they break through the thin, scintillating crust, they find that it is hard.

Yes, Christianity is hard. But we don't want to tell people that, because they might not want to follow God if they know it will be hard. My generation was raised in a culture that embraces, and even glorifies, instant gratification and the path of least resistance. We don't like difficult. People don't, generally, as a rule, like difficult. I have come to the point, however, where I like difficult... in a certain way.

It's like the day my Mom brought home new cups for everyone. She had found a great dollar store and brought us each home a cup. Mine was made out of stone, and K's was made of ceramic, painted pearlescent silver and gold, and styled to look somewhat "Roman". It was pretty, but I have always preferred wood or stone over ceramic. Now, years later, we still have our cups, but the ceramic is cracked, and the paint is chipped and peeling. It's still lustrous, but not as appealing. My stone cup, however, has maintained every iota of its charm and dignity throughout the years, and now currently houses my toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss.

I see this as a comparable analogy. Yes, following God is hard. It's not the pretty painted, ceramic cup that we sometimes make it out to be... but it's sturdy. It is beautiful, but a beautiful that has substance, purpose, and lasting value.

The damage that we do when we superficialize the manger scenes is this-- we trick the world into complacency. They don't understand that we serve a God who understands "hard". He gets it. He did it. As the newborn in the ill-equipped barn, and as the one who had to let him go into a world fraught with danger and pain... God gets it. He understands.

Christmas is not about shiny. Christmas is about reality- about grit, and hay, and excruciating pain, and... enduring beauty. Substance. Hope. Meaning, purpose, and joy.

There is joy, but it's not necessarily sparkly. There is glory, but it's not necessarily shiny and gold. Our plastic and paper Christmases have robbed us of the understanding that, in following God, things don't have to be going "right" to be according to plan. In fact... it's usually when things are at their most "wrong" that God blazes through the most brilliantly.

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