Nativity symbol

EVERY congregation has its own way of celebrating the story of Christ’s birth.

Mostly this involves children wearing tea towels and dressing gowns and cardboard crowns. A Gabriel is given pride of place in the pulpit and every child under the age of ive is an angel for the day. The bigger children get to present the three small packages representing gold, frankincense and myrrh, any number of woolly sheep are piled up against a makeshift manger and all of this is to the great delight of mums and dads and grannies and grandpas.

Not everyone, however, loves this annual ritual.

For those who would rather enjoy some quiet contemplation it’s hardly the most conducive service of the year. Then there are others who cringe at the way in which, as the narrative is played out, the harsh realities are sterilised, the story is taken too literally and its most meaningful elements are glossed over.

I belong in both of these camps. As a father and grandfather I have seen the efect that playing a part in the nativity has on young children. They learn the calypso carol, they quieten to the singing of Still the Night and they never forget the words or the part they play in the tableau. I still love it and I hear those who would say, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without the nativity play. However, I don’t want it to stop there. I want those children, as they grow up, to know that this story is rich in symbolism and that there are deep truths buried in the poetry, mystery and myth of the way in which the irst Christians articulated the incarnation of God in Christ.

It is a story about inding God in the most unexpected of places and it is a story that should help us to set the co-ordinates for where we might look for Emmanuel (God with us) today. So, take a moment to consider some of the conditions that saw God take human form in the birth of Christ.

At the heart of the narrative there is a vulnerable young woman expecting a child she did not plan. There is a decent young man trying to do the right thing. There is an innkeeper, on the busiest night of his year, inding time to open the byre and, while the accommodation is not ideal, ofering shelter to a vulnerable family. Then, some of the poorest and most despised people in the social order ind themselves standing beside some of the richest and most privileged men on the planet. Together, they are bowed to worship a baby lying in a feeding trough.

These are just some of the elements which describe the arrival of Jesus into the world. The story goes on to contrast a mother’s love with the hostility that the powerful have towards this child. The forces of good and the powers of evil are ranged against one another as a Prince of Peace is given to a people under occupation and a wonderful counsellor is born into a world that doesn’t like to take counsel from anyone.

I want those children, as they grow up, to know that this story is rich in symbolism and that there are deep truths buried in the poetry

I’ve lost patience with the annual row about whether Mary was virgin or whether angels illed the skies above Bethlehem. Frankly, these questions are irrelevant when considered against the central message that God is with us where the poor get irst dibs, where the mighty are brought to their knees and where the vulnerable are ofered shelter and protection.

Mary’s Song (Luke 1: 46-55) known as The Magniicat sums it all up. Her song was counter-cultural in its time, it continues to be counter-cultural today and its themes will be repeated until the day when the proud are scattered, the mighty are humbled and the hungry are illed with good things.

This article appears in the December 2018 Issue of Life and Work

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