Pr. Michelle Sevig + Christmas Eve + December 24, 2022
Invite people to look at my nativities with me. Talk about my collection at home and share a couple of them with the assembly.
White ceramic one from my Dad. That’s what started my collection. Nothing fancy, but like a gift made for a parent by a child, it’s one that will always remain a favorite.
Bought my own when I first started to travel. A blue hued set from Mexico, one from Bethlehem made out of Olive Wood, a few brightly colored sets from Puerto Rico, and this one from Kenya. Kind of the opposite of my first one–entirely black.
People started gifting them to us once they knew we “collected nativities” and now I have all kinds of different ones that we display all over our home starting at the beginning of Advent. This one, made of rubber duckies, was given to me by a Lutheran bishop who just knew I needed it. :-)
St. Francis of Assisi gets the credit, or blame I suppose, for my obsession with nativities because he is credited with creating the first nativity scene in 1223. On Christmas Eve he recreated the scene of Christ’s birth in a cave and invited the whole town to the celebration.
Francis set up an empty feeding trough and included a live ox and donkey beside the manger, just as it was believed to have happened on that first Christmas night.
And now, nearly 800 years later, nativity scenes are found almost everywhere—in our churches and homes; purchased on-line and at craft markets, each set reflecting its own people and culture. In every one of the nativities Mary and Joseph are peaceful and holy spectators of the baby in the manger. It’s a beautiful, sacred scene and the one most of us have etched into our memory when we ponder Christ’s birth long ago.
Though I love all my nativities and enjoy looking at others’, I worry that we over- sentimentalize Jesus’ birth. The scenes seem perfect and peaceful, but God chooses to enter into, and experience, the messiness of real life. And that offers me more hope than a manger drenched in the warm glow of candlelight and filled with peaceful animals.
Jesus’ birth is more real than most of us know. It must be; because too often life is more real than we can handle by ourselves. The birth of Jesus is not limited to an historical event in Bethlehem some 2000 years ago, because Bethlehem is more about life than location. And the sweet baby Jesus asleep on the hay must give way to a vision of God who is wide awake, present among us, concerned and involved in every aspect of our life.
Let’s consider some modern-day nativity scenes that are a bit different than the one we’re used to.
Holiday meals with family or friends. Some are filled with joy and love, laughter and conversation. Others with tension and tears, or an empty place at the table. The Holy Child is born at the table of relationships.
At a protest demanding increased wages for the working poor… In the #Metoo campaign as people tell their stories of abuse and harassment… in letters, phone calls and emails to government leaders, the Holy Child is born in people who are vulnerable and seeking room at the inns of power.
And I have no doubt that the Holy Child is born in generosity, especially this season, through your gifts for the community at the South Loop Community Table on Sunday when a hot meal will be served and 200+ gift cards given to the people experiencing homelessness in the South Loop.
These nativity scenes look nothing like the nativities I described earlier or the ones we display in our homes, but that’s the point; we need a larger and more real vision of Jesus’ nativity. For if Jesus is not born in these other scenes, then it makes no difference that he was born in Bethlehem. Jesus is born into the shadows, the fears, and the brokenness of our world. Jesus is born in the love we give and receive, in the intimacy we share, and in the beauty we create.
Each one of us could name the Bethlehems of our own lives. Stories of times when we were helpless and life was fragile. Times when we were lost, and the world seemed to have no room for us. Times when our lives and world were dominated by powers other than love, compassion, mercy. But we can also tell stories about love stronger than death, stories of hope that overcame despair, and stories of light that made our darkness brighter.
And that’s why my favorite nativity is this one, right here. It’s from Peru, a gift from a friend. It always holds a prominent spot in our home, because we delight in the beautiful round bodies and humble faces. But one day, several years ago, there was a pillow fight among 8 year olds in our living room. Mary came crashing to the floor. I cried. I was mad. And I also hugged and forgave the neighborhood boy who didn’t mean to knock down my favorite Mary.
We glued the pieces back together as best we could, and then set it back in its central location. And I love it even more now, because I see in the cracked places and gaping holes the brokenness and vulnerability of our world. And it is to this world that Christ comes and lives among us.
The Holy child of heaven and earth is born today for you. It’s an audacious claim, if you think about it: that the birth of a baby, born to an unwed teen, in the backyard barn of a stranger could possibly even matter to anyone. Yet here in a nutshell is the promise of the gospel: that God regularly shows up where we least expect God to be—and always for us.