Telling the Story

Throughout Ireland, and to a more limited degree in Scotland and Wales, a traveler will often see what are called “high crosses,” a picture of one is included in this blog. Most high crosses contain runes and/or pictographs on each side of the cross which help tell the story of the covenant God effected with his people. In a land of few books, a high cross was often seen as “a Bible in stone” or “a Sermon in Stone” as Celtic artists chiseled out the symbols where the people could understand the gospel of their salvation. These crosses were erected in villages and fields; near monasteries or in wooded glades; wherever people could gather for the reading and/or the telling of the story.

As we move into the season of Advent, that time of preparation of the Christmas event, I wonder about the telling of the Nativity story in our world today. How do you tell the story of the already, but not yet revelation of the Incarnation? How do you build expectancy for someone who has already come? Do you just put theology on the shelf once you have put out your crèche characters on the mantle or the hall table? Do you just let the story tell itself, assuming that since this is the Christmas story, everybody gets it because it has been so prevalent in our Christian culture for generations?

I have a friend who, when she lived in Houston, would host a really great party early in the Christmas season, and in attendance were a number of Presbyterian clergy. Of course, like so many of us when we decorate for our families and guests, there is often the “Nativity Scene” with all the principals of the Christmas story being present from shepherds to magi to angels to sometimes (gasp!) even a little drummer boy! And there is little baby Jesus asleep in the hay of the tiny manger. Well, true to form, as part of the festive decorations around her home was her own personal Nativity Scene. The day after this one particular party, my friend realized that baby Jesus was missing! Thinking through her guest list from the night before, she narrowed the culprit list down to one or two possibilities. “Where is baby Jesus?” she demanded. “I confess,” one of her clergy friends admitted, “I took Jesus out of the manger, and put him out of sight up on a shelf in your bookcase. There you will find him. But I took him so you can do a better job of telling the story of the birth of God’s son. This is Advent – this is not the time for him to be in the manger …”

For those of you who have a Nativity Scene; a crèche, a manger tableau, however you may describe it, and are planning on putting it out as part of your Christmas decorations this season, consider this possibility: think about this as an opportunity to use these three dimensional characters to be a “high cross” for telling a more authentic story of the Christ-event. Make it a true Advent experience for those who live in your home or for those who will visit. Start with an empty stable (if you have one) if you don’t, just start with an empty space, but one which is designated to be “where it all happens.” In the parlance of Celticcrossings, this is a “thin place” where the sacred and the profane brush up against each other. Here is the place where hope shall blossom where before there had been no hope; there was no story to be told; no eyes to see, nor ears to hear the story God would soon announce to the nations. When the time is right, add the animals which are at home in this place, and add the manger from which they feed. A few days later, Joseph and Mary might be seen in close proximity to the animals, and although it cannot be seen, the story is that Mary is pregnant by the power of God at work within her, and she waits, as do the rest of us to be delivered of this child. When family or guests in your home ask about the emptiness of the crèche, or wonder why this or that piece is missing, tell the story that this world is empty when the presence of God's grace revealed in Jesus is missing, but be patient, let God's Spirit sustain you, for by faith, we all wait for the hope of righteousness which is surely coming.

And, in the fullness of time, Mary was delivered of this child whose name shall be called Emmanuel – God With Us. NOW, the baby Jesus lies in the manger, and the donkey, and the cow, and the other animals begin to have a proprietary interest in this interloper in the stable. The next day, perhaps, you bring the shepherds in to make their appearance on the scene, and you tell their story as well; how they came, ragged, impoverished herdsmen, to see that which had come to pass. And now, perhaps an angel hovers near by, and if angels are there, now is the time to tell their story as well. Like scarlet ribbons, angels are woven throughout the nativity narrative, a plot device whereby they bear the glad tidings which is the message from God to all those of us who have dwelled in a land of great darkness of despair or depression or loneliness or hopelessness, upon us now a grace-filled light has shone forth; to poor, lonely people like you and like I, a seed of hope has been planted.

The story is almost told – but not quite. What of the magi, the wise men from the East? Well, they don’t belong at the stable, truth be told. They did not arrive on the day of his birth, but came along some time later. Theirs is a story of persistence and patience and also one of obedience and expectancy. Theirs is also a story of non-Jews who come to play a prominent place in the story of salvation which unwinds in the life of this young child. As Simeon said in the Temple when Jesus was presented eight days after his birth, and before the wise men showed up astride their camels, “my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” There is a place for the wise men, but it is a place when the frenzy of the nativity night has given way to making a home for the young child and his mother. It is to this place that the men bearing gifts arrive. And it is in that context that we tell their story as Matthew meant for it to be told, for the gifts that they bring are not just any gifts, but connote the symbolism of a life of sacrifice, and of service, and, ultimately, of death, The gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh point to the offices of king, priest, and savior: gold speaks of His kingship; frankincense was a spice used in the priestly duties; and myrrh was an embalming ointment anticipating His death.

So now, on the cusp of Advent, you are ready to tell not just one story, but the multiple stories which emerge from the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. And somewhere in the midst of it all, is your own story of how you came to believe; and in the midst of it all, is my story of how I came to believe. And as we tell our natal stories of new life and new hope we continue to hold on to a fresh anticipation of what this Advent will bring both in us and through us. Perhaps others will hear our stories and may also come to believe that there is indeed someone coming who can bring light into their darkness, hope into their despair, presence into their loneliness. But how will they hear lest someone tell them?

Do you truly believe that they will get the point –or know the true story - just by admiring that crèche that you so proudly display throughout the month of December?