Catholic churches have traditionally erected Nativity scenes outside at Christmas time to represent the birth of Jesus.
The scenes include the baby, his mother and father, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, their animals and the ‘wise men from the East’ who came to witness the birth.
Despite the story’s rich meaning and symbolism, these scenes have become quite two-dimensional and shallow. Like the anodyne carols that define the season, the portrait of the birth that emerges is ‘peaceful’, ‘calm’, and ‘bright’.
There’s no hint of the oppressive Roman occupation that forced this couple to travel across the country to register in a new census mandated by the empire.
Nor are many ironies underlying the story recognised: that this Jewish baby, who will be a saviour, is born in a cave surrounded by animals, or that those who pay homage are lowly shepherds and non-Jewish travellers from afar.
These various ironies truly define the biblical Christian narrative. In reality, it’s an upside-down faith – where the first shall be last and the last shall be first. It’s meant not for the rich, satisfied and powerful. Rather it’s first intended for the poor, hungry, downtrodden and rejected. And then for those who recognise this and commit to serving ‘the least of these’.
Thus, it’s fascinating to see how in recent years some Christians have taken to reclaiming the challenge inherent in their faith.
Two years ago a Palestinian clergyman in Bethlehem replaced the stable in the Nativity scene with rubble to portray what was unfolding in Gaza. His setting of ‘Jesus in the rubble’ eloquently told the story of the Palestinian people: vulnerable, stripped of their humanity and subjected to indignities.
Last year, Pope Francis was shown in quiet prayer before a manger scene in which the baby Jesus was wrapped in a Palestinian keffiyeh.
Similarly, this year, a Catholic community in Massachusetts, given the threats faced by migrants and refugees in the United States, found a deeper meaning in the Christmas story.
Outside their church, they erected a Nativity scene with no Jesus, Mary, or Joseph. Instead, a sign notes that because of concern about ICE (the immigration enforcement police) raids, the family was hiding, seeking sanctuary inside the church.
Other similar efforts by churches are portraying the challenge of the Christmas narrative – with references to ICE, immigrant detentions, and the mistreatment of immigrant children figuring prominently.
In the Massachusetts case, Catholic leaders rebuked the church in question accusing them of playing politics.
The Nativity scene, they said, was to provide opportunities for quiet prayerful reflection, not divisive politics.
What these church leaders miss is that their stripping the birth story of its essential content that is divisive politics.
The ‘contemplative prayer’ these leaders are advocating is in danger of becoming shallow and contentless.
The writers of the biblical stories had a point to convey. They weren’t just painting a pretty picture in pastel tones for a holiday card.
There are reasons why the child was born in a cave and first welcomed not by the high priests but by the lowest and foreigners.
Why, in the face of repression, his parents had to flee with him into Egypt. And why, as he grew, he repeatedly challenged the stale and corrupt religious hierarchy of his day, providing his followers with a message of service to the rejected, vulnerable, and those in need.
Every year around this time, our mailboxes are filled with mostly brightly decorated holiday greeting cards. About a decade ago, I was shocked to open one from a friend in Lebanon. It featured the anguished, dirtied face of a young boy in a tattered t-shirt behind a wire fence. Inside it read ‘Holiday Greetings’.
At first, I was confused. “Why this card, with this incongruous message? Why now?”
After reflection, I realised that this young Syrian refugee’s plight, forced to flee his homeland, and now trapped in a camp, hungry and dirty, perfectly conveys the meaning and challenge of the Christmas story.
That story wasn’t written to give comfort to the rich, powerful, and clean. It was to give hope to the destitute and the powerless.
And to challenge the rest of us to recognise that.