Bethlehem Buried

Years ago I stumbled across a huge "village of Bethlehem" set at a SAM's Club - in the middle of July no less. The price was phenomenal - as I recall, something obscene like $20. I debated about whether to get it since I was on such a tight budget at the time and this was far from a necessity. I wandered about the store deliberating, and finally decided not to get it.

We paid for our food and I got clear to the car before my insides demanded that I go back in and buy the set. I realized that such a bargain would never come my way again, and there was only one set there. I grabbed it up, telling myself that it was a once in a lifetime deal. And indeed it was. I have never seen such a set in SAM's or Walmart's since. I have seen sets like it elsewhere in specialty shops that cost hundreds of dollars though.

It is a huge set with buildings and walls, wells and bridges, lots of people and animals. Not to mention the palm trees. Five of the buildings are lighted. There is a rug weaver's shop, a pottery shop, a synagogue, the stable (of course), complete with inn, and a carpenter's shop. There are also an oasis, a humble home, a footbridge, a well, and a broken down wall with gate to the city, all populated by people in the midst of taking care of life's business - herding cattle, driving ducks and geese, collecting eggs from chickens, carting a rug, caring for sheep, drawing water from the well, carrying straw, sawing a board - all the activities that must have kept Bethlehem humming.

Every year we set the village up on the coffee table/blanket chest. It consumes the whole top surface. I spread out a Christmas quilt Mom made me to keep the clunky nearly foot high plaster houses from scratching the wood, and move the table to within easy reach of a plug so we can light the village.

The effect is stunning, and different every year since we can alter the order of the houses and place the people in different locations. Especially at night, the soft glow of the light is quite romantic, and I wonder if Mary was as touched by what she encountered as I am. Probably not since she would have been smelling the smells, hearing the clatter and noise, scared by the unfamiliar surroundings, not to mention in labor and possibly alone and maybe very young, a girl without her Mommie!

This year, Drew set up the village. He had fun deciding where each piece ought to go. When he finished he stepped back to admire his handiwork. I agreed - it was wonderful. But as the season wore on and people got busy with activities and gift giving and end of semester crunches, the poor little village got ignored. Not only ignored, but buried in the aftermath of all the hubbub. I survey the wreckage.

Plunk in the middle of the idyllic scene stands a huge white poinsettia rescued from oblivion after the library closed. On one corner of the coffee table is a booklet of gift stickers splayed open revealing gold and silver To: and From: tags. Several half empty rolls of tape impede the progress of the wise men. A Popsicle stick with remnants of an ice cream bar has knocked a shepherd flat on his back, his hands raised as if in surrender. Crumpled receipts lay scattered about near the empty ice cream bar wrapper. A plastic grocery bag completely obscures the creche. Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus cannot see out any more than I can see in. A half open booklet of Advent devotions lies sandwiched between the manger and the rug shop.

I am shocked and saddened by the scene. Worse, I am alone. The boys are out with friends, enjoying post holiday doings. I look at Sugar and she whines and gazes at me with sad eyes. I sigh. I don't have much energy, and if I take care of this, the dishes will just have to sit. But I cannot leave Bethlehem buried. Gently I pick out the trash and junk, righting the poor shepherd and moving the plant. I brush the crumbs off the quilt and straighten the houses. Yes, that's better.


I sit for a few long moments, thinking about the story of Jesus' birth, about the events of that time that have filtered down to us. I have often wondered what Mary must have felt, what she thought and experienced. Tonight I wonder what it must have been like for Jesus. How awful and confining it must have seemed to squish eternity into the confines of flesh and blood. How painful it must have been to be unable to speak when you are in fact THE WORD. How terrible to be unable to even control you own body much less anyone else's.

I never realized that the birth experience for Jesus was as traumatic as his death experience. In fact, the birth experience, the uniting himself with humanity - that was permanent. There was no resurrection from his choice to become fully human. I have always cried about the crucifixion. Now I see that I ought to weep at the birth as well. For what he went through. Not just for the hardship on Mary and Joseph and their families. But for the incredible wrenching pain of choosing to become permanently handicapped by becoming human.

This is not romantic. I wonder if all generations since the birth of Christ have painted such a tender scene when they considered the nativity. Did the early church fathers make little manger sets and put them up every year? Was there soft romantic lighting? I suppose not. Maybe now that I have cleared the trash from my manger scene, I can think more clearly about what happened that night so long ago. I wander off to bed dreaming of the Father watching his Son who is crammed into a womb be expelled into the cold night air, hearing his screaming cries but knowing he can do nothing about them - yet.