India, January 1983.
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Once
upon a time, respectable members of a respectable church decided to perform a Christmas pageant, and
congregants were vying for parts. The big competition was around the roles of
the Magi, the
Eastern religious scholars bearing gold and frankincense and myrrh. Many were
taken with their absolutely fa-bu-lous costumes, reeking of wealth and privilege
and prestige.
But
there were also many who wanted to demonstrate their own humility by playing
the poor shepherds watching their flocks by night, knowing that they’d get to
see a sky full of angels singing of peace on earth, goodwill toward all, as well
as visit the baby Jesus lying in a manger with a halo for a hanging playtoy.
Others
wanted to be those high and mighty angels, who, in our contemporary,
secular times seem to represent only themselves, cutely and cherubically and
all-too-benignly making guest appearances on wrapping paper, greeting cards,
and Christmas films, instead of being the fierce and frightful presence of God
they are in the Bible—so terrible, they often had to say “fear not!”—awesomely
calling individuals to radical action rather than offering sentimental
appeasement.
For
the manger scene itself, as you may have guessed, it was easy among the staid
and high-end church members to cast the roles of the ox and of the ass and of
the many docile sheep. Easy also to cast the unwelcoming innkeeper and King
Herod frightened of losing power and the indifferent Caesar Augustus only
interested in the bottom line, the church budget.
A
few were at least willing to play one of the pageant’s two leading characters,
Joseph, who at first wanted to put his pregnant betrothed away in a closet
somewhere to avoid public disgrace. You will recall that Joseph had a change of
heart after having his own vision of an angel, then choosing to serve as a kind
of behind-the-scenes partner to the inevitably unfolding will of God, a
ferocious will contrary to decency and order, a decency and order Joseph wanted
to at least appear to uphold by his outward compliance.
But
nobody wanted to play the role of Mary in the Christmas pageant. “Somebody’s
gotta play Mary!” the stage manager Gabriel shouted out, sounding very much
like the gravelly voice of Harvey Fierstein. “No Mary, no Jesus!” he cried
bluntly.
You
see, nobody respectable wanted to play Mary because of the shame of her unwed
pregnancy. And absolutely no one wanted to go through the bloody and painful
job of giving birth to a new thing.
Mary’s
fidelity to God, her willingness to say, “Here I am the servant of the Lord;
let it be with me according to your word”—all of this counted for naught in the
eyes of these good people. The Holy Spirit was knitting together in her womb
the new thing for which the prophets hoped, yet, like all nativities of the
Spirit, “the powers that be” trembled, including these dignified religious
types. Mary’s birthing this child would be an unsettling and unclean act, embarrassing
rather than admirable.
“Mary
is not a good role model for our children,” someone said.
Stage
manager Gabriel again implored the crowd, “C’mon! As Mary, you get to magnify
and rejoice in the Lord and be called blessed by generations to come, though
admittedly not this generation. You get to serve as God’s instrument to scatter
the proud in their presumptuous imaginations, lifting the downtrodden even as
the powerful are taken off their high horse. Your mission is to fill the hungry
with good things, and
to remind the privileged of their own poverty. This is a good
thing. Really.”
Visiting
the church for the first time, a timid and small young girl came forward, a
recent immigrant with olive skin and dark brown eyes and thick black hair, and
simply said, “Here am I.” Gabriel, exasperated by everyone else’s resistance,
asked, “So—ya wanna be Mary?” And because his language was new to her, she simply
quoted Mary’s line, “Let it be with me according to your word.”
And
so the respectable church filled with respectable members was able to put on
its pageant, reliving the Christmas story, but they did not live happily ever
after. For the nature of all nativities of the Spirit humbles those with
privilege and uplifts the underprivileged, shaming the proud and bringing mercy
and justice to the oppressed.
But
that can’t happen unless someone is willing to be Mary.
Related Post: Put Yourself in the Nativity Story
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Copyright © 2016 by Chris R. Glaser.
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