Posted on 12/22/2002 6:42:05 AM PST by jwalburg
Breaking Christmas, but not beyond repair
Everything about Christmas is fragile, especially at a 2-year-old's eye level.
Shiny gold and red ornaments. Tapered candles. The special crystal and glassware and dishes. Candy canes. Colored lights.
All the Christmas paraphernalia cries out to be inspected more closely, touched, handled and experienced fully.
But they can break - so, no.
They sparkle, shine, tempt, invite. But - no! Too fragile. Keep your hands away. No, no, no.
Laurie, 2, stands on tiptoe, gazing in toddler adoration at ceramic Nativity figures.
"Could I play with the breakable people?" she asks.
Shepherd, angel and wise men are simply "the breakable people." It's sad, but that is her name for them.
She has heard the Christmas story and knows "Away in a Manger." She wants more. She wants to move closer, to see firsthand the scene of the Nativity, to touch the jeweled turban of Wise Man No. 1, to feel the glazed wool of a sheep.
She also wants to know more about that "Lord Jesus" she only hears about in stories and songs, the little curious figure in a manger.
Do I tell her, "No! Too breakable. Stay away"? After all, when her brother was her age, he threw the baby, manger and all, across the room once. Do I reinforce the idea that holy things are beyond reach, available only for special classes to approach?
Though I don't want her to think of clay figurines as idols, I also don't want her to think of God as some cold, distant deity - untouchable, unavailable.
The last thing I want is for her to come away from Christmas viewing God as unapproachable, an impersonal force beyond the stars, or concerned only that she doesn't break the rules. She should know that when this God came, he brought the stars and the heavens with Him.
I allow her to climb onto a chair for a better view of the breakable people, against my impulse to preserve a reasonably nice creche scene. She murmurs in toddler tones to the cow. A wise man clinks against Joseph. I cringe and resume washing dishes.
Laurie speaks gently to and for the breakable people. In a few minutes, though, I see a guilty child clutching Melchior and chattering about "pieces."
The wise man is intact, but I soon discover that a shepherd's head is missing. We search.
The decapitated shepherd stands next to Mary, waiting for his head. A pretty good place to be if your head is missing. It has rolled a distance beyond the table, and Laurie finds it.
"Can you fix this?" she asks. When you are 2, all things can be fixed.
I glue head on body. In half an hour the shepherd rejoins his party with only a ruffled hat to show for his ordeal.
That problem solved, Laurie again peers into the stable. "Lord Jesus is breakable," she observes.
I want to tell her that the figures are not idols, that this baby is not "Lord Jesus," that the real Lord Jesus is not breakable.
But I am stopped at the last point.
The real Lord Jesus was, in fact, very breakable.
One big reason for Bethlehem was for God to become breakable on purpose.
He was not only breakable; He was broken.
This is my body, broken for you.
Broken for us and with us. We are the truly breakable people. Always shattering ourselves and others, while pretending we don't need glue.
We break away from what we know is right, crack into sharp slivers, all the time pointing out the fractures we notice in others, denying the severity of our own splintered condition.
Lord Jesus wants to calmly apply red glue that hardens clear.
Christmas breaks because only when it does can any life at all be restored.
Broken for you.
But it's only Easter that provides the glue.
Donna Marmorstein writes and lives in Aberdeen. You can contact her at donnamarmorstein@hotmail.com.
(Sorry for pinging you guys, but I wanted you to see this).
"One big reason for Bethlehem was for God to become breakable on purpose."
"Always shattering ourselves and others, while pretending we don't need glue."
"Lord Jesus wants to calmly apply red glue that hardens clear."
I am humbled.
Thanks for the ping, Spookster!
Merry Christmas!
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