Description
This retelling of the Nativity scene starts in Heaven and is a fictional perspective of how christmas may have played out from a divine perspective.
It is an unsanitised view which challanges the reader to see beyond the wooden nativity scene and cute plays the infants show us each year. If the reader agrees with the descriptions or not is part of the aim of re-examining the story.
Notes for Reflection
This reflection is a general resource for advent which tries to mix the reality of the sanitised nativity scene and the events that happened there. With so many views of the nativity often we miss the view of the most important character and emphasise our teaching on the more human aspect of the divine event.
Obviously it is entirely artistic licence and I am aware that for some people this may even be to much for their view of Jesus. It is not supposed to be heretical or deliberately shocking, but it does not shy away from some of the less pleasant details.
Obviously it’s not a piece to be used in a children’s service though if the italic text is omitted then it may be suitable.
This is also a discussion starter. It is important to note that disagreeing with the descriptive’s uses is not necessarily a bad thing, because the pieces aim is to challenge the reader to think beyond the nativity plays we have grown up with.
It could be used in a service as a reflection, or in house groups (or equivalent) as a way of bringing our attention back to the actual events and not the tinsel covered celebration of today.
Feel free to alter the text either by omission on addition so that it best suits your needs.
The Story
The last thing he did before he started his new life was to throw a star. It wasn’t any kind of spectacular feat, much like one of you throwing a ball around, but it was a goodbye wish to all who surrounded him. Like a signature in a leavers book. His eyes followed the trail it left as it flew through the heavens towards the place he would soon arrive. He looked at the sign he had made, the nail in his coffin, the final lot cast, the first domino toppled, and he knew that now it has started it must be completed.
He saw the angels cry, tears like rubies scattering the clouds of heaven. He saw so much, every smile, every tear, every single thought, hope or fear. He saw the plan of humanity, the past transgressions, the future failures. He saw the good, the bad, the evil and the compassionate. He saw all there was to know and all there is to know, and all there will be. And as he studied that star he saw the blackness surround him, creep in on all sides, and like being submerged in dark water he was suddenly blinded to all he had seen.
For the first time he knew what it was like to fear.
There was nothing special about the hay that greeted him on the other side of the darkness. It was damp and stained by the messy process that is child birth. It scratched his face, though he did not recognize it, and it dragged over his vulnerable and delicate skin. It was the first thing he had touched. And touch was so new to him. He thrashed his limbs about but could not control them. His touch was limited by those creatures that had gone from so powerless in his eyes to suddenly so powerful. He could smell them, but the face of his mother was something he could not see. He could not see anything apart from a few shades of colour and a blurry shape. Gulping for air he heard a sound that has always astonished him. The sound of life. But this life was unlike any he has ever witnessed. This life was his own. Startled by the sound of his own voice and amazed by the slowly clearing image of his mothers face before him, he realised what an irreversible decision he had made. He cried. The pitiful yet miraculous cry of the new born.
This cry was not one of regret. It was a reassurance to Mary that her child was alive and well, it was a reaction that the babe was compelled to do, a reaction that was somehow programmed into him in some deep level. A reaction he had been the designer of. Yet it was beyond his control now. It was beyond his ability to change on a whim. He was now part of the process and from this position he could do little about it. It was a strange way to view a birth, a participant and yet a spectator. He saw the smudged face of Mary but was also aware of the parts he could not see. The lines of sweat that drained her face and mingled with the
soft tears that silently and joyfully showed the pressure she had endured....
Continues...
I do hope you find this of use. I would love your feedback on this piece and information on how you used it.
My contact e-mail is gfeef@workwithyouth.com
Feel free to alter the text either by omission on addition so that it best suits your needs.
Other work by the same Author:
Welcome Advent - Click Here
For The Price of An Old Sandal - Click Here
A Conversation on Kingship - Click Here