The Story of Advent
December 5th, 2022
When I was growing up in the 1940s, in midwinter my parents set up little characters and animals for a manger scene. The figures were made of a plaster that chipped easily, so the paint was damaged and the shepherd broke and was replaced by a shepherd that was too large. It was a motley and battered group.
We built a little manger to house the scene and lit it with a candle. My father read the Matthew/Luke birth story aloud on Christmas eve, mixing that story into our memories of the manger scene, the cedar tree we cut and brought in, and the gifts that mysteriously appeared on Christmas morning.
All these created a yearly mini-drama that my parents put on. It said that we children were lovingly cared for in an imperfect way that had magical edges around it.
I found the figures for the manger scene in their old box not long ago and showed them to my brother, the only kin remaining from those childhood joys. Now in our 80s and less starry-eyed than we were so many years ago, we were nevertheless disappointed by how small and damaged the figures are.
My brother asked, “Why don’t you throw those away?”
Not yet, dear brother. These mismatched broken figures recall memories that shaped our lives. Yearly Advent gatherings in darkening winters wove hope and security into the experiences that helped sustain us. Look again at this scene from our childhood and think on the encouraging mystery as death looms for us. Then, after that last event, a son or daughter can throw away the old manger scene.
- Joe Hall