Unitarian Universalist Hysterical Society
Inherent mirth and dignity


The latest in Mirth and Dignity…

The Christmas Story: A UU version

I remember years ago at the holiday light display in our city, my six year old sounding out the words “The...  Christmas... Story” and asking me to tell him the story behind the cosy image of the baby in the manger.  Which I was surprised to realize he didn't know.  He appeared to only have vague ideas about guys in bathrobes giving gold to babies. Which would have been a terrible idea, by the way, because everyone knows that babies put EVERYTHING IN THEIR MOUTHS. Which is maybe why they called the men who did this wise-guys.

So when the boys asked about the Christmas story, I was tongue tied for a moment.  I knew there was good odds I was not up to the awesome responsibility of accurately relaying the story of the birth of Jesus.  (I was thinking of the time they saw Noah’s Ark themed display and they asked me to tell that story, and what a complete disaster I made of it.  Partway through they wanted me to elaborate on the “God” character, who I’d kind of given the impression was like a big talking raincloud.  Then I realized I’d never really explained about God to them—they were so small.  I really wanted to do it justice, so I launched into what different people around the world believe, and theology, and...  And their eyes glazed over because boy does mom know how to boring up a good story about a good guy with a floating zoo doing battle with an evil talking thundercloud).

So before launching into the Christmas story, I paused for a minute.  I realized that I was probably not going to accurately relay the story of the birth of Jesus... but I also realized that there is pretty good evidence that nobody before me did, either.  

So, I decided to do what people have done with Bible stories–with any stories–for centuries.  Tell the story not as it originally may or may not have happened, but as a myth.  A story that relates to the people listening in the moment.  I decided not to tell the boys the Christmas story, but to tell them our Christmas story.  

Our Christmas Story goes like this:

A long long time ago, there lived a woman named Mary.  She was very young... hardly more than a girl.  Mary had a baby growing inside of her—which was a problem in some ways.  You have to have a special kind of cuddle to get a baby inside you, and Mary was supposed to wait to do that until she was married.  Now maybe she didn’t wait, or maybe the baby got in there some other way, but either way Mary was in Trouble.  She was scared because everybody would be angry with her, and because she had to push that baby out, which really hurts, and because once it was out she would have to take care of it.  And that isn’t very easy either.

To make matters worse, someone was after Mary’s baby.  Someone wanted to kill it, so she was really scared.  Also, it tax time, which makes everyone grumpy.  (Although it was different back then because nobody had invented paperwork yet, so you had to go on long trips instead of running around the house opening drawers and yelling about receipts.)

Anyway.  They had traveled very far, on a donkey–which is incredibly uncomfortable, and Mary was exhausted when she started to feel a great pain in her tummy.  The baby was coming.  At home, there would have been people to help her.  People who knew her and loved her and who had pushed out babies themselves.  People who would be On Top Of The Situation.  

But there was nobody like that in this strange place.  Nobody even wanted to give them a place to have the baby, even though Mary's husband Joseph went from hotel to hotel saying “a baby is about to shoot out of my wife, can we do that in one of your rooms, please?”.

So Mary had to have the baby herself, with only the help of Joseph.  Who a very nice man, but not even bright enough to be trusted to say "can I book a room" without adding "so my wife can scream and bleed all over".  And she had to do it in a barn that was smelly, and dark, and filled with animals and pokey straw and poop.  And she was all crying and wailing and scared, and Joseph was all crying and wailing and scared, and then Mary had a Realization.

She realized that everything had gone terribly wrong, and that this is not what was supposed to happen. She decided that the baby was going to have to turn right around and grow up in her tummy forever because she was not strong enough to push it out.

Except, it turned out that Mary was strong enough.  When her brain didn't know what came next, her body showed her what to do.  And there was noise, and there was mess, and there was crying, and after that there was a beautiful little baby, like you see in the pictures.  

Well, not exactly like you see in the pictures.  Because newborn babies actually look kinda like a cross eyed hairless rats covered in blood and slime and with gaping drooley industrial vacuum suckers for mouths.  But when their parents look at them, they are the most beautiful things in the world, and the pictures you see are the pictures of the baby as seen through Mary’s heart.  

Not as the baby actually looked.  The way the baby actually looked--and smelled--is what later prompted the wise guys to hand over a bunch of jewelry and perfume.  Because they were not exactly wise but they were definitely more objective about appearances.

So Mary sat there, looking down at her baby, and she was filled with the most amazing love for her little boy.  In that moment, she was no longer a scared young woman huddled in a sea of night with a powerful man trying to hunt her and her family.  She was a mother, with mama bear love and mama bear power.  And she was no longer far from home, either, because the love and hope that filled her heart made a family home out of wherever she was.  The straw felt softer, and the animals were quiet and calm, and she and Joseph cuddled the baby and they realized that love makes a family wherever you are.

We say it all the time... "love makes a family", and we make it sound simple.  Except it isn't.  Love making a family is often very hard.  It involves crying and darkness and sometimes yelling and mess.  It involves things not being right, not at all.  It doesn't usually fit the first time, and it's often say harder than we pictured.  It involves knowing we are not strong enough, but pushing through anyway.  And it involves these moments of peace.  

These moments when love makes everything golden and soft and wonderful, and we realize we are so much stronger than we thought.  Where we realize that families are not about love making things un-messy so they be wonderful.  It's about love making it so that things can be messy and wonderful at the same time.

We tell that story at this time of year, when the days are short and it’s easy to be filled with gloom as we wait for the sun to return.   We tell it now, because this is a good time to remind ourselves that each of us carries light inside of us.  And that nothing that is going on around you can keep you from letting that light shine.  Even when it's hard, and messy, and sometimes very loud, we keep going. And it’s nothing like you see in the pictures--but it’s wonderful anyway.

Liz James