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Nativity Scene 2013

Nativity Scene 2013

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December 7, 2013 · 08:54


imagePERHAPS the Three Kings should be bringing gifts of gold, frankincense and mirth – as a church in Kent has created a nativity scene made entirely of Lego.

Bessels Green Baptist Church in Sevenoaks has invited locals to place their own figures into the festive display, which explains why there are four Star Wars droids accompanying Mary and Joseph on their long journey to Bethlehem.

And one member of the parish has even seen fit to add an octopus to the birth of Christ, while another unidentified member of the public has added a Lego man with a lawnmower watching the shepherds.

Minister Neil Durling said the decision was simply for ‘fun’, adding: “We have the main seven stories of the Nativity made from Lego.

“We’re allowing and encouraging people to add their own quirky bits and bobs to them.

“We’ve got aliens and monsters with the shepherds and sheep, and a spaceman looking after one of the horses in the manger.

“This is the first time we’ve done this, and I think it’s already proving a big hit.”

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Where was Jesus born – from a blog by Lindsay Louise Biddle, 26 November 2012

The house where Jesus was born
We know the story inside and out: In order to participate in a census Joseph and Mary, who are pregnant, travel from Nazareth to the city of David, Bethlehem, because Joseph is a descendant of the house and family of David. While there the time comes for Mary to deliver her child, and she gives birth to her firstborn, a son, whom she wraps in swaddling clothes and lays in a manager, because there is …
God knows how long this scene has been consigned to “no room,” “a stable-place,” “a lowly cattle shed,” according to some current hymns. And we’ve seen it re-enacted, year after year, with individuals dressed in bathrobes knocking on the door of the “inn” only to hear the “innkeeper” tell the tired and weary travelers, “Sorry, there are no more vacancies.” At this point the “innkeeper’s wife” usually appears, as either an antagonistic fish-wife (one skit describes her as “a tough, rough-talking ‘broad’”) or a hard-working, compassionate midwife. After a brief squabble between the innkeeper and his wife, they agree to let the visibly pregnant and desperate couple stay out in the “barn.” At least they’ll have a roof over their heads, lots of straw for the birthing, and a manger—an animal feeding trough—for a crib. Just like the Bible says, right?!
The Greek word in the second chapter of Luke that is traditionally translated as “inn” in most of our English-language Bibles is kataluma which means, literally, “to put down,” as in “to unyoke” beasts of burden, “to rest” on a journey, or “to put up” for the night. Kataluma is also in the twenty-second chapter of Luke, when Jesus instructs the disciples to make arrangements for his final meal with them: They are to go to a certain house and say to the owner that their teacher asks, “Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?” The house owner will then show them a big upper room where they are to get things ready. Thus kataluma refers to guest space in a home, not an “inn” (Greek pando) like that in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:34), much less a “hotel” in the modern sense of rented accommodations.
What does this mean for the birth of Jesus, then, if Mary lays her child in a manger, because there is no more room in theguest room?
It means Jesus is born in a traditional Middle Eastern village home that is overflowing with so many guests they all cannot be lodged upstairs. Far from being rejected by strangers, Joseph and Mary are welcomed most certainly by kinfolk and join other relatives who have journeyed to their hometown for the occasion.
Like every other poor Palestinian child, Jesus is born in the lower level of a single-room dwelling that shelters livestock as well as several generations of a lively family. One raised end is reserved for the elder members, while younger members and children spread out from there and utilize the roof space—open or enclosed. The lower end is where the animals are housed overnight and fed from mangers. The house is cleaned daily from top to bottom, from the human living quarters down to the lowly animal quarters. The birth of babies—humans as well as animals—takes place in the area of the house reserved for such bodily functions, where there is clean straw and water, where a feeding crib doubles as a sleeping crib, and with plenty of female relatives to assist with the birth.
A warm welcome home portrays a very different nativity scene than the cold lonely place out back. The former more accurately reflects the Code of Hospitality proclaimed throughout scripture, while the latter is a myth built on a mistranslation. And there is no “stable” in either story of Jesus’ birth.
Is this myth simply a mistake? Or do we need to read rejection into the birth of Christ? Like some of us in the USA need our presidents to be from humble beginnings and born in a log cabin?
After visiting parts of Europe—from which my ancestors fled in order to escape religious persecution, poverty, famine, military inscription, servitude, imprisonment—and after tracing parts of the Oregon Trail—along which my ancestors dirtied the water, finished off the wild game, scared away the herds, and brought small pox, guns, and territorial instincts—I have to admit that I am an Adult Child of People Who Left. People who kept on moving, leaving behind whatever made them unhappy or unfulfilled. I come from a tribe who need to feel rejected in order to believe they’ve picked themselves up by their bootstraps, started their lives from scratch and made something of themselves, staked their claim—on land that wasn’t for claiming in the first place.
What does this mean for me, then, to lay down my ancestral myth of rejection and to own up to the truth of God’s hospitality?
Glasgow, Scotland
Words are formed by experiences, and words inform our experiences. Words also transform life and the world. I am a writer and Presbyterian minister who grew up in the 1960’s in the segregated South of the United States. I’ve lived in Alaska, the Washington, DC area, and Minnesota. Since 2004 I’ve lived in Glasgow, Scotland, where I enjoy working on my second novel and serving churches that are between one thing and another. I advocate for the full inclusion of all people in the church and in society, whatever our genders or sexual orientations. Every body matters.


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Another Nativity Play story

The Meenister’s Log

One of the delights of Parish Ministry was attending the Nativity Play performed by the Sunday School children

Many a time, there would be missed cues, garbled speeches, and always some tot waving to her Mum and Dad in the audience.

I’ve lost count of the number of times that I’ve heard of the Magi bringing, as one of their gifts – Frankenstein.

And the shepherd, with toy lamb welded to his shoulder, staring heavenward, his eyes shielded by his hand, throughout the entire performance.

But, oh the joy.  One elderly parishioner had tears of joy running down her cheeks as she watched her grandchildren participate in one particular play – she had terminal cancer, but she wasn’t crying because this would be the last time that she would see them perform – these were tears of joy, as she drank in the whole innocence of the children and the happiness that created a lovely diversion from the pain and discomfort she was feeling.


The youth group at a certain church was performing a nativity play. 

Joseph and Mary and all the other characters were in place and ready. 

They did their parts with seriousness and commitment, looking as pious as they possibly could

And then it came time for the shepherds to enter.   Dressed in flannel dressing-gowns and toweled head gear, the shepherds proceeded to the altar steps where Mary and Joseph  looked earnestly at the straw which contained a single naked light bulb that was playing the part of the glowing newborn Jesus.

With his back to the congregation, one of the shepherds, pulling out a hip-flask, said to the person playing Joseph, in a very loud whisper for all the cast to hear, “Well, Joe, shall we wet the baby’s head?!

The solemn spell of that occasion was not simply broken by his remark, it was exploded. Mary and Joseph’s cover was completely destroyed as it became impossible to hold back the bursts of laughter.

The chief angel, standing on a chair behind them was the worst of all.   She shook so hard in laughter that she fell off her chair and took the curtained back drop and all the rest of the props down with her.  She just kept rolling around on the floor holding her stomach because she was laughing so hard.  The whole set was in shambles.

But do you know what?  The only thing that didn’t go to pieces was that light bulb in the manger. … it never stopped shining.

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Nativity Play

The Meenister’s Log

True story
The nativity play was going as planned and Joseph and Mary were going from house to house knocking on the doors and asking it there was any room for them. As they continued to get “no room” answers a little voice called from the back “YOU SHOULD HAVE BOOKED!”

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