praxistheologia.com

I discovered an interesting thing today. While driving down the road near my parents house I noticed that someone put up a nativity scene on a flat portion of their roof. Though the house in question doesn’t border this road you can still clearly see the nativity scene from the road. It’s one of those lighted molded plastic nativity scenes with a very catholic looking Mary, Joseph and three wise men. What’s interesting is the appalling lack of Jesus. There’s a feed trough, adults and two cow/goat/four legged creatures plastic stands but no Jesus in the trough. Apparently he’s out touring the local churches. I kid you not, Jesus is apparently the new roaming gnome with his photograph being taken at all the local churches. The local news did a story and the house’s owner explained that ‘sweet baby Jesus!’ (say that like a preacher!) isn’t in the nativity scene yet, because (wait for it…)
it’s not yet Christmas, he’s not yet been born.
While I enjoy the idea of ‘sweet baby Jesus!’ visiting local churches for a photo shoot, I’m not sure what to do with the whole, jesus hasn’t come yet bit. One of the reasons I look forward to Advent so much is the expectant, hopeful waiting for the celebration of Christ’s birth. It’s that nervous sort of sensation, expecting something but unsure of what, that twists the heart and pulls on the mind to muddle and confuse life. Yet, for me, there is joy in the confusion, the wonder, and the questioning. Perhaps this is what Rilke meant, in part, when he admonished the young poet to live the questions -to dwell not on the uncertainty but on the nervous, expectant feelings that prompt one to make muddled, risky decisions. The very vibrancy of life lies hidden in it’s risks. To risk loving a God who became man, a man who died to bring life, and a risen savior denying the rules of life he created. This is the risk bundled in swaddling clothes that also hide the vibrancy of a whipped back and the splinters of a rough hewn cross. A friend of mine who struggles with depression told me that depression is ultimately a lack of perspective – the inconsequential becomes overpoweringly important while the important things become lost in the shadows. I wonder if Advent isn’t a yearly reminder of culture’s ability to claim it’s own self importance, making the inconsequential important while the absurdity of risking everything on a child-man-god fades into the shadows cast by beautiful lights on ornamental trees. A sort of spiritual prozac for the beginnings of spiritual-cultural depression.