It’s
Christmas Day and time to reflect on
the Christian religious origins of this holiday with traditions borrowed from pagan times and which has been overlaid
by more than one secular celebration.
In
1223 St. Francis of Assisi is said
to have created the first recreation of the birth scene in a cave near Greccio in Italy.
He was inspired by a recent trip to the Holy Land. It was a living Nativity tableau, with people representing the Holy Family, shepherds, Magi,
and angels and live animals, including an ass and an ox for realism. The custom
quickly caught on and spread across Europe.
Soon the scene was being reproduced in religious art, both paintings and in sets of figurines to be displayed in the Nave of a Church or,
eventually, in the manors of the wealthy. By the early days of the Renaissance the scene was somewhat standardized. Instead of St. Francis’s Grotto, the birth place was usually portrayed as a stable, often with a thatched roof with skeletal or broken walls,
the participants garbed as peasants
and lords of the day.
A Renaissance Nativity by German Martin Schongauer typified the developing conventions of depicting a simple stable with a thatched roof and open or broken walls. |
It is this familiar scene, often erected in religious homes and adorning countless Christmas cards, that most of us have
firmly in our mind when we hear a reading
of the Biblical nativity story.
With that in mind, I composed a poem for a Christmas Eve
service at what was then still called the Congregational Unitarian Church in Woodstock, Illinois a more
than a dozen years or so ago. I used the
classic crèche as a metaphor for the Congregation. The poem was included in my 2004 collection
of poetry, We Build Temples in the Heart and has frequently been used in Unitarian Universalist and other
worships setting since.
A typical home crèche |
Let
Us Be That Stable
Today, let us be
that stable
Let us be the place
that welcomes at last
the weary and rejected,
the pilgrim stranger,
the coming life.
Let not the
frigid winds that pierce
our inadequate walls,
or our mildewed hay,
or the fetid leavings of our cattle
shame us from our beckoning.
Let our
outstretched arms
be a manger
so that the infant hope,
swaddled in
love,
may have a place
to lie.
Let a cold
beacon
shine down upon us
from a solstice sky
to guide to us
the seekers who will come.
Let the lowly
Shepard
and all who abide
in the fields of their labors
lay down their crooks
and come to us.
Let the seers,
sages, and potentates
of every land
traverse the shifting dunes
the rushing rivers,
and the stony crags
to seek our rude frame.
Let herdsmen and
high lords
kneel together
under our thatched roof
to lay their gifts
before Wonder.
Today,
let us be that stable.
—Patrick
Murfin
No comments:
Post a Comment