The Christmas Pageant

      Never a Christmas season comes, that I don’t think of one particular Christmas pageant I helped to orchestrate. My husband pastored a small church sitting about a half mile off the beaten path. It sits cozily in a curve where two country roads meet. The curve hugs and squeezes in a peaceful, quaint cemetery that is well over a hundred years old, fenced in as if to keep out the frustration, pain and troubles that would disturb this sacred place.

     The church itself is like a little chapel, small, pews too close together and too close to the pulpit, and a narrow isle that seemed to gather us close to one another.  There is a tiny stage, just large enough for a good sized pulpit and two small one-man pews.

     This particular year, I wanted to involve the children in a Christmas pageant and I did not let the facilities deter me. The manger scene would be directly in front of the pulpit. There was room for the shepherds’ camp fire in front of the pews on the right. Three wise men would make their entrance on the left.

      Bath robes were gathered for the wise men and Joseph. The striped towels in my linen closet worked nicely for the tiny shepherds. I just pinned two towels together on one end, slipped  the towels over the little tow heads and secured them around the waist with a cord or rope. Sheets, folded, wrapped, and draped outfitted the angels and Mary. I ironed metal coat hangers, hooks removed, between sheets of wax paper to make wings for the angels. Sticks, straw, and hay were gathered and we were all ready except for the manger.

     The manger was easily constructed. Crude limbs and weathered boards were hurriedly tacked together. Straw and a blanket were added and it made a rather impressive manger, howbeit rather unstable.

       Using a doll to play the part of Baby Jesus, had never appealed to me. A real baby would be ideal but Mary and Joseph were much too young to be trusted with a baby and the manger was not quite sturdy enough. Then I had the idea of placing a light in the manger to represent Jesus.

      "How appropriate.” I thought. “Jesus, the light of the world.”

     So it was! A light bulb would represent the light that came in the time of great darkness. I placed it in a small baking pan so as not to touch the straw or blanket. Can’t be too careful.

     Now we were ready to begin. Miniature players took their places as an adult read the script, pausing for the cast to take their places or to sing old familiar carols.

     Gary, our son, was Joseph, dressed in his dad’s heavy bath robe. His job was easy, just kneel and bow his head over the manger. The light, (Baby Jesus) shinning on his face, was a beautiful sight. Our daughter, Julie, was Mary. She sat beside the manger, radiant and pure in her blue sheet and white tablecloth head dress.

      I crouched behind the pulpit directing the spot light, dimming the lights here or there, igniting the shepherds’ campfire and bringing a suspended star to life. All was going well until I heard a commotion in front of the pulpit, in the barn so to speak. I peeked from behind the pulpit and saw Joseph in all his splendor, lying on the front pew. The shepherds had hurriedly retreated back to the campfire and the wise men thought it wise to back away from the prostrate Joseph, leaving behind the carefully wrapped gifts.

     Of course, I left my position from behind the pulpit to check on Joseph to discover that Mary was now standing; (not in the script) and the manger was flat on the floor; straw scattered; Baby Jesus was nowhere to be seen; and a light bulb still glowing  was wobbling back and forth where the wise men should have been. The warm robe and the heat from the symbol of Baby Jesus was just too much for Joseph. He had fainted and fell face first into the manger, sending it and its contents flying.

     How we recovered, I’m not sure. Mercifully, we were near the end. The children were gathered together to finish the carols as Joseph recovered.

     I often ask myself, “What good have I done these fifty plus years as an assistant in the ministry?”

     My  answer is probably 'little'.  But if one child felt the mystery, joy, and wonder of reliving the birth of the savior; if one child seized with joy the truth and hope of that wondrous event, it's been worth it all.