In Western civilisation, most people who celebrate Christmas these days prefer that it be antiseptic. Trees are often artificial, nativity scenes–whether plastic, wood, ceramic or live–are clean and odour free. Who wants to smell animal excrement or rotting hay for Christmas? Well, Jesus for one. Whatever you might believe, according to Luke’s Gospel account, God specifically chose the lowliest, and perhaps smelliest, of places to enter into human flesh. If that isn’t a message of hope, then I don’t know what is.
I have just returned from feeding our chickens and goats. I trudged through the Normand winter rain and mud to get to them. All the critters were hungry and they let me know it. The evening menu was hay for the goats, and mealworms and cracked corn for the hens. And that’s another thing about nativity scenes: if there is sound, then it’s usually angels singing in four-part harmony. However, according to Luke, the angelic serenade was only on the night of Jesus’ birth. Otherwise, it was a continuous farmyard serenade–or cacaphony–depending upon your point of view. That has been on my mind a lot this week as I have contemplated the birth of Jesus. I love the smell of hay…even though it makes me sneeze! And I love watching our goats tuck into it, their little mouths overladen with this dry delight. Every day I fill a manger–sometimes the hens reward me by laying eggs in the manger!
And another thing, although this nose of mine might not be insured like those of some wine sommeliers, it can tell the difference between most farmyards droppings! (I would say “No shit!” but that would be pushing the joke too far.) Blindfold me and present manure on a platter–be it horse, cow, chicken or pig, and I’ll nail it. Okay, I deliberately left out goat droppings, because they are almost odourless! (A great reason to keep them!)
Why this scatalogical excursus? Simply to say that if God is to be found anywhere in human life, then it is in the lowliest of circumstances: barnyards, streets of homeless people, prisons and more. The problem is that we can become too comfortable to see or experience the divine in these circumstances. The result for us comfortable types is that we frequently cannot see or experience God in the dark and dirty places of our hearts and minds. God can’t be there! God needs a linen table cloth, a red carpet, etc. To reprieve the scatalogical theme: Bullshit! That’s just running from ourselves and a cop-out for not doing our inner work.
For those of us not fortunate to live in the countryside, during what is left of Advent or over the days of Christmas, go visit a working farm or stable. Let all of your senses work. And let them turn you inside out, exposing the feelings, emotions, hurts or anger that need God’s renewal and healing. Even today, it begins in such a simple fashion.
JACK N. LAWSON - author • speaker • trainer 