The Sights and Sounds of Christmas:
The Crèche
“Noooo! Who stole Jesus—AGAIN!” roared Father Joe. He vigorously swept the parish center, flinging open closets and turning over furniture as he thrust and scurried about.
Brandon Pohlman, a young lawyer, was standing in the lobby. He just moved into town, and sought to register with the parish. Since it seemed to him that the priest was a tad indisposed, he considered slipping back out the front door.
Anne, the parish secretary, sensing Brandon’s consternation, sought to explain. “This has happened every year since Fr. Joe became pastor back in ‘09. Here we never put baby Jesus in the crib until Christmas Eve, but Father insists on puttin’ him there the day Advent starts! Every year baby Jesus disappears . . .,” Anne cut herself off and yelled over to Father, “Hey, don’t move my desk! The statue’s too big to fit under there anyway!”
With his paperwork completed, Brandon stepped back outside. When he looked upon the life-size nativity scene, he noted the crib was indeed empty. Not only that, there were no Wise Men either.
As he walked toward his car, he spotted the Wise Men near the parish school’s parking lot. A wrinkled, bald man in gray denim overalls was fiddling with them.
“Need a hand getting them over to the Crèche?” Brandon asked.
“Oh no, it’s not time yet for that yet. No, I’ll move ‘em a bit closer each day till they arrive there on January 6th. That’s the Feastday of the Epiphany, you know—the day the Magi arrive with their gifts for baby Jesus.” The old man pushed one statue a few feet to the right, carefully positioning it.
Brandon smirked, “Hey, I guess playing with toys isn’t just for kids this time of year, eh?
As he continued repositioning the statue, the old man began, “When I was a lad, I was an altarboy for Fr. Stan. Back then, Mass always started with the same psalm, and you and the priest would pray it together. I still remember it. One part of the psalm said, ‘And I will go up to the altar of God, to God who gives joy to my youth.’ I always chuckled a little there. Father Stan was very old—he struggled even to get up the steps. How could God give joy to his youth?”
The old man stopped and examined his own gnarled hands. Then he looked Brandon right in the eye, “Yes, I’m an old man who still plays with toys. And I love it. Every year, when Christmas comes, I love it.”
Moving the other Wise Men a few feet further toward their destination, the old man was satisfied with his work. As he pulled away in his truck, Brandon caught sight of a small ceramic baby, half-hidden under a blanket, in the back of the cab.
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Photo by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. (used with permission)
