I anticipate our church’s annual Nativity Service with the trepidation probably shared by anybody not having angelic, or at least haloed, children in the church, and undoubtedly less anxiety than those adults roped in to dress up in tea-towels for the grown-up lines. But this year’s, yesterday, was actually an uplifting surprise.
It helps that we have had massive growth in the number of young families in the last couple of years. Apart from allowing a flock of infant sheep as numerous as a real one, and giving the younger ones a sense of strength in numbers that discouraged unauthorised improvisations such as bursting into tears in the stable, it provided a sufficient pool of all ages to make it a genuine inter-generational event. This meant that everybody involved had a role they could understand, apart from the baby Jesus, who was, as is customary, a doll.
But additionally the director could actually direct, so that nearly everyone remembered their lines, and delivered them convincingly, whatever their age.
The script was actually written by a small team of our teens, with editorial advice from a “responsible adult” (not that Rachel would own up to that). That too was a first. They managed to achieve some amusing lines, and the dramatic device of making the setting the telling of the birth narrative by Mary and Joseph to the holy family at bedtime.
But they also had the sense to subordinate their script to the biblical account, even to the point of making sure that Old Testament references were read in full, without seeming forced, thus reminding the listeners that these were long-prophesied, and not just remarkable, events.
I’m not sure if the writing team also chose the hymns, but in contrast to previous years when somebody assumed children wouldn’t know carols, but would know tacky cartoon ditties, the songs were traditional, thematically appropriate, and in keys people could, and did, sing with gusto.
Yes, having the tinies sing the first verse of Away in a Manger is hackneyed, and it’s not that great a song (its origin from Luther having been debunked in favour of an anonymous American origin around 1880). But even that jolted the memory of my five-year-old self, nearly seven decades ago, in my blue dressing gown and a pink head-dress with a proper headband, making my acting debut as a shepherd, or maybe even as Joseph, at St Saviours.
So in short, the service was the acted equivalent of a nine-lessons-and-carol service that, despite the lack of a sermon, shared the true message of Christmas both in a celebratory and evangelistic way. Having spent much of this year’s blog output on the misdirection of much modern Evangelical assembly, this Nativity unexpectedly fulfilled most of the New Testament criteria of the Christian meeting.
Everyone, from infant to ancient, brought some gifting to the table. The apostolic teaching was recalled, and the gospel invitation made to any without faith (albeit in an American song rendered by a puppet band), and all was for the mutual edification of the church. What’s not to like?
So here’s hoping for a Blessed Christmas to every reader, too.
