One Little Child

Every time Christmas rolls around and I see the snow fly and the decorations going up I remember one special little moment of a Christmas time not too long ago. Our family had been invited to participate in the setting of a live nativity scene as part of a larger crèche exhibit. Our large family was able to portray Mary (pregnant even), Joseph (with a nice beard), shepherds, wise men, and even a couple of angels. Our baby was two years old at the time and was not quite right for the baby Jesus, so we used a doll. We were placed in a nice, quiet room of the church where people could come to look in and contemplate the meaning of Christmas.

It had been a typically hectic time of year for us. Performances, concerts, family visits and shopping all served to cause me to be thankful that in this one moment at least I could sit calmly and just think. It took some time after arriving to get the children all dressed and ready for display. Some of my little Angels were quite little and it was a bit of a job to get everything in place. It was starting to get late in the evening so some of the younger children were cranky and of course, the two-year-old was being terribly two.

So it was that when I was finally able to sit down and be “Mary” it was with a sigh of near-exasperation and relief. The children, who at home had done this scene several times, easily settled into their parts as they tried to recall the Christmas story and began to act it out. I reminded them that we were not supposed to be saying or doing anything, just making a picture, a nativity scene. They were visibly disappointed but cooperated to the extent that they were capable and we began our scheduled time for the exhibit.

There were many different reactions to our little scene that night. Some people only commented on my husband's excellent beard. Some only pointed at the children and said: “How cute.” Some walked past the room offering hardly a glance. Some came in with large family groups, laughing, talking and seeming hardly to notice us. I felt a little bit like an animal in the zoo. I couldn't say anything, I had to stay in one place and I had a unique vantage point from which to view the varied onlookers.
As our time drew to a close there came into the room a small family. They appeared to be just two little children, their parents and one set of grand-parents. Their small group stood inside the doorway gazing and commenting, when from behind one of the adults peered a little girl, not more than four or five years old. Her eyes were fixed on the manger in front of her as she slowly and with great care walked closer to where the doll was laid. Then, without hesitation, the little girl knelt down and bowed her golden-haired head forward in an attitude of worship and prayer. As she knelt down a profound silence settled upon the room. No one moved or spoke. For a long moment she stayed there, on her knees. Love filled our quiet room like nothing I had ever felt before. To her this was clearly not a show; it was real.

There were thousands of people who came to the church that night. Hundreds of nativity scenes were on display. Dozens of glorious works of art and music were shown and sung. But in one moment it was all dwarfed by the single act of love and devotion of one little child.

Just so, when one little child was born, humbly, those who saw it witnessed the beginning of the greatest act of love this world has or will ever see. Some glance and pass by, some come in, laughing and talking all the way, and some see it for what it is and offer their true devotion and love. What else do we really have to give?