Baby Jesus

I'm not a huge Christmas fan. I love Christmas and I love Jesus, but right now I'm thinking about dancing naked in the street around a great bonfire. It's solstice tomorrow and I have no idea how people celebrate, but it makes me want to dance and burn something. I'm thrilled that the light will return and I will be able to see the smiles on my chickens' faces without a flashlight.

I do love Christmas,

but it tends to be filled with anxiety and nostalgia so I find myself treading gently. This is not a natural gift of mine and the effort is exhausting at times.

I have lovely moments:

Curling up by the tree on Christmas Eve with my love when all the worships are done, presents are wrapped, and children are tucked in their beds.

Celebrating Jesus' birth with deep fried goodness as we fondue everything in the house with beer batter. This is how we do all birthdays and major holidays.

Opening presents, talking with family, worshiping, singing Silent Night . . . it's all lovely.

One of my weird favorite moments every year is baby Jesus. 

I've never had a real live baby Jesus, because that is pure zaniness. I'm all about taking risks as congregations, but that one sends shivers. We all hold our breath when the acolytes light the Advent wreath hoping they don't burn down the church. Hand-eye coordination as well as rhythm tend to be challenging for Lutherans.

So we use dolls. 

Ragged, well-loved, often naked dolls.

I swear it's the same doll every year because they always look identical. 

It tends to be the doll found in the frantic search after the frantic phone call realizing we don't have baby Jesus. It is never the favorite doll. That's too much to ask out of a child, but a doll who gets pulled out of the bottom of the toy box often stripped. The doll whose hair has been cut and one eye closes when you lay them down, but one is broken and always stares at you knowingly.

Dolls still creep me out, and baby Jesus is not exception.

I suppose that's what I love so much. We sentimentalize Christmas into sweetness and peace, when it is the story of raw love entering a terrifying world. Or terrifying love entering into a raw world.

Baby Jesus stripped, staring, hair cut wildly dangled by a distracted Mary and then crushed in her sudden remembrance and love. 

Baby Jesus the star and the forgotten one in the pageant.

Baby Jesus naked and terrifying. 

The kids in bathrobes come and go clinging to and dangling the savior forgetfully. I love all those angels, shepherds, animals, and stars, but I tend to hear the mystery of God made flesh most loudly in the ragged, well-loved, naked doll.