Mary and Joseph, who have been chosen by the Junior High Youth group, stand apart in splendid blues and carpenter browns. The keeper of the guiding star is counting the ceiling tiles with his five pointed star, leaving them marked forever.

There stand the three kings, grandest of all in their robes of velvet and satin, wearing jeweled crowns. Their treasure chests are overflowing with jewels and flasks left over from the fall rummage sale. They have memorized their singing parts but only Melchior can really carry a tune.

There is a wooden manger and it is filled with new straw. On the straw, but carefully hidden, is a mattress in the color of straw and furnished with freshly laundered receiving blankets.

A proud and loving mother of the newest baby born in the parish holds little Rebecca closely. Soon she will hesitantly relinquish her to the care of the shy lass and the gangly lad. Off to one side is Elizabeth, to whom the angel will promise another miracle.

The time for the service has finally arrived. There is only one inevitable last minute change. A chubby lad of four, who was to be a lead sheep, could not find a costume to fit and has just appeared, in the nick of time, as a marvelously realistic grey mouse with a three foot tail and long whiskers. The directress sighs, the children are delighted. The mouse will march in procession. After all, there must have been a mouse in the stable that Holy Night - just as there are mice in stables now.

One wonders, will the children understand what the significance of all this is meant to be? A child is born who is the Savior, Christ the Lord. I believe that they will comprehend as much as those of us who do not wear costumes befitting such a grand portrayal of our Lord's birth in Bethlehem of Judea. God coming to be present with us in the form of a tiny child. Such a mystery! Mystery can never be fully comprehended. It can only be embraced and relived.

Christmas Eve. The well-rehearsed Junior Choir sings the familiar carols and hymns as the star at the end of a long rod leads the way down the center aisle. Parents lean over and around to catch a glimpse of their special participant. It is said that Christmas is for children, and it truly is, for children of all ages.

All miraculously find their places. Halos have become disarranged. Some are now collars, and scraps of silver and gold tinsel are everywhere. The three day old little girl child is asleep in the tiny crib. Mary sits beside the crib, hands folded in prayerful attitude. (Her prayer has to be that the baby not awaken and cry). Joseph stands tall behind her, shifting from one foot to another. Most are amazingly quiet and still, except for one tiny angel who has removed a black shoe and chews on it. A few have wandered off to find a safer haven in the laps of parents.

The music fades, Gabriel ascends the steps to the pulpit and, leaning over with outstretched wings, he says to Elizabeth, "You are going to have a baby." Elizabeth, to everyone's amazement, turns, looks at the congregation, and with a wide smile, executes two perfect cart-wheels. What a wonderful spontaneous expression of joy, such a marvelous response to a promised miracle. Do we respond with the same depth of understanding to the angels message delivered to us?

The presentation continues in a semi-professional manner. How truly splendid and memorable, when suddenly the Christ Child awakens and, contrary to the hymn, begins to cry. God bless sweet Mary. With stiff arms, she begins to pick up the child, awkwardly, yet carefully and gently. Keeping the baby at arms length, she turns and hands her to a startled Joseph who has had no time to flee the scene. Much to his relief, the birth mother appears from behind a pillar and rescues the helpless infant.

The pageant threatens to turn into chaos. Little angels begin to cry, resident sheep go in search of their moms and dads, but all is not lost. The directress appears from behind another pillar, carrying a doll baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lays it in the manger. Order is quickly restored. What had upset the peaceful life of new birth has been whisked away and all is mercifully quiet, ever so peaceful as it was intended to be.

How like real life the pageants become. When Jesus does not act the way we think he should act, we become upset and we quickly whisk away reality and find a harmless replacement, one that demands little or nothing from us. Ah, finally silent night, holy night.

The shepherds enter on cue, followed by reluctant sheep, kneel down before what is lifeless and then quickly depart. In the quiet comes the voice of first one and then two and then the third King. Gifts are laid before the doll, homage is given, and they also are told to leave by another way. The lights dim. A spotlight rests upon the manger and softly, all join in singing the hymn, "Silent Night." How peaceful, serene, calm, and tender.

Is it possible to set aside all pageants for a moment and try to imagine what had to be in the minds of the real Mary and the real Joseph? After the angel spoke to them, I believe, in wonder, they began to make preparations and to dream dreams as all expectant parents do. Setting aside the mysterious, Joseph had to set about building a crib for a Special Child. It must be sturdy, of the clearest pine. He must have even built a special rocker for his Beloved to sit in as she would sing to a tiny child nestled in her arms as she lulled him to sleep. Mary had made and set aside suitable clothing for the tiny baby. As she did so I am certain that she worried that not all the of the preparations might be fitting for a child born to be King. Yet, it was the best she could do - love would have to make do for whatever was lacking and she and Joseph had plenty of love. But would it be enough to please Yahweh?

Both must have had to await the proclaimed birth a bit anxiously and with a healthy dose of wonder - and perhaps a bit of doubt. Would the child truly be the son of God? If so, wouldn't he be expected to be born in an extraordinary circumstance? Maybe they should move from Nazareth to be nearer the temple in Jerusalem. Having a baby proclaimed by the Prophets as Immanuel is not ordinary.

As devout Jews they would have to face another dilemma. Holy writ, portions of scripture, so much a part of their daily life, began to haunt them. "No one has seen God at anytime. If you should touch God you will surely die." Will they be struck blind in some way if they should look at Him? If they should accidentally touch the child, will they surely die?

The census demand complicates everything - having to leave home so near the time of birth, finding no room at the inn, having to beg for shelter and given a stable, no warmth but that from animals, no blankets only hay and straw. Surely God will delay the child's arrival so that they might return home where all is prepared. A cow's stall is hardly the room for God, or a place that He would choose for the birth of His Son. A stone trough is not a suitable resting place for the King of Kings. God will certainly choose something splendid.

Suddenly a soft cry from Mary, "Dear Joseph, I think the baby might be coming." No miraculous mid-wife appears, no band of comforting delivering angels appear. In a short while, a more urgent cry, "The baby is coming." Joseph must do something, but what? Dare he to look? Dare he to touch? Mustering all his courage he draws near. Mary screams and pushes. Joseph bends down and touches. No time to think - no blindness or immediate death. In the rough hands of a carpenter a tiny child - soft and damp, warm and needy, dependent on those present in order to survive. A spank, or whatever one is supposed to do, and then a welcomed cry - new life, a miracle, this tiny creature is God's Son and his name is Joshua, the one who saves. How do you hold such holiness, wonder of wonders, hope beyond hope, mystery beyond comprehension? Try to imagine that holding, that nearness. Those who now hold Him will never be the same, nor will we. No play doll to exchange because of a cry and much too precious to whisk away. Hold Him close, dear Mary, for someday you will have to let Him go.

God, through Mary, has presented us with a matchless gift - a present of infinite worth and startling reality. A present given at the greatest cost to the "Giver of Life." Behold, the present is Divine Presence, Immanuel, God among us. God with us, and for the first time in history we can touch God in the same way that He, at creation, touched us and formed us with his own hands.

There is a risk in the touching of Holiness, Godliness, Eternity and Goodness. We will become infected by that Presence and, in a real sense, become an intimate part of God's being. We become a part of His Body and if part of His Body, a new creation in which God takes up residence.

Pray to God that we, as residential humans, will be of more value than a stone watering trough and straw. As we receive this present from God, "His Presence," we must ourselves become a present to those around us in the here and now, in the present. We must herald the coming of hope to the hopeless world, peace to a broken civilization, meaning to all that is meaningless, and bring His love to the dark place where evil is content to hide.

Do you realize something? Only a child could accomplish such a monumental task. Only children of God can carry to the world what is embodied in that tiny body, which grows and feeds and heals and suffers and dies and rises.

Christmas - God's Holiness shared, touched, loved, and consumed. The gifts of God for the people of God. So it was, so it is now, and so it will be forever. Because of a small child, we become truly the Children of God.

Lydia Talbot: Bill, your taking us to the center of the Christmas message, through the experience of children performing the nativity, tells us to be like little children. How can that intervention into human history by God be conveyed to those who simply don't get it?

William Wiedrich: There's an interesting progression, Lydia, in Holy Scripture people who deeply want to know God. And when God chose people first, He called them disciples. And after He knew them a little better, He called them servants. And after they learned how to be servants, He called them friends. And after they learned how to be friends, he called them children. And unless we can of set aside and expect the unexpected, to be bold enough to make an error and touch God, to see the world through the eyes of a child, it's necessary for us to recapture our childhood.

Talbot:  To see the world through the eyes of a child, now, on Christmas Eve. In the past I know you have seen Christmas through the eyes of the poor. You were so actively involved in Madison, Wisconsin in the shelter and work with the homeless there. The eyes of the poor help crystalize the Christmas message, don't they?

Wiedrich:  Anyone who's had an overdose of reality comes face to face with God. If you hurt, if you're in pain, if you're hungry, if you're tired, if you're weak, if you're forgotten - that's a dose of reality. And suddenly you look at that child and all those things are there - the pain, wondering, hoping somebody will feed you, but that's where it begins and those of us who have been fortunate enough to be hurt, those of us who have been fortunate enough to doubt, suddenly can't look at God in any other way but to say, "There's the child." And the child grows, and we can grow with that child.

Talbot:  And in the midst of the market culture that seems to consume most people during the holiday season, how would you most advise people to hold on to that message in the form of a child at Christmas?

Wiedrich: I once did something in a parish that I don't recommend being done. We decided in the parish to celebrate Christmas in the middle of June, away from everything that was happening. Suddenly there was no commercialism. Suddenly we had to really say, "You know, what happened is real." It happens around us again and again in the lives of each other.

I remember teaching this Bible story to a group of adults who were very, very prominent people. One was a gifted ornithologist. We were talking about the Christ child and the way he was born, and she jumped out of her chair and came running face to face to me and she said, "Do you mean to tell me that Jesus Christ is as real as Abraham Lincoln?" It suddenly dawned on me that we put Christ in such a way that He's not real. He doesn't walk with us, he doesn't hold us, he doesn't cry with us, he doesn't hurt when we hurt. We sort of set it aside, as we do in the pageant, making the real child a plastic doll. It's not harmless to have God touch us, but it's necessary. Just necessary.