I am so lucky in my line of work to sometimes get to hear spiritual insights from children. Sometimes it is a reflection of their consumer culture and television or sometimes a parroting of a “cultural Christianity” that infuses society. However, sometimes they make a connection that seems so clear and beautiful that comes from some deeper place of faith — a kind of refraction and knowing that we miss as adults. You don’t have to be a Child and Family Minister to have heard these wonders. This I encountered as a parent. This story was from my daughter and has no filters for political correctness, but does come from the purest affection and love between childhood friends.
Summer loves dolls and I bought a new baby doll to be baby Jesus in the manger at church for Christmas. Summer loves it and she can hardly stand for it to stay at church. She was carrying it around and taking it’s pink jumper off to don the requisite swaddling clothes.
She exclaimed, “Hey Mom, the baby’s name is printed on the back!”
I looked, and replied, “No, it is not a name. It says ‘MADE IN CHINA.'”
Summer was quiet a long time and we carry the baby out to adjust the hay in the stable. After a little bit, Summer asked, “Mom, where was Hallie made?”
I reply, “Well, Hallie was born in China.”
After a long stretch of silence (so much, I’d really forgotton what we were talking about.) Summer responds with a awe-filled voice, “Mom, baby Jesus and Hallie were made in the same place!”
I reply, “Yes, Summer, they were.”
It made me think that the nativity story is about the greatest adoption story seldom celebrated: Joseph. I also celebrate with my friends on December 22, the day they laid eyes on their forever daughter, Hallie, now seven. I listen to adoption stories, with the same wonder as I listen to birth stories. We get caught up in the wonder of the Christmas birth story, but this year I’m in love with the adoption story.
This very moment the plastic baby Jesus from China is lying in a manger in front of our church. There is a fake sheep and some hay, but no mother, no father. The original intent was to be a fun place for children to sit and pretend. We thought we’d bring the baby in at night, so it doesn’t get stolen. Then we realized it is part of the Christmas mystery to leave it alone and cold, with empty seats beside it. Maybe it is a kind of surrogate warmth for our resident homeless to hold through the night. Maybe it will be stolen, and find it’s forever home. I hope people driving by will be appalled and asked, “Who is going to take care of that baby?”