I learn something new every Christmas. This year I learned three
things.
I taught Sunday School for three weeks this Advent. All three
lessons in the curriculum focused on the birth of Jesus: Luke 1,
Luke 2 and Matthew 2. (Some years the curricula focus on Moses or
Joshua, which I consider a sad waste of a teachable moment, what
with the children all looking forward to Christmas.)
I learn something new every Christmas. This year I learned three things.
I taught Sunday School for three weeks this Advent. All three lessons in the curriculum focused on the birth of Jesus: Luke 1, Luke 2 and Matthew 2. (Some years the curricula focus on Moses or Joshua, which I consider a sad waste of a teachable moment, what with the children all looking forward to Christmas.)
The first weekend, I was preparing my lesson: punching out flannel board figures of Zechariah and Elizabeth and Mary and Gabriel. Gabriel had no wings, which was okay, and a sweet, girlish face, which was not. If angels really looked that sweet, they would not have to continually say “Fear not!” to every human they met.
I was dreading having to explain to the children about Zachariah’s service as a priest. I could downplay it, of course, but I really did not want to have to address cutting up animals and burning them. It was a pretty gory practice, even to children who watch movies such as Man on Fire.
I was relieved to read in Luke 1 that Zachariah’s service on the day that Gabriel visited him was burning incense before the Lord. I brought some incense into class and burnt it before the flannel board. The kids did not particularly care for the incense, but it did focus their attention, and it did not set off the smoke alarm.
That was the first thing I learned this Christmas.
I always read the Bible while preparing my Sunday school lessons. The stories as rewritten in the curriculum are very cute, and they are definitely written at the level of understanding of a third grader, which is more than you can say for the King James version.
But the stories are almost invariably embroidered with extraneous incidents. “Joseph must have smiled tenderly as he laid the baby Jesus in the manger.” Maybe he did. Maybe he trembled with awe. Maybe he scowled with embarrassment at not being able to better provide for his wife and the Son of God. Maybe he shivered with cold. Maybe Mary put the baby in the manger… who knows? “They laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
And the children cannot distinguish embroidery from Gospel. Dyllan told me with utmost assurance that the three wise men did not know each other before they began their journey; they met on the road, following the star. Brian was utterly convinced that the star was actually three stars in a particular astronomical configuration. Both got their ideas from movies. Both were shocked that Matthew 2 does not include their deeply held beliefs.
One Sunday I got to tell them about the census and Caesar Augustus and Mary riding on the donkey, and the inn and the shepherds “abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them, and they were sore afraid. But the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord….’
I had flannel board figures, and I had put wings on the angel, though he still looked like a girl. After the story, the children started doing their craft. All was calm, all was bright. I started re-reading Luke 2 to myself, at first desultorily, then with a strained attention.
“Guess what?” I asked Amber.
“What?” she asked, obligingly.
“There is no donkey in Luke 2.”
All my life I had heard that Mary rode a donkey to Bethlehem. And maybe she did. But maybe she walked, or rode in a cart. All Luke 2 says is that Joseph went to Bethlehem, with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child.
So I learned two trivial things this Christmas, and relearned one non-trivial thing. The non-trivial thing is that the Bible is full of surprises and worth re-reading, no matter how many times you have read it before.
Merry Christmas.
Cynthia Anne Walker is a
homeschooling mother of three and former engineer. She is a published independent author. Her column is published in
The Dispatch every Friday.
