from the Christmas pageant files

This was posted on the Christian Century website, Theolog. It's from Christian Coon, the pastor of a church in Deerfield. Here's his blog: GenXRev

"Who Wants to Be Mary?"

Our music director asked a group of seven-, eight- and nine-year-old girls this question a couple weeks ago, as children from the church gathered for their first Christmas pageant rehearsal. A handful of would-be Marys eagerly raised their hands, each wanting the chance to stand up front with a (probably uncomfortable) young Joseph and hold the baby-doll Jesus

After a bit of deliberation, the director chose a second-grader named Sophie. Sophie's eyes opened wide behind her glasses, and she whispered in joyful disbelief, "Me?"

Sophie's a bright young girl, the child who always has just the right thing to say during the children's sermon. I delighted in hearing about this scene. But some of the girls were disappointed. Elizabeth, also a second-grader, was told that she could be a lamb. She was silent for a moment as her brow furrowed; then she looked at one of the pageant coordinators. "Well," she asked suspiciously, "what does the lamb do?"

Just the question I would ask. "Lamb 1" is hardly a consolation prize for being Mary.

I was Gabriel three times as a child. No joke.

I finally got to be Mary in a living tableau when I worked at Gould Farm. The Farm stages a nativity in one of the barns every year, or used to. A group of staff and guests (or patients) would dress up and stand in the cold cold barn for a couple hours on Christmas Eve night, and people would drive out to come look, and listen to one of the board members play the recorder, hidden in the hayloft. Bucolic, huh?

It really was, actually.

The year I was Mary, I was also supposed to drive the 15-passenger van full of shepherds, wise men, and Joseph down the hill to the barn. And I was in a hurry -- getting a group of people dressed in costumes takes more time than you think. I hopped into the driver seat, dressed in my long, blue robes. I waited for everyone to hurry up and get their seat belts on, and then I threw that van into reverse and backed RIGHT into the minivan of the recorder-playing board member. WHAM! And rather than ponder these things in my heart, I'm afraid Mary swore, even with the baby Jesus doll lying right next to my seat. It was a story told about me for many months after. My friend Monica still likes to remind me of it, 10 years later.

Luckily, both the Farm and the board member had insurance.