“When he was still a long way off, his
father saw him.
His heart pounding, he ran out,
embraced him, and kissed him.”
I still don’t understand -not nearly-
what is happening with this advent calendar, or what God is doing, or how it is
that I am finding myself in a dirty cave, in the presence of God in the flesh,
on the night of the nativity.
But I am. It seems like each day opening
the calendar door has been a new and breathtaking face to face meeting with the
God I’d always hoped would be there, but somehow never was.
For the last 20 days or so, I’d been
conversing with Mary and Joseph and they would ask me questions about “where
I’m from”. Not wanting to try to explain what I can’t comprehend myself, I
simply told them I was from a place very far away, (which is true…in a cosmic
sense) and that my country was very different from Nazareth and Bethlehem.
I suppose I had this on my mind when I
decided to sit down and open the door on the advent calendar tonight. I had
been playing checkers with Morgan earlier that day and there was a checkerboard
and checkers in a box on the table near the chair I sit in when I read. I sank
down into my chair and drew a breath. It had been a long day…not particularly
emotional but long. I sat the box containing the checkerboard and checkers on
my lap and then I opened the little leather door on the calendar.
Not much was happening. Mary and Joseph
had just eaten something for dinner and she was cleaning their meager dishes
and Joseph was holding Jesus while making cooing sounds and smiling
involuntarily at his little boy. He reminded me of me, when Morgan was born.
Jesus made little or no reaction…an occasional spit bubble and a faint wisp of
a smile…but mostly he slept. He had eaten not 15 minutes before my arrival and
Joseph began burping him.
I was sitting cross legged on the dirty
straw and smiling a very goofy smile. The kind you suddenly become aware of
after a few vacant moments. I was smiling because the thought occurred to me
that here was a man younger than me, holding God, and trying to get him to
burp. I was certain it couldn’t get any more wonderful than this, when Jesus
emitted the loudest burp I’d ever heard. Joseph looked at me a smiled broadly.
It was perfect…across time and history men will still be men. Here we were,
unable to even explain each others presence in this moment and yet hearing his
newborn son burp bonded us at some eternal, male-oriented level.
Joseph placed Jesus in the feed trough
and he fell fast asleep. He came over to where I was sitting and asked me about
the box I was holding. I opened the box and showed him the checkers game I had
brought with me. Inside of ten minutes I had taught him the game and we
entertained ourselves for about an hour. Mary had finished what she was doing
and joined Joseph on the floor of the cave next to me. Joseph was fascinated by
the plastic checkers. “What sort of tree were these made from?” he asked me. I
smiled to myself. How would I answer that? How could I explain what plastic
even was to this man? So I told him it is from a special plant that grows in my
part of the world. He seemed reasonably pleased with that answer and we played
for a few more minutes.
At some point I noticed Joseph had an
odd, quizzical look on his face. He stopped playing and looked toward the
opening to the cave. He had his head tilted back as if he had smelled
something. No sooner had I recognized this then he sniffed dramatically and
said “Do you smell that?” “Smell what?”
I asked him “Pig! I smell pigs,” he said with his nose turned up. “Pig manure to
be exact,” he added with disgust. Now, I realized that a pig was anathema to an
observant Jew, but I didn’t realize until that moment just how much disdain
they held pigs in until I saw Joseph’s revulsion at simply the scent of a pig.
He literally looked as if he would curl up and die. I still didn’t smell
anything that stood out as a worse odor than the smell of dirty sheep that this
cave had held since the first day I arrived here.
It was a full two or three minutes after
Joseph smelled him coming, that the stranger showed up at the mouth of the
cave. He was a young man…barely more than a teenage kid it seemed. But when he
poked his head in the cave, he instantly seemed to age before my eyes. There
was a no light in his eyes, no youthful exuberance. There was only shame and
embarrassment and a hesitancy to enter…or even to speak.
Joseph was cautious at first, he was
about to turn this young man away because the odor betrayed the fact that he
had been in contact with pigs and Joseph was an observant Jew. Having him enter
the cave would defile the only shelter they had, and with nowhere else to go,
Joseph didn’t want to risk it. Until this moment I had not interfered in the
interaction of any visitor, but something about this kid seemed very familiar
and I just knew he was supposed to be here.
Joseph was about to stand, and I got the
sense he was going to turn the kid away. I put my hand on Joseph’s arm and
whispered, “Joseph…you might have to trust me on this one. I think this young
man belongs here. Let him come in.” Joseph
looked at me startled, but suddenly, as if something tugged at his soul, he
relented. “If I have to go through this cave and clean it because of this, you
are helping me,” he whispered. He had a half smile on his face and I realized
he had the same feeling about this young man…he needed to be here.
Mary bid the young man enter the cave.
Now, I grew up in a city, but I’ve been to farms and I’ve been around farm
animals. I have never -not in my life- smelled anything that rivaled the stench
of pig manure that emanated from his ragged clothing. The only thing that was
close was the rancid, nauseous aroma of a chicken coop. I’d thought a chicken
coop was the single worst thing I’d ever come across until I got a whiff of
this kids clothes.
He was sheepish and humble…a broken man
at all of maybe 22 or 23 years old. He was stooped over, and not because of the
low height of the ceiling. It was because he carried a burden of guilt and
shame and brokenness that weighed him down and slumped his shoulders. He would
rarely make eye contact with the three of us and when he did, his eyes quickly
darted left and right and never held our eyes for more than a few seconds. This
was a kid who had truly seen way too much in a brief period of time…and
regretted almost all of it.
He didn’t say much. Joseph asked his
name and he spit it out in a shamed whisper, like he really didn’t want us to
know who he was. He was a filthy mess. He had mud…and God knows what else…caked
to his worn-out shoes and up his legs. He wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough for
the winter night and he hadn’t had a bath in a long time. His hands were dirty,
his face was dirty, his hair was wild and unkempt. His lips were chapped and
peeling and his stomach growled so loudly I thought maybe a small mountain lion
was outside the cave.
He tried to be polite but it was
apparent he would rather not interact with us…or with anyone else. He was
perhaps the most shame-filled man I’d ever seen. And the most broken. He stood
silently for several awkward moments after Joseph asked him a few questions. He
answered dutifully and I suppose it was Aramaic he spoke when Joseph asked him
his name because I didn’t recognize it at all. His eyes were puffy and there
was a wide, white ring around each eye amid the dirt on his face. This man had
been crying a long time.
After a few moments, it was Mary who
offered him an audience with the baby. “I suppose you’ve come to see our son.,”
she spoke softly. Mary responded to the kid as only a mom would do. I watched
her observe him carefully. She was no doubt noticing the brokenness and hurt in
this boy. Where Joseph and I saw him as a young man who had apparently taken
some wrong paths, Mary saw him as a child. There was tenderness in the few
words she offered him.
The young man stiffened as Mary spoke.
“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why. I saw a star a week ago and I left the pigs…” He
stumbled at the words that fell out of his mouth and tried to put them back in
like marbles spilled on the floor. “…I left my job and followed.” The kid was
trembling with nerves and, I thought, he was shivering against the cold. It was
warm in the cave but he’d been on the road for a week and it was apparent he
had no real clothing to protect him from the elements. It was winter, after
all. “I walked a long way…I don’t know how far really. I was in another country
when the star appeared. I don’t know why, but I just felt I had to be here.”
“Where are you from?” Joseph asked,
“Perhaps I know your family.” The young man bristled at this. I don’t know if
Joseph saw it but I did. That, was the
one question the kid did not want to answer. “Oh no sir…” The young man
sputtered, “…I doubt you know them. I mean, maybe…but I don’t.” Again, for the
second time, I interfered. Joseph was standing next to me and I leaned over and
whispered “Let it go, he is embarrassed.”
Joseph never turned his head toward me
but I saw his jaw flex and he nodded slowly so only I could see it. He was in
agreement and he spoke again. “You’ve come to see our child. Come with me son. I’ll introduce you.” I
don’t know if Joseph heard from God internally or if he was simply picking up
on the same sense I had, but he instantly became tender and gentle toward this
young man. As if he suddenly sensed the immense hurt and burden of shame this
kid was carrying.
Joseph put his arm around the pig manure
and sweat-infused, ragged cloak the kid was wearing. I thought he would
collapse into Joseph’s arms right there. I think it was a combination of the
complete absence of one more moment’s strength, the incredible shame he was
carrying, and the amount of time it had been since anyone, anywhere had touched
him in kindness. He had grown very old
in a very short time, it seemed. He was a beaten and broken man.
Joseph walked him over to the trough and
knelt down next to him. “Do you want to hold him?” Joseph asked tenderly. The
young man thought for a minute and answered “Yes sir, but I don’t think I
should. To be honest, I’m so tired…so weary. I don’t have the strength to lift
him. I think I’ll just touch his hand, if that’s okay.” I saw Joseph clench his jaw again and quickly
wipe a tear from his eye. His voice broke a bit and he said “Of course son, do
as you wish. I’m going to tend to his mother and leave you here. His name is
Jesus. I think you should talk to him.
There is something about this baby…”
Joseph didn’t go any further with this
thought. The young man was slumped down almost in a heap. He had reached in to
the trough and touched Jesus’ tiny hand and he was silently sobbing. He was so
thin and so gaunt and his clothing was so ill fitting on his feeble body that
he looked like a pile of filthy rags on the floor. He wept in silence for a
long time.
He spoke in a faint, tired whisper…like
it was all the energy he had to force a word out. “I remember when I was not
much older than you are. I remember being a baby, being a little boy.” The young man paused a
long time. I saw him shivering and trembling and I wondered if it was the chill
of the cave of if it was something else…maybe the weakness that his broken body
labored under. Maybe the memories and the shame he carried into this place.
Maybe something else altogether.
“Jesus…” he continued, “I am so ashamed.
I have done so many terrible things. I have…” His voice trailed off. He put his
hand over his mouth and a pained wail rose from the heap of clothing and dirty
skin. He looked like he was going to throw up. He lay in a tangle of rags and
pig manure and cried out years of hurt. He spoke some more, telling his story
to Jesus between sobs. Apparently, he had wandered. He had left his family home
and made his way to a foreign country and that’s where his plan fell apart.
He had gone to seek his fortune and to
make a name for himself. His dad was a prominent man back home and the boy felt
the need to escape the large shadow he cast over his sons. The kid had gone
away to become a man. Somewhere along the way the plan backfired. The weeping
young man spoke of losing all his money. He spent furiously in the first few
months on the road. His business plan failed and he lost everything. It took a
while, his father had given him much to
get his start.
Maybe the thing that hurt him most was
the life he’d led in that distant land. There were women, not ladies but women. There were friends who
he’d not known very long but who laughed at his jokes and fed his desires until
the money ran out. They catered to his every whim and supplied him with devices
he’d never known under his father’s roof. But when he’d spent all he had, and
after a few of his new “friends” had picked his pocket, he was abandoned and alone.
The economy in that country collapsed
about two years ago and he was broke and hungry. He eventually found work on a
pig farm, feeding pigs. The owner of the farm was a cold, cruel man who
instantly sensed the kid’s plight. “You can sleep with the pigs and you can eat
from their trough…after they have finished!” the man bellowed… “I catch you
eating anything before they’ve had their fill and you’re out in the cold!” The
kid understood and did as the man said.
There is a reason people use the term
“eat like a pig” when referring to someone who overindulges. Pigs seldom leave
scraps. The kid hadn’t had anything more than a few scant morsels in months.
His bones showed. His stomach growled constantly. His hair was brittle and
thinning like anyone going through starvation. He trembled constantly.
He lay on the cave of the floor and
sobbed. In between fits of broken weeping, he would recount his debauchery to
the baby in the cradle who smiled peacefully at the crushed adult next to him.
I sat in the dark corner and watched. I’ve been here. I’ve been through this. I
wept bitterly watching this young man at his final breaking point. I know that
desperate shame of realizing that all you dreamed of and hoped for is gone and
all you really did was waste years of your life. I know the way it feels when
memories flash in your mind…memories of things you’ve done that you wish you
could forget…that you wish you’d never even thought of, much less done.
I don’t know how much time passed, maybe two hours or more. But at some point
the weeping turned more impassioned and more desperate. Then the young man
spoke between sobs in a plaintive, painful wail; “I want to go home. I want to go home! I want to see my dad!
Please…I just want to go home!” His sobs were deeper and more like
death-throes. “I can never be his son again.
I know that. But my dad has never turned away a stranger and he takes
great care of his workers. Maybe I could go work for him. At least I’d eat, and
have a bed.” His tears burst forth anew and again he begged; “I want to go
home”
There was silence for a few moments. I
was sobbing at the pitiful sight before me. I wanted to rush to him and comfort
him and stop the brokenness but I was unable to move. I could only watch and
weep with him. I was staring at the young man and I again noticed Jesus. He was
smiling faintly. Almost imperceptibly. The young man still had his hand inside
the manger all this time.
Presently I saw Jesus’ tiny fingers curl
around the young man’s thumb. I don’t know if the broken, weeping man even felt
it, but I saw it. In that same instant there was a great bustling sound outside
the cave. I heard horses and several voices in the night and I was startled. “He
is here. This is the place!” there was a great “thud!’ (I would find out later
that the rider had jumped off his horse in such a hurry he actually fell from
the saddle).
A man came bursting into the cave
without hesitation or asking permission. “He is here?” the man said loudly.
There was a desperate plaintiveness to his voice; like this was the last chance
he’d had to find something…or someone he desperately wanted to find. He ran, as
best he could, given the low height of the cave, straight to Mary and Joseph.
“He is here? My son. He is here?” Joseph
began to speak “Sir, I don’t know…” when suddenly the ragged man by the manger
spoke up. His voice was different, like that
of a boy, there was innocence in his
tone. “Poppa!” it was all he could muster.
The man was in the corner before I
blinked. He scooped up the heap of rags that contained his son and began to
sob. “My son…my son! Oh my son! Oh…my son!” He repeated only these words for a
long, long time. He was incapable of anything else. He held the young man
closely to his chest and they both wept with abandon. His father’s tears
spilled down on the broken young man and over time washed away the dirt from
his face.
After a long time -maybe an hour- of
weeping and sobbing, the boy lifted his weary head and began his apology…
“Father…” he uttered, “I am so sorry…” The man pulled his son so closely into
the folds of his robes that the young man couldn’t finish the sentence. The
father wept and kissed his son’s head furiously, over and over, ignoring the
dirt and the sores and the thinning hair and the smell. He kissed him and held
him in arms that had ached for this moment for years now.
“I thought you were lost forever,” the
old man interrupted. “Oh God how I have searched for you!” The man pulled a
beautiful robe from the saddle bag he had carried into the cave.
“Here, you are freezing, this is
yours. Put it on.” The young man was wide eyed… “But I…” “Here…” the old man
continued, “This is yours as well. I assume it still fits. Or it will again
once we get some food in your belly!” With that the old man placed a gorgeous
signet ring on his sons’ finger. It was large and bore the family crest. “We
are going home now son…we are going home.”
I could not see them very well…my own
tears were far too present. But I saw the image of the old man as he picked up
the baby from the manger and held him closely. I saw his shoulders shaking and
heard his voice breaking as he said; “Thank you. My son was lost, you found him for me. He found his way here.
To you, and then back to me. Thank you.”
Then the man and his son turned and
headed out into the night and on to their home. In the corner was a pile of
rags that had once served as clothing for a broken prodigal. No longer needed…because
he discovered he was still a son.
…as is this
marvelous baby.
“For the Son of God has come to seek, and to save, those who
are lost...” -Jesus
