The gift he gave to Emmanuel

Let me state the blindingly obvious here: it says something that when the son of God became manifest in this world, he was born to a carpenter’s wife in a stable at the backend of empire. Now, obviously this was building on and in fulfillment of Jewish prophecies, so it would have been weird if he’d showed up in a village of Picts or somewhere in Pakistan. But I’m interested in the setting more than the location.

A stable. Surrounded by animals.

I mean, that exasperated cry of every mother when her child does not live up to expectation—“Were you born in a barn?”—actually applies here. Jesus was, in fact, born in a barn.

It’s quite a turn-up from what we expect for Important People; for Powerful People. They’re born in palaces, or penthouse apartments, amidst gold and servants and the best of accoutrements. Someplace that presages the mark they’re meant to make in the world.

I imagine the stable where Mary gave birth did not meet what we today would consider hygiene standards expected for the production of milk: the floor was not hosed down with antiseptic washing fluid after the milking; among the animals in the shed there were probably both four-legged and six-legged vermin; the straw wasn’t freshly laid; and—you know, lots of ox shit. When the shepherds arrived from guarding their flocks in the clean air, they must have at least briefly thought, “Man—get a whiff of that! Are we in the right place? Were those angels having us on?”

What does that say about the belief system that introduces a divine being via the lowest, most insignificant borderline ludicrous entry point? Whose arrival is announced first to working stiffs, not the coastal elites or big wheels in mega churches? (The Magi didn’t show up for another 12 days. Yeah, they knew the prophecy, but the news first went out to herdsmen. And the animals got first viewing.)

Imma also state another blindingly obvious fact in this story: everyone—every single person—involved was non-white. Medieval and Renaissance painters created nativities using models they had to hand, but those blonde, blue-eyed madonnas are not anywhere near accurate representations of that carpenters wife. In that particular back end of empire, people were dark-skinned, brown-eyed and had the dust of hard work on them.

So the notion that good white Christians of our time can stand on their hind legs and bray about remigration for people who don’t pass the melanin or accent test in the name of that brown baby born in a cow shed is not only gobsmacking, it is also unchristian.

Thus—even though it’s a little early in the Advent cycle—today’s piece honors the creatures who first shared their space with Jesus. They behaved better than a whole lot of self-styled Christians today.

“The Friendly Beasts” probably originated in 12^th Century France. The English lyrics we use today were written by a guy named Robert Davis about 100 years ago. I’m giving you Peter, Paul & Mary singing it.

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