Tag Archives: Mary

Anticipation Abounds!

costumesChristmas comes early on the farm! Everyone here is knee-deep and prayer-deep in preparing for the thirty-first year of what has become Bethlehem Revisited.  Anticipation fills our hearts as we grandparents along with our children and grandchildren are joined by our large community to worship and work together in bringing this narrative to life once again.  Costumes hang in the barn separated into categories: Angels, market-place, shepherds, guides, children, Marys, Josephs. We have covered the paths with wood chips ready for hundreds of people to trudge up and down the hills.  The tickets that sat in Judd’s office have been distributed to various outlets.  Stock pens for all the animals who will need boarding overnight are ready and waiting for their occupants.  The lanterns (around sixty of them) sit on tables in the barn;  some will hang from lampposts, others will hang from the guides’ and guide assistants’ outstretched arms as they lead the groups through the forty-five-minute walk. Cut wood stands in neat, orderly stacks beside the fifteen fire pits.

With prayerful anticipation, we are asking that the whole weekend will be drenched in God’s Spirit as we invite our guests to relive the greatest story we humans can ever tell. In fact, last year, as one woman was waiting to board the bus to go back to the welcome center, she hesitated before boarding.   “You mean to tell me,” she almost stammered as she addressed her guide, “this story is TRUE?”  And we can say without hesitation, “Oh, the amazing thing is, it is TRUE!”

I am attaching a two-minute link for this year’s event.  Enjoy!!!


The Barn Doors Open (continued from last post)

mary and joseph at barn door0001The audience quieted as the knock came on the large, rolling barn door.  Joseph was standing in the darkness.  The innkeeper appeared in the large doorway, and Joseph, motioning to a pregnant Mary sitting on a donkey close behind him, began to explain their plight:  “Please, sir, can you give us a room for the night?  My wife is about to deliver, and we have nowhere to stay.”

“Can’t you see,” shouted the surly innkeeper as he turned and waved with a sweeping arm across the audience, “we are full tonight.”

Ah, we were finally on track.  What was to be an experience of remembrance and worship was beginning to take place.

As Mary and Joseph left to find the stable, the audience was invited to join in singing, “O Come O Come, Emmanuel” in the dimly lit barn.

It was time for the audience to move to the next scene.  As together we trudged up the hillside, the beautiful voice of an “angel” caroled us singing, “I Wonder as I Wander.”  The words to the song echoed through the calm, winter air:


I wonder as I wander out under the sky,

Why Jesus the Savior did come for to die.

For poor lonely people like you and like I

I wonder as I wander, out under the sky.


We joined the shepherds on the hill around the large bonfire.  The sheep were held tightly in hand.  Suddenly, Gabriel came forward out of the darkness.  “Behold!!!”  Shepherds fell to the earth in “fear.”

After Gabriel gave his startling announcement, the truck lights beamed upon the angels standing on the hillside. “Glory to God in the highest,” they declared and began singing the first part of the Hallelujah chorus.  Wonderful!!!  We, along with the shepherds were amazed.

The truck lights went out, the angels disappeared, and the crowd was invited to follow the shepherds to find this promised baby “wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

We began our trek across the field coming to the spot where, from the pasture, we could look down on the tiny village of Keats.  Stopping to watch the village lights twinkling in the blackness of the night, we stood in reverence.

“Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see they lie.”  We sang softly and reverently, imagining we were there in that holy land the very night the tiny King was born.  Continuing the trek down to Bethlehem, we again started to follow the shepherds and their sheep.

Following shepherds should have been fine, except in the dark the shepherds, our would-be leaders, got lost, and the crowd began wandering like the Israelites in the desert.

Never before had my sheep had a strange crowd of people following them around in the middle of the darkness, nor did they know the voices of these newly acquired shepherds.

Finally, not liking the disorientation of the shepherds, the sheep high-tailed it down a ravine to the safety of their pen.  One lone sheep survived in the pasture on a lead rope. On the other end was a very determined and somewhat successful shepherd.

The lone sheep, Charlie, my gentle giant as I fondly called him, was none too happy about losing the rest of the flock.  The shepherd who was leading Charlie was frustrated.  “Mrs. Swihart,” he whispered hoarsely to me when I finally got to the front of the crowd, “I can’t get this sheep to do anything.”  Grabbing the lead rope, I nudged and pulled Charlie in the right direction until he finally headed down the proper trail.  Recognizing me, he became compliant and grudgingly allowed the crowd to follow him and his flock of shepherds down the hill to the manger.

Everything seemed to be in place at the manger.  Mary and Joseph had found the stable; Mary had birthed the tiny baby.  A peaceful, blessed scene. We had planted some angels beside the manger who ”signed” in American sign language words to “Away in the Manger,” as the audience reverently joined them.  It was all quite beautiful.

Then it was time for Mary’s monologue, a touching  monologue:

 O infant-God. Heaven’s fairest child. Conceived by the union of divine grace with our disgrace. Sleep well. .Sleep well. Bask in the coolness of this night bright with diamonds. . . .”

As you might remember, the tech guys had been working on installing a mic that was hidden in Mary’s shawl.  As she began her monologue, it was apparent that there was no amplification installed.  All the crowd could see was Mary mumbling into her shawl.

An apparent failure.  No great thoughts transmitted to the crowd that night.  In retrospect, perhaps the great Director Himself had over-ruled my inept plans.  Scripture itself testifies only that Mary “pondered these things in her heart.”

Finishing this scene, the shepherds who were bowing at the manger, left to spread the good news, and it was time (according to the script) for the three kings to arrive.

laarge wisemen0001Poised in their beautiful costumes, ready to enter the scene with their horses (no camels available) the wisemen stood in the shadows. However, a confused narrator deleted the wisemen from the script and jumped to the next scene.

Following the narrator’s lead, Mary and Joseph arose and slowly made their way to the temple where Simeon and Anna would bless the Child.

Oh, but we could not forget the wisemen in their beautiful costumes with their nervous horses!  So, while Simeon was giving his blessing, I tried to quietly, but quickly, get around the crowd to the wisemen.  A wooden gate back by the water tank was in my way.  Gingerly climbing over the old, locked gate, I stepped on a rotting slat and the entire gate came crashing down along with me.  Surely, nobody heard, I hoped. Picking myself up, I continued to the confused wisemen.  “Go!”  I whispered loudly, “Go!!”

As the crowd sang the closing carol, “Joy to the World,” the wisemen rushed in and bowed low to the ground for the final chorus.  Not the way I had planned it, but it worked, and probably the Director Himself, was once more overruling my own dramatic and inaccurate interpretation.

Later, that evening after the crowds had left, all of the luminaries were out, and the animals had eaten and were back in their pens, my heart entered into the stillness of the evening.  Quietness surrounded me.  The brilliant stars illumined the evening sky.  In the backdrop of God’s world, nothing had changed. Ah, peace, beauty, wonder even in the midst of all of the background chaos.

Work and worship are not exclusive of each other.  To work to make it possible for others to worship is sometimes difficult.  In my working to achieve the worship opportunity for others, I had missed some of that peace, yet it had been there all along:  in the scenes, through the scenes, above the scenes.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, “ let the meaning of this story have seeped into the cracks and crannies of people’s hearts so that they might have just a glimpse of the profound message of this Peace Child, who came to bring His peace to the earth.”










Oh Holy Night?

9k=Where is peace? Where is it hiding, when our world is overwhelmingly disjointed and we feel the need to hold it together?


I was feeling the need to hold things together one December in the early 90’s.

Using the land for our Bethlehem story had been a vision  of my heart for years.  It seemed that God had given us land with the story written into its very geography. I was directing the “performance” of our not-named-yet nativity once again. My gifts do not necessarily lie in directing, but I determined to do my best.  Judd, the behind-the scenes’ director was loyally helping me.

The majority of our cast that year was college students.  Students are great:  they are fresh, enthusiastic, creative, and energetic . . . and this particular weekend they were also stressed because we had chosen to do the event the weekend before finals. That was one mistake.

The other mistake was we had only one rehearsal.  So on the day of the event, just an hour or so before people were to arrive, there was a touch of bedlam. It began when the guys with the microphone for Mary who was to give a wonderful soliloquy from Max Lucado’s Jesus Came Near arrived late and didn’t have the proper equipment.

As I was problem-solving with the tech guys, the sheep, who were in the pen next to us, decided not to leave the security of the barnyard to go up the hill with the shepherds to their designated “set.” The encouragement that always worked for me, a bucket of grain, worked to no avail.  These sheep were being asked to follow very active, loud young men dressed in strange clothing.  In their sheep-like rebellion they refused to co-operate.  The biblical application was evident, “My sheep know my voice,” and these voices were not the familiar voice of their shepherd.

Leaving the microphone quandary, I helped the would-be shepherds find ropes and get the sheep going in the right direction. I stood at the top of the hill until the sheep were in place around the shepherd’s fire.

Going back to check on the progress of the microphones, I was sidetracked by a truck stuck in the driveway to the pasture.  The driver was spinning his wheels while several other students were hand pushing from behind.  This truck would provide the shining lights on the angelic host.  Finally, gunning the motor, the driver  made it up the hill.  Unfortunately, no sooner did it approach the shepherd’s campfire than the sheep, already on high alert, became terrified and frantically ran back down the hill to the safety of their pen.

Since the sheep now had ropes that the shepherds could easily grab again, I left the shepherding to them.  They would certainly earn their title of shepherd by the time they got their sheep back up the hill.

From the manger scene, I made my way to the top of our two-story barn where the guests were to be seated, the prophets were to make their prophecies, and the crowd would be introduced to a desperate Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay. The benches had been organized in rows facing the large roller doors.  We were in pretty good shape now, and I was beginning to feel comfortable.

With a half hour left before the guests arrived, Judd and I dashed to the house to finish cleaning up from our evening meal.  A few cups and dirty dishes were left on the counter.  I ran some dish water in the sink and grabbed a cup to immerse in the hot soapy water.  “Hurry” is not my strong suit, in fact, I have a tendency to be quite clumsy as my mind becomes disengaged from my fingers.  As I started to dunk the last cup into the water, it fell from my fingers.  Without thinking I grabbed it as it shattered in the sink.

Pulling my hands from the soapy water I looked at the blood beginning to spurt from the middle finger on my right hand.  Not good!  Trying to stop the bleeding, we realized that this was going to require some “doctor” attention.  A trip to the ER was out of the question at this point.  Judd decided we should call our “doctor in residence” Charlie Bascom.

It only took a few minutes for Charles to arrive.  Looking closely at my finger, he agreed. ” Yes, this should have some stitches, but . . . perhaps we could apply a butterfly band-aid and find something to stabilize the finger.”  Looking around the kitchen he queried, “Do you have a spoon?”  Of course we did, thinking this might be a joke.  After cleaning the cut and applying a band-aid Charles reached for the spoon we had pulled from the kitchen drawer.  Applying the spoon to my finger, he began wrapping it tightly.

Now I sported a spoon on my finger with the bowl of the spoon protruding from the top. There was not time to commiserate or to ponder how to adapt to this new appendage.  The show must go on!

Quickly, I pulled on some woolen Army gloves.  They would somewhat  hide the strange specter on my finger.  Donning my Army jacket, I rushed out to the barn where the guests were already assembling.

No sooner had I stepped in to the barn when my neighbor Sharon rushed over to me with a kind gentleman in tow.   She excitedly introduced me.  “Nancy, I would like you to meet my priest, Father D.  I have been telling him about this, and I’m so excited for him to meet you.”

“Welcome, Father!” I smiled as I stuck out my right hand to shake his. Retrieving my hand as quickly as I had offered it, I blurted out, “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I can’t shake your hand; I have a spoon on my finger.”

No sooner did those words leave my lips than another guest came up to talk.  The crowd closed between me and the priest.  I never saw him again that evening.  I have no idea what that poor man thought.  I wonder if he lay awake that night trying to puzzle out the strange response.  “She said, ‘I have a spoon on my finger?????'”

There was no turning back; no time for explanations. The program was about to begin, and the past was the past.  The audience took their seats, and the lights were dimmed.   The first prophet made his appearance, and the evening’s performance had begun.

“Ah, Lord God,” I breathed, “please bring your presence and peace to this place and to the guests.”

Yes, there was an inordinate amount of chaos going on about me, but at the core of it all, God was offering His message of transcendent truth.

And . . . the evening had just begun!

To be continued. . .