We’ve had a Nativity scene at Christmas since our children were toddlers. We made sure we chose figures that they could handle without the fear of breaking anything. The stories they acted out with the characters were more than a little imaginative and included details and dialogue not found in Luke or Matthew (including shepherds and wise men rappelling down the furniture on their epic quest to find the Christ child).
Today we focus on the cow in the nativity scene. There is no actual cow in Luke, although it is a creature that may well have eaten from a manger. Instead our passage is from Isaiah where the prophet describes the future glory of Israel and the reconciliation of God with his people in a time when peace will reign (the lion will eat straw like the ox).
I have some first-hand knowledge of cows; I grew up on a dairy farm in Iowa and worked with cattle for most of my youth. Cows, and particularly dairy cows, are creatures of routine; they know when you will be coming to feed them each day, or gather them from the pasture for milking. If you try to sleep for an extra hour in the morning, there is a din of discontented moos for being lax about their schedule. If there was a cow present at Jesus’ birth, it would likely have been displeased at sharing its home with Mary and Joseph, irked that something besides hay was lying in its feed bunk, and annoyed at all the commotion of shepherds arriving to verify the story of the angels. These were clearly not part of the everyday, or in this case every-night, routine.
In hindsight we realize that Jesus’ arrival in Bethlehem was the start of God’s ultimate fulfillment of reconciling us to himself, and that through Christ the glory of Israel has spread to all who believe in him. It was not the normal routine. The events of that night may have annoyed the cow, but they are our greatest cause for celebration. God did not abandon us to the status quo of our sinful state, but instead intervened to set things right. “Glory to God in the highest!”
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I always placed the sheep near the front, close to Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus. The sheep were fairly small and seemed to belong close to the center of the scene, close to where others could keep an eye on them.
But I can also remember another Christmas angel, one which stood out starkly from the usual crowd of chubby cherubs and white-robed, haloed heavenly hosts. One of my family’s favorite Christmas books was This Is the Star, by Joyce Dunbar, illustrated by Gary Blythe. The picture book depicted an angel very different from the serene lady of our crèche: a massive fountain of light, stretching its broad wings across the heavens, turning night to day with its brilliant presence. This angel had no face, no comforting smile. It was alien, majestic, powerful – in a word, awe-inspiring.
This small bed where our Savior first slept was probably nothing more than some pieces of wood nailed together that was used to feed animals. It was not a royal throne of gold, with big pillows and soft blankets. Yet this is the place where Jesus lay. Although his parents did not have much to offer this new baby, they wrapped him snugly in cloths and made a warm bed for him.
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