It has been here for years, ever since Mom made it.  Like any other of her other work, it was painstakingly shaped by her skilled hands, with great attention paid to detail.  But most of that was lost on me.  It was a scene like any other out there.  Baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, barn.  Why was it special?  Because Mom made it, and Mom is awesome.

I’m at Mom and Dad’s for a few days, and having the luxury of actually stopping, I did, to look at things with new eyes.  The walls are made of clay.  Mary and Joseph are made of clay.  And Christ is made of clay.  Here I think for a while.  He condescended to be made man, made of dirt.  His flesh like ours, tempted like ours, sacrificed for ours.  There is something about the very medium that is significant in the representation.

In most scenes like this, everyone seems to be milling about.  But here, there is nothing that is not deliberate.  I love that, although Mary has no facial features, she is clearly pondering.  And Joseph . . . is he looking upward in wonder . . . praise . . . thanks?

I love that the shepherds have not arrived yet – this is very early on that night.  There are certainly no wise men and no camels.

“Mom, are these the angelic host?”

“Yes they are, but they are us too . . . in the future.”

Wood timbers.  Here they are pieces of cedar holding an invisible roof.  The Lamb, already under a cross.