Showing posts with label baby Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby Jesus. Show all posts

Thursday, December 12, 2013

La Posada

Today is my day. My chapter of A Ruby Christmas is out on the publisher's page. (See the bottom of this post for the link.) Ruby is traveling around the world, so of course, I sent her to my favorite country - Guatemala! In honor of her trip, I've asked my father, John Shackelford, if I could post a story he wrote about a posada we all saw while we lived there. Enjoy it.

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We had spent the day shopping in the capital city, and didn't start that long drive home until late in the afternoon. As we descended from the high peaks of the cordillera about 9:00 P.M. we came into Totonicapán, a Mayan Village with cobblestone streets. It was nice to get away from the dusty dirt road for a little while, even though the stones were quite rough, but it meant we were getting closer to home. The kids were asleep in the back seat, but suddenly they were awakened by a large procession marching along the main street filled with people. The people were all dressed in their Mayan costumes and marching along very slowly carrying a statue of Mary and Joseph on their shoulders. Even with the windows closed against the cold mountain night air, we could hear their native drums made from hollow tree trunks and sheep skins. One man played his homemade bamboo flute. They chanted weird tunes developed over the centuries by their Mayan culture. A strange hollow sound, which is characteristic of the posada, was the clicking sound from the striking of a turtle shell.

Of course they didn't move over for a lonely car, for this was a very important occasion, so we just followed along. The posada consists of villagers carrying a statue of Joseph and Mary on their shoulders and chanting that they are looking for a place for the baby Jesus to be born. This religious custom is taken from the story of Jesus being born in a manger.

 And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that while they were there the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:4-7 (KJV, italics added)

This is the setting for the posadas. The men carried a platform with the life size statues of the sacred couple, and called out at every home, "Does anyone have room for Joseph and Mary, a place where they can spend the night, where the baby Jesus can be born?" They stopped at several houses and asked, "Is there room for the baby Jesus here?" No one seemed to have a place for Him. After about 15 minutes, they arrived at a pre-selected home and the owners ran out and invited Joseph and Mary to come in. They had room in their home! Room for the parents of Jesus and a place for Jesus to be born. They invited those carrying the statues, as well as the whole crowd, into their home. We probably would have been welcome too, but didn't ask because we wanted to get home.

But that is when the whole event lost its sacred significance. The statues were placed in a dark corner with one lighted candle, no longer important and completely ignored. The table was set with tamales wrapped in banana leaves, which is a great delicacy and eaten with bread and coffee and replaces the regular menu of tortillas and black beans. Lots of festivities followed with heavy drinking and partying. The poor holy couple and their son Jesus were inconvenient and pushed off into a dark corner. It didn't take long for our children to comment that it didn't seem to them that there was any room for Jesus at that Posada.

Now the road had cleared and we were on our way. As we drove home, the chorus that we used to sing in Christian Endeavor came to our minds, and we sang it together as we drove off into the lonely night, "Into my heart, into my heart, come into my heart, Lord Jesus. Come in today, come in to stay, come into my heart, Lord Jesus."

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You can read about Ruby's trip to Guatemala here.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Babies at Christmas



When Zoey was two, her favorite of my Christmas ornaments was a large snow globe with the nativity scene inside it. It stood on a musical stand where camels rested after their long trip. The music box played “We Three Kings” and the camels rotated slowly underneath the globe. I placed it in the middle of the table where Zoey’s little hands couldn’t reach it, so she sat in a chair that brought her eyes up level with the camels and watched and listened. As soon as the music ran down she would laugh and say “again.” And again. And again. I thought there would never be anyone as precious as two year old Zoey.

Of course, three year old Zoey was just as precious – and she still is.

There’s something really special about having a baby around at Christmas. We often think that Christmas is for the children – the lights and music and presents and cookies . . . Or that all those things bring out the child in each of us. But Christmas is about a child too young to appreciate those things.

If you’re blessed, you’ve had an infant in your arms on Christmas. For me, it was a two month old niece. I felt her tiny body snuggle up to me, smelled her baby smell and saw her little mouth pucker. For a brief moment, I could picture my Creator like this. Really.

Okay. I couldn’t.

But God uses real life situations as metaphors to make His message clear. Holding a baby at Christmas was one for me. It was overwhelming to hold a tiny, helpless baby and consider that the Sovereign God gave up His glories in Heaven and was born like this baby into a helpless world.

I can’t grasp the enormity of it, but I am humbled by it. And just a little bit afraid.

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Today Ruby goes to South Africa, where I had the privilege of holding a different niece, although it was closer to Easter than it was to Christmas. You can read her adventure in chapter eight here.

Meet the author, Debbie Roome.