I feel kinship and pity for Mary who gave birth in a stable. I had an emergency birth with strangers to attend, in a place I didn’t choose, and the feelings I had were fear, frustration, disappointment, and embarrassment. The shepherds were ready to proclaim his birth, but Mary kept these things and pondered them in her heart. I think that is appropriate. In order for there to be tidings of great joy, Mary’s experience had to be difficult, and not easily explained. I read that the manger was likely carved from limestone, somewhat similar to an altar. Even in this lowly place, there was a type and shadow of sacrifice for the Savior’s bed. Luke’s record seems to have the details Mary would remember. The cold manger is one of those details, type and shadow, present even at birth.
Shadows of another kind also accompany Christmas. All light will produce it. In contrast to my feelings of cheer, there is also shadow. My solution when I feel it is to hang more lights and decorations. We have four Christmas trees this year.
The full nature of the Savior’s ministry was to conquer every difficulty, and in this is our hope: he is a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. The pivotal truth of Christmas is that Jesus came, experienced, and overcame all. He was real. Jesus wept.
I have wept as I comforted a friend this month, and felt more Christmas spirit in that act than any other thing I have done to keep Christmas. I welcome this shadow, because somewhere in that shared cry was also joy.
Daniel’s light still shines for us, and is a source of joy, but his absence is still shadow. This year, Christmas brings into focus a stone manger as an altar, and feelings about my own son far from home. It is a joyful Christmas, but like a drawing, there is neither definition nor depth without shadow.