Back when I lived in Singapore, I fancied myself as sort of a writer. Snort. Unfortunately, all the writing I did was on 3.5" floppy disks which are now dead. Fortunately, some of that writing found immortality as articles in our church newsletter (paper, not digital). Unfortunately, some of those articles make me cringe to read them now. Fortunately, there weren't many that were published in the first place. This one suddenly came to mind yesterday as I was thinking about the advent season and I thought it would be fun to share it here.
And you can decide whether that's a fortunate or unfortunate thing. Enjoy (hopefully) and have a wonderful Advent!
My name is James Tan. I live in Singapore, although my heart really belongs in Silicon Valley. I worked for IntelDyne or, rather, IntelDyne worked for me. I left the company early this year because I felt.... odd, somehow, not knowing exactly what my future held. I knew God and I daresay I knew him personally but he had been awfully quiet the last five years of my life. I am all for faith and waiting but I would have appreciated at least a memo or an email from the Holy Head Office.
Which is why I was really thrown off-guard when I woke up one night surrounded by sheep.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was peculiar, like a dog or some other animal had lived there for a time. The light around me was also odd - of an inconsistent intensity, yellow and dim, like candlelight. I looked around me and made out that I was lying on a hard, dry floor, quite cold and quite dusty. Surrounding me were bits of dried plants. I saw shadows on the walls of the room, restless with the flickering light - of such strange shapes because the shadows themselves were also moving. I stood, instinctively listening for some clue as to where I was and what was going on. The last thing I remembered was that I'd fallen asleep in my own bed to the scent of an aromatherapy candle and Oscar Peterson on my stereo.
Either this was a dream or my mind, thanks to too many hours at IntelDyne, had finally and truly snapped.
A noise to me left gave me my first sense of orientation. It seemed to be where the light came from so I moved closer to it. A large mound of dried grass hid the source of both the sound and light so I peered around it, curious and cautious.
An oddly familiar scene met my eyes. Two strangely dressed people sat on either side of a container on the floor, peering into it. Two donkeys, a small cow, a horse and some sheep milled about them, quiet but restless. A small fire burned to the side, giving off the dim yellow light I had seen.
It hit me then - somehow, I was in a stable with Mary and Joseph and I was ready to bet my brand new BMW convertible that the container between them held a small and important newborn infant.
"He isn't there, you know." A voice said in my ear and I almost screamed aloud.
I turned in reflex. Behind me stood a man - nondescript in appearance, dressed in regular clothes.
"Who are you?" I blurted out in a hoarse whisper, almost as if the situation naturally warranted low-decibel conversation.
"Someone you know quite well." He replied, matter-of-factly, and changed the subject. "He isn't there." He repeated, nodding in the direction of the people in fancy dress.
"Who?" I asked, not enjoying this cryptic conversation between two strangers.
"The one you seek."
"What 'one I seek'? I'm not seeking anyone. I woke up and I wasn't in my own bed. You seem to know what's going on, so... what's going on? Where am I, really? And who are those people? Is this some kind of pantomime?"
The man found a pile of small logs against a wall and sat on them. "You are seeking the Christ." He intoned, ignoring my questions, his gaze fixed on my face.
"Excuse me? I'm a Christian! Erm, well, I mean I'm saved. I'm a believer. Whatever. Anyway, I'm familiar with the Four Spiritual Laws. I don't have to seek the Christ- I think I've already found him."
Did this man even know about the Four Spiritual Laws? He seemed to be from an era when titles and names did not matter.
"You're still seeking him. But he isn't there anymore, James. He is risen."
This was too confusing to even begin to wrap my mind around. How did this stranger know my name? I shook my head and sat on the floor, facing him. "I need some sort of explanation for all this. Is this a dream? Have I gone back in time? I don't believe in that kind of stuff. Are those people real?" I gestured to the folks by the fire.
"Sheep don't really live in stables, by the way." He returned, deadpan. Again, my questions were brushed aside.
I turned to look at the animals by the fire and considered how I'd always thought they were part of the Nativity scene. Almost as if he had read my mind, the stranger obliged, "That's they only reason that there are sheep around this fire."
Slowly, it began to dawn on me.
"Sir, " I said, not knowing how else to address him. "That whole scene - the animals, Mary and Joseph, Baby Jesus - that's my imagination?"
"That's what you want to see every Christmas. It's what you seek. It's all you seek. And so that is all you ever find. It worked when you were younger, you know. But you're older now - and the truth is the Lord stopped being a baby years ago. It's time you grew up as well, and see him as he is."
My microprocessor brain was working at top speed, trying to grasp this, trying to make an argument, trying to gain a bit of control. "If this... is what I want to see, why isn't Baby Jesus in.. the trough, then?" I said slowly, speaking each word as my mind churned out the idea.
"I didn't say he wasn't. Go and see, if you must."
I stared at the stranger, suddenly conscious that I had not earlier considered actually joining the fancy-dress couple and the animals. If the smells were tangible enough, were they even capable of conversation? What could they tell me? What would I say to them?"
I snuck out from behind my mound of dried grass (hay, my mind gave it a name) and approached the small family and their animal hosts.
"Hello... er.... greetings..... hail... um," I began, but they gave no indication that I was even there. I knelt beside the feeding trough, my eyes on the couple's faces. They were young, a little scared, mostly tired and drawn, just as I'd always pictured them. They acted as if I wasn't there, mostly talking between themselves, repositioning themselves on the hay that was their bedding.
I looked in the trough. There he was, a regular baby too newborn to look decidedly male, wrapped in white stuff, asleep.
"This is the King of Kings, the Christ." I said in wonder, and looked at Mary to see if she had heard me. She hadn't.
"Nostalgia and tradition, James, are two of the walls that keep the church from becoming a Bride." The stranger was suddenly beside me. "The Lord has grown up - he doesn't need playmates. He doesn't need lowing cattle. He is ready for his bride. So... this is your King of Kings, your Christ. What gifts have you brought him?"
My iPhone*, I thought, suppressing a sudden grin. And my BMW and my fasttrack.com business - the most precious things I own. With those, the King of Kings could reach the world. But what would a baby do with the things I could give?
"What does he want?" I finally asked the stranger beside me.
"Your imagination." Came his answer.
"Why?" I shot back. "Not even my talents, my time, my resources, my heart, my soul?"
"You gave him those back in 1986. However, you never gave him your imagination. You always saw him the way you wanted to see him. He wants you to see him as he really is. Then you will find what you seek over and over again every Christmas. Why do you call him "The Christ", James? His name is Jesus. Why do you suppose that you could smell the animals and yet Mary and Joseph did not recognize you being here? James, you don't really participate with his bride, do you? You organize stuff and run things and spearhead great movements, but Jesus is still only your Christ. His bride is still just your church."
It felt like a slap. I stared at the stranger, with his emotionless face, and felt a deep chill course through my insides. He was right - after each year of serving on committees and revival meetings, running house groups and social welfare activities, supporting the latest Good Cause, Christmas always found me seeking something - a new vision, a new theme, a closure. Not that embracing new things was bad in itself, but I'd always felt so restless doing it, so desperate for something deeper, something more.
"Your prayer has been answered." The stranger said, with the first hint of smile.
Would this impossibly random commentary never end? I sighed. "What prayer?"
"Last night, you asked God why you felt - and I quote: "So weird, so displaced" at Christmas."
"Are you an angel?" I breathed, as the thought occurred to me. Suddenly, I understood what Mary must have felt in the presence of Gabriel.
The stranger all but guffawed.
"You really need to give him your imagination, James."
The flickering light from the fire was growing brighter and more steady behind him, so that his features were indistinct in the silhouette he had become.
"I am your conscience."
Impossible. How did he know so much?
"You'd be surprised at how much God works through your conscience, James. In fact, you'd be surprised at how much you don't yet know about the God you so fervently serve..."
And so I believe I was an eyewitness to his majesty that night, whatever that night was. I still don't know what to make of it, except that God works in funny ways. I have since learnt that sheep live in pens in large numbers, that Mary and Joseph probably didn't spend the entire night kneeling before the feeding trough, that angels are sometimes the human folk I meet every day and that the holy infant, so tender and mild, is, indeed, all grown up.
Also (and this is taking some time), I am learning to call him Jesus.
Notes:
- The lovely Willow Tree Nativity Scene is a gift from Karen and Arne. Thank you! It came with two grey sheep.
- *12(ish) years ago when I wrote this, the handheld device du jour was the palm pilot.
