Poets at the Christmas pageant speak their peace

National Catholic Reporter, Dec 24, 2004 by Paige Byrne Shortal

It was the night of the school Christmas pageant when we lived in a St. Louis neighborhood. The evening began like a television sitcom. We sat down to supper and Philip, who was 10, announced that he had to have a REALLY NICE present for his Kris Kringle by TOMORROW and it had to cost EXACTLY FIVE DOLLARS! As we lit the last three candles on the Advent wreath (the first one already too far gone), I mentally went through the small store of presents in the upstairs closet, trying to remember if I had anything suitable for a little girl, costing exactly five dollars. I said a small prayer of thanks for Plowsharing Crafts where I had purchased a few gifts with no designated recipient: a parrot pin and a Guatemalan friendship bracelet would do the trick.

At supper we talked about costumes. The youngest, Nate, was to play a "townsperson" and was supposed to wear his father's bathrobe. I asked if he was certain he wasn't a shepherd, thinking that only shepherds wore bathrobes in school Christmas pageants. He sighed and, in that patient tone reserved for parents and idiots, explained, "In olden times everyone wore bathrobes all the time." Philip was planning to wear a long, black robe from Halloween, saying that he was a "desert dude."

Costumes on, teeth brushed, a dozen cookies hastily gathered onto a paper plate for the reception afterward, we piled out the door.

It was a crisp, clear night with half a moon out and I suggested we walk the few blocks to the school. Philip looked worried. I hastily assured him that we would be there in plenty of time for me to help tie headpieces for all the desert dudes. He still looked troubled, glancing up and down the street, and asked, "But are you sure you can defend yourself?." He was concerned for my safety on a short walk in our neighborhood.

I thought of the Holy Innocents: children who are victims of violence because someone has failed to find the Christ Child. And the victims aren't just those who are killed, though they hold a special place in our prayers. All children are victims of a violent society. Their open, trusting natures have to be bent in order to protect them: "Don't talk to strangers." "Don't walk home from school by yourself." "Never answer the door when you're home alone." "Never tell a caller that your parents aren't home. Say instead, 'They can't come to the phone right now.'"

When Philip was 5, his godmother, my oldest friend, was shot one night as she came home from work. She recuperated at our house and Philip fantasized about what he would do to the man who shot her if he had the chance. When Philip was 9 and Nate was 7, there was a murder on their school playground. The maintenance man challenged a teenager who was defacing a sign advertising that evening's fish fry. The teenager shot him. Six months later my boys began waking in the night with bad dreams and talking about their fear of death.

The year of the school pageant, Philip's fifth-grade class studied flags and the special meaning of their colors and symbols. The children were assigned to make their own flags and write a paragraph explaining what they meant. After Home and School Night and the parents had all gone home, I secretly collected these projects and filed them away until last week when I was cleaning out an old desk drawer.

Young Peter wrote, "My flag has blue on it to represent the peace and quiet we need at night. The red and the two swords represent all the violence going on." And from Holly: "My flag is about my hope for St. Louis: that there is more peace. People should be more loving. The pink stands for loving. The green stands for peace." And from Fritz: "On my flag the yellow sun and the black shadows stand for light fighting away all of the darkness from the world."

What poets little children are! The Christmas pageant was exactly as it should be, as it always has been: the gym filled with hard, metal folding chairs; sleepy parents filing in after a day of work and a hasty meal; a nervous music teacher giving orders. "Parents, we really canNOT begin until the aisles are CLEAR!" Children in their fathers' bathrobes were transformed into "townspersons" and "desert dudes." And, of course, there were the nervous shepherds, giggling angels, and the usual principals: the Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph, played by eighth-graders trying to look cool and unimpressed.

The audience of proud parents and relatives never seem to get bored with this ritual. We watched breathlessly as Mary, wearing several earrings and Birkenstocks, held Baby Jesus, played by a REAL LIVE BABY: little Benjamin Thomas, born just in time to make his stage debut.

"The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it." The light shines from school gyms and church basements and sanctuaries where the story is told and retold. It glows on the faces of the innocents as they make Christmas wishes for their world. From Andy: "My flag is about my hope for the world: that all the violence will stop. The red symbolizes blood and the blue is for stopping the violence. The yellow, purple, and green are strands of hope."