A wooden stable is stained dark maple though some of the wood is bad giving the three sided structure a "realistic" look.
The manger, a simple V-shaped trough supported by four legs crossed into two X's, sits in front of the pointy roofed stable.
Some of the guys walk to the stockyard ten blocks away, fill two cardboard boxes with hay, drag it back to the Church and the smell of a barnyard is overwhelming.
"This stinks!" several say.
"Well," one of the culprits explains, "we brought back two kinds ... one box has clean hay and the other is ... used."
"What? Why in God's name would you bring shitty hay?"
"We didn't know how realistic you want the pageant to be," is the stoned faced reply.
The clean hay's spread throughout the stable while the not-so-clean straw's thrown into a dumpster.
One of the guys whips out a can of red spray paint, shakes it, aims at the back of the stable and writes, "R. C. was here."
"What in the Hell are you doing?" several demand, horrified their construction's being defaced.
"Well," R. C. calmly begins, "if Jesus were going to be born today in a modern-day stable in a run down part of town you can bet it'd be covered in graffiti."
No one can argue with the logic.
The finishing touch is a star made out of cardboard and covered with tin foil.
A shaky alcoholic climbs on the pulpit and another stand's on his shoulder to hang it from the ceiling and it's just to the left of the top of the stable.
Standing back, the guys throw their arms around each other admiring their work.
The following Sunday, they crowd together in the first couple of pews to watch the pageant, singing along to the carols, shutting their eyes during prayers and watching the modern day Nativity unfold before them.
It's unlike any Christmas pageant anyone's ever witnessed.
Instead of shepherds, wise men and little drummer boys huddle around a manger, the children are dressed as construction workers, business men and women wearing fine clothes, a politician and homeless people.
The birth of the Savior takes place in a rundown garage behind a city tavern.
Instead of gold, frankincense and myrrh, they offer the babe the watch of one of the businessmen, a pair of gold cuff-links and a warm coat one of the street people had picked up in a Salvation Army clothes closet.
Angels appear from the choir loft and a little black cherub exclaims, "Hey! Don't be scared! There's something going on here!"
"What up?" asks a 9 year old dressed as a homeless man warming himself beside a fire in a fifty-five gallon drum.
"Beats me," replies the lone white kid in the day who's dressed as an unemployed construction worker.
"I'm telling you," continues the Angel, "don't be scared of nothing! God's having a baby!"
The little politician strolls pass in a business suit several sizes too big for him, with pants legs rolled up so he can walk without tripping.
"What are you bums doing out here?" he asks smiling, proud he's remembered his lines. "Get a job!"
"Boss," says a little transient, "we just ain't got nowhere else to be."
At that moment, little Joseph shuffles down the aisle to the front of the Sanctuary, his sweet black face has cotton balls glued to it in a failed effort to provide a realistic beard.
"Got a room?" he asks.
"Shoot," answers a little bag lady, we ain't got no money for no rooms. Ask the owner," pointing a tiny arm in the wrong direction.
A small chubby kid pops up from behind the piano, "I AIN'T GOT NO ROOMS! WE FULL!"
"But my wife's having a baby," cotton faced Joseph explains. "C'mere Mary and show the man your big ol' belly!"
From the back his make believe wife is dressed in an adult choir robe dragging along behind her, slowly walks towards the front of the room.
Laughter erupts, filling the Sanctuary as everyone sees there are four feet, instead of two, slowly carrying Mary.
"A BABY?" the chubby Innkeeper asks. "Man what you bringing a pregnant woman to a place like this for?"
"The MAN says I have to," little cotton mouth Joseph explains pointing to the tiny politician.
The chubby kids sighs loudly. "Alright then. I got this garage you can stay in I guess, but I ain't responsible for anything that happens."
Taking a few steps closer to the makeshift manger, little Mary and Joseph are quiet as they wait for what's to come.
The Angels suddenly reappear from the choir loft and the lone white girl yells, "IT'S TIME!"
On cue, Mary opens her robe exposing a four-year-old boy who jumps into the manger, feet and arms dangling over the sides.
"For to you is born a baby," the Angel continues, "God's baby! His name is Jesus. Call him that."
Shy, having just given birth, Mary looks away, covering her mouth with her hands.
Cotton mouth Joseph stares at the off centered star hanging from the ceiling.
The little homeless men, construction workers and bag ladies cheer.
The tiny politician boos.
"It's curtains for you," Mary says smiling at him and the little business men, "My baby's in charge now!"
"We're outta here!" they exclaim and flee.
The Angels, street people and construction workers circle the long arms and legs of four-year-old Jesus laying in the manger.
One lays a coat beside him.
Another lays the watch on the coat explaining to Mary, "I stole it."
The cuff links are tossed on top.
Everyone burst into "Joy to the world" and the congregation joins in joyfully.
When it's over, Jesus jumps from his crib smiling, asking, "Can we see Santa Claus now?"
Making their way to social hall for punch and cookies, most make their way outside for cigarettes and quick shots from flasks or plastic bottles though the homeless men in the front rows hang around.
"Sure is a good Christmas," one softly says.
"Yeah," several agree.
"It's different this year," another adds. "I wonder why."
"I know what you mean," a couple add.
The word became flesh that day in the Sanctuary almost thirty-five years ago just like it did in Bethlehem in centuries past.
"The word became flesh dwelling among us," the Gospel proclaims. "We see it's glory, the one and only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14).
Sometimes you see grace and truth as you live though you may not always comprehend it happening in front of your very eyes.
Hell most of the time we wouldn't notice grace and truth if a truck load hit us full speed as we walk down the street ... into the Bar ... the grocery store ... a Church ... or home.
We've lost the art of graceful living and tell far too many lies to not confuse the truth when we see it.
Ah, but sometimes, in spite of our thoughtlessness and fallacies we construct to convince ourselves we're good, there are moments, when the awkward, imperfections of the truth fill us with the elegance of life as it is, without pretense or selfishness.
These are the Holy moments, full of grace and truth, and for a moment anyway, we see the glory ... we feel the glory ... we become part of the glory ... and words become flesh ... God becomes one of us ... and it's Christmas all over again.
And that's what it's really all about Charlie Brown!
It is what it is everyone!
Merry Christmas!
I pray you don't miss it.
