Nativity of the Rustway
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. – Isaiah 9:6
The Rustway Nativity
The scene unfolds as chaos. The White House itself is a scene of disheveled destruction. Beyond the destruction barriers, people sleep in their cars and tents for want of housing and work. A rusted White House sign hangs in stale air, an emblem that “The Beltway” has crumbled into “The Rustway.” Then, into the despair, appears the Nativity in a shelter made of rusted corrugated steel panels. There, the baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are surrounded by a most unlikely host welcoming the birth of the Messiah.
By the manger, an ICE officer lowers his weapon and pauses his mission. At the manger, he is surprised that no one hurls insults or spits profanity at him. The baby’s eyes meet the young soldier, who had enlisted in ICE to pay his crushing student loans. The infant then smiles at the one who would have arrested the Holy Family, considering they lacked papers. The infant’s smile was one of infinite, pure love. This was the first time in months the ICE soldier felt loved.
Next to the ICE soldier kneels a farmer who is fighting for the very existence of a 1,000-acre farm that his family has owned for four generations. Drowning in the sea of negative spreadsheets, he feels a peace from the one who fed the multitude and who taught of farmers and how they teach us of God.
Behind the farmer stands a migrant worker. Undocumented, he chooses to stand in the background, unnoticed and uncounted. Then he realizes that he was the only one standing directly in line with Mary and Joseph. Joseph raises his head, gives a nod to the migrant that conveys, “I know your anguish and fear of wondering if your family is safe tonight. Know that God is with you and yours tonight.”
On the right stands a construction worker who works 12 hours a day and has aged 10 years over the last five. He has no savings, no retirement plan, and no health insurance. As he looks up from the baby Jesus, he sees Mary smiling at him with a look of recognition that conveys, “Joseph was a carpenter. He will teach my son to work with his hands. God will use you to construct the Kingdom of God in hearts.” In an instant, the man thought of his wife and young son, who live three states away and whom he had not seen in as many months as he traveled with the job. He made a vow to the Child that he would drive home to his family as a surprise Christmas gift and to attend Christmas Eve service.
Then, kneeling at the front, is a man who has knelt for no one. He is the politician, who prides himself on settling scores and building his kingdom of wealth. The politician didn’t kneel to worship the Christ Child, but rather to give the Child the optics to see his importance. He looks at Mary and Joseph, but their eyes remain fixed on the infant. He moves his head to capture the attention of the babe who smiled at the anonymous soldier and dirty migrant but will not smile at him. “I’ll have my aides draft a complaint to the Vatican. Who does this baby think he is?”
Then, before the politician can execute his vengeful scheme, the ethereal skies tear open as the angelic host descends. The vision of the King of Kings appears: the Lord of all governments, without equal. All construction stops. People of every nation join hands to worship the One who was born a child, that He might lift us together as His people. Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace!
In an instant, the Holy Family vanished into the mist of dancing snowflakes and a crash of rusted metal. Gone were the heavenly guests, and in their stead, the ICE soldier grabbed the arm of a young Latino woman who, with the other, was still holding a cooing, nursing infant to her breast. As he readied the zip cuffs, he saw tiny red trumpet flowers tattooed on the back of her hand bent for submission, proof enough to him that she must be a gang member.
But then the ICE soldier looked into the face of the babe, now looking at him and smiling with the same love shown to him by the Christ child in the manger. The soldier dropped to his knees, as his tears froze on his helmet and zip cuffs. He cried, “Lord, I have nothing but memories of pain. Take my life as a gift for the Child.” Not knowing how to pray, he asked, “Holy Mother, will you pray for me?” The mother and child scurried off with tears of astonished belief as the ICE soldier left his helmet and cuffs still frozen on the sidewalk, never to walk that path again.
He traded the zip cuffs and pepper spray for a white lab coat and more medical school debt to serve as a missionary in Bogotá. From that icy sidewalk forward, he never took another person captive again. The young man didn’t know that a century later, the Pope would beatify him as “El Santo Rojo de Bogotá,” The Red Saint of Bogota, for his flaming red hair and his discovering the cure for La Muerte Roja measles plague that sprang from the filthy conditions of the immigration camps and killed millions in the Americas.
While researching exotic plants for a cure in the Colombian rainforest, tiny crimson trumpet flowers captured his eye on a mountain footpath. His mind flashed to the red trumpet tattoos on the back of the mother’s hand he once gripped in fury. He saw an image and heard a voice in his mind. It was the young mother with her babe who said, “Take my gift, which is for you!” as she held out the crimson trumpet flowers tattooed on her hand. Back in his lab, those flowers provided a cure from The Red Death that saved a multitude in the Americas.
In Peaceful Certainty!
JPB
