Christmas decorations can be a subjective thing. During the Nativity Fast, one is drawn inward, and the gates of perception are opened. I frequently find myself walking the fields and woods of the farm, in quiet anticipation of the birth of our Savior. And as I do, I see the decorations that God has seen fit to bestow upon us. A bare sycamore tree, stark against a brooding sky, fir trees swathed in immaculate blankets of white, like bishops in a Paschal procession, the twinkling white light of the stars in the heavens above. Going into the barn, I am struck by the wonderful combination of the smells of good, sweet hay, manure, and the breath of the animals, steaming in the dark. The sense of smell is often the most evocative of the senses, and I am reminded of that cave in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago. As I am greeted by the sheep, lined up with wagging tails, waiting for a head rub, and maybe, a little treat of grain, I am reminded of when that Babe, born in that stable, was greeted at the gates of Jerusalem as the Messiah, only to be despised by the very people who greeted Him. The donkey, standing there, quietly watching over his dominion in the barn still bears the cross on his back, as a reminder of Mary's ride into Bethlehem carrying the Christ child within Her womb. The billy goat, being mischievous at the periphery, reminds me of St Joseph being tempted by Satan. The falling snow, caught in the glow of the floodlight, like so many brilliant points of light, remind me of the angels who serenaded the shepherds in the surrounding hills.
Yes, one may say that I keep my Christmas decorations up all year, but I rarely see them until the Nativity Fast.
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