I was walking through our Boise Town Mall the other day and thought of an old Doonesbury cartoon: Michael J. is ensconced in his easy chair watching TV. After loud shouts and the sounds of gun fighting the announcer says, "This concludes our regular broadcast day. Stay tuned for film clips of the Marines, a story from the life of Jesus and our National Anthem." Doonesbury jumps to his feet and joins in the singing of the Anthem.

There you have it--the good, old American way: equal time for everything. Nothing is special any more, not even Jesus, whom, if we acknowledge at all, we place in a cluster of traditions.

Especially at Christmas. We keep the Christ-child around to grace our mangers, but he's merely one symbol among many: Rudolph, Scrooge, St. Nicholas and his elves, toy soldiers, little drummer boys, shepherds, angels, Christmas trees, Yule logs and Jesus all vie for our attention; everything alongside everything else. There's nothing special about the Son of God any more. He's just part of the Yuletide clutter.

Melissa knows better. She's one our grand-munchkins whom Carolyn and I took to the Festival of the Trees--an event Boise in which businesses and organizations decorate Christmas trees, vying with one another in various categories. It's a spectacular display.

We were enchanted by the splendor of the room as we moved from one tree to the next, pointing and exclaiming. But Melissa soon lost interest, surfeited by grandeur--until she came to a simple manger scene and there she paused transfixed.

Nothing else mattered--not the magnificently decorated trees, not Santa Claus who was nearby and beckoning and not even the incredible talking tree. She was captivated by The Child.

We did our best to urge her on--we were there to see the trees--but she lingered behind, pressing closer to the baby despite the ribbon stretched around the cradle, keeping her away.

Finally, she agreed to leave, though reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder to get another glimpse of the crèche through the trees. And as we were leaving the building she ask once more if she could "see the baby." We returned to the manger and waited while she gazed long and longing at The Child.

As Melissa adored Him, I marveled at her simplicity. Unlike her, I often fail to see Jesus for the trees.

"There are some things worth being a child to get hold of again," George MacDonald said. "Make me a child again," I prayed, "at least for tonight."

David Roper
12/2/97