There was the nativity play. The school had rigged up a larger platform temporarily for the Christmas season. There were Christmas flowers bordering the platform and pupils were waiting impatiently for the party to start. They would get candies, snacks and of course there would be the exchange of gifts. Each year, a few pupils were chosen to play the roles of Mary, Joseph, the Three Wise Men and some shepherds. Usually, more boys got chosen. And usually, someone beautiful would don the costume and become Mary, looking at a baby doll with as much love as possible, making believe that she’s the mother of the baby Jesus.
I never got chosen, not as Mary, not as a shepherd, not even as a sheep.
The manger scene was perfect. All the characters were wearing make-up. The Three Wise Men had beard painted on their face. Their moms had to rub really hard to get it off afterwards. It’s fun to see little children dressing like adults, or so thought the adults. Mary looked a bit bored, or she just had held that calm and motherly expression for too long; Joseph was uncomfortable to be so near to a female being, and this was supposedly his wife with their new-born son, who unlike other babies, remained quiet and immobile in his wooden-box-turned cot. Jesus was there, a plastic doll the size of a real baby, but all the attention was on what’s around him. We couldn’t get sight of him anyway because he’s buried too deep in his little bed. Mary’s blue eye-shadow was making her feel like a real grown-up, just like the last beauty queen she saw on TV; and Joseph’s black eye-shadow made him look like a school bully victim.
Things looked perfect from a distance. The birth of Jesus Christ our savior fixed in a small hall in a primary school in a town called Tuen Mun, which is part of HK but isn’t really the HK you imagine. Jesus was in our midst, surrounded by children who were trying their best to do their part. The spot light was on these little actors and actress. Maybe Jesus wouldn’t mind being neglected. Maybe he wouldn’t mind being a plastic blue-eyed baby doll.
I never got chosen. I still don’t. I just looked on. Did Jesus feel lonely as well? Were his parents sad because they were unable to provide him with a more decent, cleaner birth place?
Maybe Jesus also doesn’t got chosen that much. Does he mind? We are still looking at things surrounding his birth: the tall and glittering Christmas tree, both expensive and cheap presents wrapped in glitzy paper that get thrown away once Boxing Day arrives. Maybe Jesus doesn’t mind; maybe he does. But anyway, Emmanuel, God is with us, and wish us a merry Christmas.
To listen to the Christmas programme with the above story as part of it, pls click here.
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