Who is God? Merry Maverick, Aficionado of the Abnormal, Instructor Amidst the Irrational

Mom was simply wrong. No, the three-foot-tall BECO plastic mold outdoor “Hymnal Singers” made in the 1960s, covered in crumbling duct tape, were not awesome. Besides, 14-year-old me had a genuine concern that the ancient brown cords connected to rudimentary light bulb sockets might burst into flames. Still, every December my mom insisted on, much to my embarrassment, dragging those “vintage” plastic carolers front-porch-center-stage.

Our “festive” living room offered no improvement from the outdoors. Mom gave nary a whit about focal points, spatial planning, or color schemes. Year after year, I pulled our artificial tree out of storage, knocked off all mud dauber nests, and set it up for Mom to swamp the plastic pine with every ugly bauble imaginable. Handmade ornaments from my days in kindergarten through 5th grade held prominent spots. Various branches held dreadful winged cherubs knitted by my grandmother and her yarn-loving friends. A myriad of unsightly handmade or hand-me-down knick-knacks sat on tabletops, shelves, and on top of Dad’s baby grand piano. Sure, at 6-years-old I thought they were “neat,” but also at that age I remember asking Dad during our local Christmas parade why horses festooned in green tinsel and red bows trotted down Broadway after the final float bearing Mr. and Mrs. Clause. Dad chuckled at my confusion and assured me, “The horses always come last.”

Older and wiser, I now understood the intelligence of placing a herd of watered and well-fed horses at the tail end of a parade, yet Mom’s obsession with gaudy and mismatched Yuletide adornments seemed to me illogical and even absurd. When I visited friend’s houses, I gazed with jealous awe at their classy décor and Douglas firs covered in lights coordinated with store-bought frills and finery. Why couldn’t we have a “normal” tree?

An Illogical Promise

“Irrational” didn’t put a dent into what a petrified priest heard one afternoon in the 1st Century BC. Minding his own business and performing ritual duties (alone) in the holy temple with precision, an angel, without notice, appeared to the right of an incense altar. Gobsmacked and frozen in fear, Zechariah, the priest, listened as the messenger from God delivered quite a doozy of an announcement. Nothing made sense to Zechariah. The angel declared he (most likely in his 60s or older) and his childless wife (“beyond childbearing years,” Luke 1:18) would soon conceive a son who would do all sorts of amazing things, and, among the most pivotal, “prepare the people” for the coming Messiah! Zechariah, wide-eyed with disbelief at this bombshell of a promise, floundered in his faith. Did the God of Israel truly intend to again (remember Abraham and Sarah) defy basic laws of human reproduction?

“I’m old! Do you have any proof? My wife is also over the hill!” Zechariah retorted something similar to the angel (Luke 1:18).

Unimpressed with his “logic,” the angel supernaturally swiped Zechariah’s voice. At least nine or ten months later (and lots of practice with sign language), Zechariah uttered his first words since the celestial temple encounter when his wife Elizabeth gave birth to their miracle baby, John (later to hold the nickname, John the Baptist). While astounded family and friends congratulated a retirement-aged Elizabeth on motherhood, God continued with all things confounding in this Savior-Sending Season.

Laws of Nature vs. Almighty Maker

It must have been a mistake, or worse. Silly didn’t cross his mind, but scandalous may have. Joseph gasped at the shocking revelation: his betrothed pregnant? God-honoring, gentle, and kind Mary? By whom? When? Why? Unlike today, an unwed and pregnant woman in ancient Israel created more than an uproarious stir among the masses. The enraged public gathered stones—a brutal death from hurled rocks most likely awaited a woman and her unborn child for such an offense.

Even though Mary’s pregnancy made absolutely no sense at all, the “honorable” Joseph (Matthew 1:19) determined to spare her from public shame and possible execution. Intending to break off the marriage agreement in secrecy, Joseph fell into a deep sleep one evening and had an intense dream. An angel announced to him God’s astonishing message: Yes, Mary is a virgin. By the power of Holy Spirit, she is pregnant with the Son of God. Don’t be afraid. Marry her anyway. (Luke 1:30-35)

I can only imagine how Joseph’s heart raced after waking from such a vivid, life-altering dream. God, the Ultimate Maverick, laughed at the laws of nature (He created them anyway) and brought forth the Savior of the World in a most unconventional, highly controversial way—with a smile, no doubt.

Purpose in the Puzzlement

God threw the entire world for a loop when His Son arrived, not in a grand palace, but in a smelly stable littered with soiled hay, donkey dust, and goat hair. Lowly shepherds, not leading sovereigns, first heard of the Messiah’s arrival. A virgin birth informed humanity that God has total, sovereign authority and fulfills His word. Isaiah prophesied 700 years before Jesus’ birth: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” The account of Jesus’ birth shows us exactly how unorthodox God’s actions can be, but at the center of those presumably crazy plans, the Almighty always carries incredible purpose.

Mom was right. Well, not stunning in appearance, but her timeworn, dilapidated "Hymnal Singers" outdoor figures held great importance to her, which I didn’t understand as a teenager. Having reached adulthood, I finally figured it out: the BECO plastic molds were once her mother's decorations, and reminded my mom of her own cherished childhood festivities.

In the last eight years of Mom's life, she battled Alzheimer's disease. During the final stages of the disease, every last remembrance, even her knowledge of who I was, vanished. I realized my pre-memory loss mother had surrounded herself with nostalgic, albeit unattractive pieces large and small, to draw her heart each holiday season, rightly so, to family and friends (living and in heaven), and fond memories. Her affinity for outdated Christmas décor, which I once considered annoying, now made perfect sense. Like her Creator, she found joy and significance in the offbeat and the abnormal.

I wish I’d kept at least one of those awful choir singers. When we moved Mom to live with us early in her dementia diagnosis, I carelessly dragged them to the garbage pile. Thankfully, I kept other unlovely but sentimental decorations Mom treasured, and, despite protests from my budding design specialist daughter, I’ll now display them at Christmastime.