.............Ann Janzen

Snow had fallen during the night, a few inches of Oregon high desert snow that crunched with sound and feel under my boots. There, in the snow, I saw a trail of small footprints. Two or three children had turned onto the road from the path to the artesian well and walked toward Babe’s store. The footprints stopped in front of the manger scene in the vacant lot by the store. The lighted plastic figures of Joseph and Mary and the baby, donated by Carol, had withstood the December weather well. Through the Christmas season I had noticed that the snow in front of the manger scene was always scuffed and disturbed by boots of all sizes.

Now, Christmas was over. Epiphany had come; it was time to think of taking down and storing the figures for another year. Bob and Kenny, who had built the stable and manger, had taken responsibility for disassembling and storing them. The psychedelic star over the stable would be put on the storage shelf at the church. The star had surprised several drivers and almost caused a wreck. One of the church members had suggested that next year we should put a sign at the top of the hill: "Danger! Startling Star ahead!"

This year, Christmas had been a time of inviting the community into the small United
Methodist Church in Beatty. Drawing on their memories, the congregation had planned well and issued invitations, both verbal and written, to all. The community had come! As I stood in front of the manger scene on Epiphany, I remembered how on Christmas Eve we had sat and eaten, crowded shoulder to shoulder in the rough-floored social hall, as we reestablished the custom of a shared potluck feast. Harry had built a strong fire in the huge old wood stove, and pots simmered on it. After we had eaten, parents and grandparents of the children had been invited into the sanctuary to visit while other adults from the community had helped the children make a gift for their mothers and fathers or grandparents. As the children had finished their gifts, they had made paper chains and strung popcorn to decorate the church. Native and non-Native generations mixing in this rural church had been a natural development, and we hoped had set a pattern.

During the worship service, we had sung Christmas carols and heard special numbers sung by our eight-person community choir who were making their first appearance. Proudly, but a bit abashed, they had stood and sung in choir robes loaned by First Church in Klamath Falls. The pastor had brought us a message brief and simple; and as Luke’s story of the incarnation was read, many lips were moving, people whispering the story with him. The presence of Santa Claus was required because that was part of the tradition. Sleigh bells had jingled, and we had sung "Here Comes Santa Claus." Here he was, in a red suit with baby powder in his beard and a pack full of candy for everyone and small gifts for the children.

As we gathered to wish each other "Merry Christmas," the groups that made up our community had hugged, pounded shoulders, and mixed that night: Native people who had grown up on a reservation, only to see it terminated, ranchers and retirees who had bought up land to live the simple life, leftover flower children who perched on the side of the mountain and had come down to celebrate. We all knew what "Emmanuel" meant that night in Beatty, Oregon. Now, we knew, it was time to go on and live out together an Epiphany that would share God’s love with those like us and those unlike us.

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