Back Room Living

I dusted Jesus off today and set Him in His proper place

Influenced by a post-Christmas sermon last January, I didn’t return the holy infant to the attic along with the rest of the nativity, but kept Him out as a visual reminder that Jesus should be the center of my life each day—not just during special occasions. Nice thought, but here’s the problem—Jesus spent the year in the front room.

When you enter our home, you step into the front room, and though the floor plan is quite open, one well-placed partial wall blocks your view to the rest of the house. As a result, our family strives to maintain some semblance of order in the front room in hopes that a guest’s first impression will be the one that lasts, for when you step beyond the wall, you step into real life. The dishes in the kitchen aren’t always done, the dining table is quite possibly graced with a bag of groceries or yesterday’s mail, and the floor of the family room is most likely littered with an algebra book, a stray article of clothing, or someone’s flip flops—all because life mostly happens in the back rooms.

In those rooms, the pressing problems of the world—and the sixth grade—are puzzled and pondered, family Wii tournaments are hotly contested, and the compound interest my daughters learn about in math class becomes reality on the mortgage check. In those rooms, we double over with laughter, lament in sadness, and deal with bad moods. In those rooms, we enjoy lengthy family dinners, leftover lunches, and grab-as-you-go breakfasts. In those rooms, we interact and react, hug, pray, dance, fuss, and cry, and do what families do best—be together. And all the while, Jesus lives in the front room.

It didn’t seem right last January to place Him in the back rooms. He looked too fragile and too vulnerable to spend His days in the midst of the family fray. He might have been knocked around, knocked off, or nicked up. I considered it, but I really couldn’t find Him a good spot. He would have been in the way on the kitchen counter, in grave danger on the coffee table, and too high up on the entertainment center. He would have been lost between the peas and the potatoes on the dining table and completely covered in papers on the desk. But in the front room, Jesus was safe from the daily melee. His serene expression matched the calm order of those few square feet, and on the middle bookcase shelf He would certainly be noticed by any visitor. Besides which, He really blended with the front room color scheme much better than the back. So that’s where He was set.

It worked well. He couldn’t see the times I was irritated when I should have been patient or the times I was unengaged when I should have been involved. Hopefully He was far enough away that He didn’t hear my unhelpful words or my unholy tones. And since out of sight means out of mind, His face often held little place in my priorities and plans. I guess you could say Jesus was present but not a part.

That’s why I moved Him today. It’s Christmas, and as I arrange my nativity and ponder again the stunning truth that God stepped into my world, I am drawn by the grace of His Spirit to bow at the manger, to gape at the cross, and to rush toward the empty tomb.

Jesus didn’t come to be present but not a part; He came to give us life and to be our life, in all of life—even the back rooms.