Suburbanites care for Nativity scenes with passion

In the year 1223, St. Francis of Assisi was looking to spice up his Christmas Eve church service in the small town of Greccio, Italy. Moving his altar into a rocky niche in the mountainside, the deacon got some hay, a donkey, an ox, a local man and woman in costume and a wax statue of baby Jesus. St. Francis gave us the world's first Christmas Nativity scene.

Since then, the Nativity scene has become a Christmas tradition that has inspired beauty and silliness, holiness and vandalism, joy and anger, private moments and public displays and plenty of American-made lawsuits.

On Saturday, a Nativity scene erected by “The God Squad” volunteers went up in Chicago's Daley Center Plaza. The display moved from the lobby of city hall in 1985 and became embroiled in a lawsuit before finding a home in the plaza. A similar Nativity scene goes on display today in the rotunda of our state capitol building in Springfield.

“What a privilege to be a custodian of the Chicago Nativity scene. I literally do thank the Lord on that one,” says Jim Finnegan, 77, a former Arlington Heights resident who lives in North Barrington and serves as co-chairman of the Nativity Scene Committee. Finnegan paid $5,000 in the 1990s to buy half of the nearly life-size, hand-painted, Italian plaster Nativity scene with Terry Hodges, a retired police officer and fellow co-chairman, who lives in the South suburbs.

Christmas can be a contentious thing. People fight about whether our public decorated “holiday” trees are really “Christmas” trees, or whether that store clerk selling the latest gadget should say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays,” or how Santa and capitalism shouldn't be linked to Jesus and his message to help the poor.

In Springfield, Arlene Sawicki, a South Barrington activist fighting against abortion and gay rights, will help dedicate the Nativity scene, which has shared the rotunda in recent years with a response from atheists and the Festivus display from TV's “Seinfeld.”

Finnegan, who says the rosary each morning before his 82 push-ups and time on the exercise bike, doesn't shy away from controversy and conflict in his roles as a leader in anti-abortion groups and the movement to deny marriage rights to homosexuals. But he says the Nativity scenes aren't out to stir up political or religious trouble.

“It's about free speech,” Finnegan says, adding that he likes to see Jewish, Muslim and other religious symbols share the plaza, which is open to any one who goes through the proper channels. “The Constitution is our permit.”

He says the Nativity scene isn't meant as some in-your-face statement about Christianity.

“It's about the love that comes out of this thing,” Finnegan says, telling of a woman from Australia who thanked him with tears in her eyes. “It's a beautiful thing.”

Christmas carols, the religious kind, were played as children posed for photos.

“There must have been eight or nine little tykes we lifted up and put into the scene with baby Jesus,” Finnegan says.

He's not naive enough to think everyone who stumbles upon the Nativity scene will be overcome with love. Pranksters and protesters have swiped baby Jesus in the past, leading to additional media coverage of the statue's safe return. Now an unseen cable keeps the baby in swaddling clothes from being taken away from the manger.

In addition to enjoying his freedom of expression in public, Finnegan says his private home contains three Nativity scenes — one in the living room, one in his basement “man cave,” and a yard display that was given to him by a woman who shares his religious views.

St. Francis might not have anticipated the industry that grew out of his 13th-century idea, but shoppers today can find Nativity scenes made out of everything from butter to bottle caps to marshmallows, and featuring characters from snowmen to cartoon characters to frogs.

It can all be good if done with good intentions, Finnegan says.

“What is religion? What is faith? What is in a person's soul? How can you judge people?” Finnegan says. People can find deep religious meaning in the Chicago nativity, or not.

“That's a personal choice,” says Finnegan, who adds that you don't have to share his religious beliefs to enjoy the Nativity scene. “There's no hatred there. I just think the world is a better place for thinking like that at Christmas. You just leave there with a great feeling. It's common sense for people who believe. For people who don't, God bless them. To put it in its simplest form, Christmas is a season where people should be nice to each other.”