At Oak Lawn United Methodist Church’s nativity, Mary and Joseph are silhouettes, surrounded by a chain link fence topped with razor wire. Their halos are old bicycle wheels. A shopping cart and two metal bins, frequently used by the unhoused as firepits, flank the scene.
The arrangement reflects the lives of multiple people on the margins, like immigrants, refugees and the unhoused, said Rev. Rachel Griffin-Allison. It’s a nativity that asks passersby to consider what it would look like if Jesus’ birth took place today.
Posters with lines from the hymn “Holy is the Refugee,” declare “Holy are the profiled and patrolled,” and “Holy are our unsheltered neighbors" in English and Spanish.
“God is with us, especially on the margins,” she said. “And what better way to truly lean into that kind of theology than to paint a very real picture of what the holy family would be experiencing in our culture right now today.”
The display is installed on top of the church’s steps, which are painted the colors of the Progress Pride flag.
Griffin-Allison understands that some may see the allusions to ICE detention facilities, homeless encampments and LGBTQ+ community as introducing politics into the Christmas story. She disagrees.
“Jesus was born into a family that soon became refugees. The nativity itself is a story of God choosing vulnerability over power,” she said. “And so putting this installation out is not adding politics, it's removing the filters that maybe made the story feel safe in the first place, because it never was.”
Friends Kevin Chadwin Davis and Jonathon Arntson paused in front of the installation after stopping next door at Union Coffee. Both men live in Michigan and made it a point to visit the nativity while in town.
“I feel hope. I feel inspired by it. I feel like this is exactly what we need to do – to show up for our people here, especially in this neighborhood,” said Davis, who is originally from Dallas.
“I'm personally married to someone that's living with HIV that's undocumented, and so this is really personal to me,” he continued. “This monument here is a testament to where our city comes from and our resilience and what we're up against.”
His friend, Arntson, initially resisted coming to Dallas.
“It felt terrifying to me to come to Texas as a queer person,” he said. “But I do firmly believe that everywhere has something worth seeing, and so I wanted to make sure that I was putting myself in this space and I'm seeing it at this monument.”
The nativity showed him a side of Dallas he hadn’t expected.
“I have been a non-religious person for 30 years, and coming to a religious institution always makes me feel uncomfortable,” Arntson continued. “But seeing a nativity scene that has words that are not in English and seeing the pride flag represented shows me that even though I still have fears around religious institutions, there are allies in those spaces.”
Griffin-Allison said she sees Christmas as a mirror rather than an escape.
“There are so many churches in the city of Dallas that you can walk into and receive a beautiful Christmas service, a beautiful message of Christ's love, and for that I'm so grateful. I think there are precious few willing to offer an unsettling story,” she said.
“This installation invites the community to see a holy presence where society often looks away. I think Christmas asks us not just to celebrate love, but to recognize it, especially where it's uncomfortable.”
The tire that stands in for a manager is empty now, but Griffin-Allison said that will change on Christmas Day.
