Close your eyes for a minute.

Imagine the manger scene that first Christmas years ago.

Animals, a crying baby, a frazzled father wondering what the neighbours would think about the whole thing.

All the drama that surrounds natural childbirth.

Now think about the smell.

Anyone who has grown up on farm knows what I mean.

Pig farmers perhaps know the smell of agribusiness best, but turkey farmers, sheep herders and cattle rustlers are also familiar with the stench of animal feces.

And yes, it seems quite inappropriate to bring up such things while we’re trying to enjoy the holidays — the gifts, Christmas concerts and family get togethers.

That first Christmas story, though, always brings it back down to earth.

I remember reading about a pastor who wanted to make the reality of the first Noel hit home.

So, he rounded up some manure and hay, then proceeded to scatter it around the sanctuary to make the place stink like Bethlehem.

It certainly must have been something to see when members of the congregation showed up in their Sunday best, wondering what the heck was going on. Apparently there was even a donkey wandering around too.

Now I’d hate to be the janitor left to clean up the mess, but the idea is brilliant.

We don’t usually dwell on the “excremental” aspect of the holidays, but maybe it’s appropriate to get into the true spirit of Christmas.

There’s something about that manger scene, the ensuing slaughter of boys under the age of two by King Herod, and in the ongoing celebration of the event that continues today.

To be sure, we’re reading a lot into how it happened, since details that document the Virgin Birth are vague.

But we do know there was a manger, and can only assume that there were animals nearby.

There is also no indication that this feeding trough was located in a barn.

It was quite possibly a cave, which were numerous in the Bethlehem area and often used as either houses or barns with a little shelter built on the front.

In the absence of such specifics, we can only imagine what it must have been like. All the dirt, dim lighting and those unpleasing smells.

It’s quite a beautiful picture, really.

Quite often we prefer a more sanitized version of the holidays, with the decorations arranged just so.

With the strings of lights and inflatable Santas in their appropriate places, our tables overflowing with foodstuffs of mouth-watering proportions.

We like to take the edge of that first Christmas by repainting it without the inconveniences, clutter and chaos. (For most of us, being told that there are no rooms left in the motel would put us in a foul mood.)

And I think we miss a whole lot in the process.

To be sure, it didn’t make sense for a lot of people back then, especially when they imagined a Christmas Day that would be about a Messiah that would return with unchallenged authority.

Instead, we get a helpless baby in a manger.

And it blows me away that centuries later, we still pay homage to this baby and this remarkable event.

Even though history and its memories have a way of being invented and reinvented over time, maybe inadvertently, the basics of the Christmas story remain.

But even more than historic facts and first-hand accounts, I love the mystery surrounding the entire thing.

The explanations quickly run dry when we try to make sense of a woman’s otherworldly impregnation, or the fact that her husband took directives from an angel that appeared in a dream.

We are left to make sense of the profoundly mysterious and spiritual elements at play in the birth of Christ.

It’s the kind of story that, at first blush, seems innocuous and a tad unbelievable.

However, something tells me there was more going on that day than we could ever imagine.