Miracle: the Nativity Figures
Holy Family
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Behold
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Prophet
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Gaspar
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Balthazar
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Old Melchior and the boy Aljamal
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Horace the Shepherd
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Innkeepers wife and Urchie
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Ram the Shepherd
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Dante the Mule
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Axle the Ox
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The Making of Miracle: the Nativity Figures
In the fall of 2014, I was asked by the Arts Committee for the Blacksburg Presbyterian Church, in Blacksburg, Virginia, if I would be interested in creating a set of Nativity figures—you know, Mary and Joseph, the Wise Men, shepherds, and animals, who surround the manager where the infant Jesus lies. My question to myself was: can I come up with anything original? I went searching through the web looking for examples down through history of artists who, like me, had searched for innovative ways of depicting the iconic figures we know so well. I found innumerable examples, from the intricate woodcut versions of Albrecht Durer to the exquisite painted renditions by Leonardo Da Vinci. What I saw in these and other works by the “Great Masters,” was amazing variation. The very point was individual expression, a fresh presentation of a very familiar story. In short, I realized that my question was not unusual at all: every one of these masters—and lesser known artists, too--was bent on doing exactly what I hoped to do: bring the story to life in a new way.
So in February of 2015, I agreed to take on the commission and began work—with the provision that I would keep the molds and be free to make replicas from them. My new way of presenting the story—or what I hoped would be new—was to lift off the halo, so to speak, and present the characters as more like ourselves, rather than haloed figures tapped by God to be present at His Son’s birth. Bethlehem was unusually crowded and noisy, because of the Roman census. Many people were sent down to the stable because there was no room in the inn, not just the ones we know about; only a few clustered around the manger. Many more people walked on by, preoccupied with their own affairs, oblivious to the miracle taking place just feet from them. I felt like this approach carried a larger lesson: we, too, miss miracles—walk right on by, as we scroll through images on our phone, or talk with somebody through our earbuds.
I took my time creating each piece, using the Gospel accounts from Matthew and Luke, and certain non-Biblical traditions, in particular, images from Roman-era wall paintings suggesting the presence of a mid-wife at Jesus’ birth. Being an author as well as a sculptor, I created the story for each figure as I was making his/her physical representation. It took me about three years to finish all twelve figures.
Presently, I work with Serra Designs in Paduca KY, which handles the molding, casting, and painting of the replicas. The company does a superb job of packing and shipping the completed Nativity figures. Please be careful when unpacking them.
In the fall of 2014, I was asked by the Arts Committee for the Blacksburg Presbyterian Church, in Blacksburg, Virginia, if I would be interested in creating a set of Nativity figures—you know, Mary and Joseph, the Wise Men, shepherds, and animals, who surround the manager where the infant Jesus lies. My question to myself was: can I come up with anything original? I went searching through the web looking for examples down through history of artists who, like me, had searched for innovative ways of depicting the iconic figures we know so well. I found innumerable examples, from the intricate woodcut versions of Albrecht Durer to the exquisite painted renditions by Leonardo Da Vinci. What I saw in these and other works by the “Great Masters,” was amazing variation. The very point was individual expression, a fresh presentation of a very familiar story. In short, I realized that my question was not unusual at all: every one of these masters—and lesser known artists, too--was bent on doing exactly what I hoped to do: bring the story to life in a new way.
So in February of 2015, I agreed to take on the commission and began work—with the provision that I would keep the molds and be free to make replicas from them. My new way of presenting the story—or what I hoped would be new—was to lift off the halo, so to speak, and present the characters as more like ourselves, rather than haloed figures tapped by God to be present at His Son’s birth. Bethlehem was unusually crowded and noisy, because of the Roman census. Many people were sent down to the stable because there was no room in the inn, not just the ones we know about; only a few clustered around the manger. Many more people walked on by, preoccupied with their own affairs, oblivious to the miracle taking place just feet from them. I felt like this approach carried a larger lesson: we, too, miss miracles—walk right on by, as we scroll through images on our phone, or talk with somebody through our earbuds.
I took my time creating each piece, using the Gospel accounts from Matthew and Luke, and certain non-Biblical traditions, in particular, images from Roman-era wall paintings suggesting the presence of a mid-wife at Jesus’ birth. Being an author as well as a sculptor, I created the story for each figure as I was making his/her physical representation. It took me about three years to finish all twelve figures.
Presently, I work with Serra Designs in Paduca KY, which handles the molding, casting, and painting of the replicas. The company does a superb job of packing and shipping the completed Nativity figures. Please be careful when unpacking them.
Miracle - The Story
$1800 + shipping
Please contact Lawrence Reid Bechtel for more information - [email protected]
Passing on by the Miracle
Remarks by Lawrence Bechtel at the Sunday evening Christmas service
Concluding the weekend Nativities display, December 6-8, 2025
The Church of Jesus Christ, Lexington VA
My aim in crafting the set of Nativity figures I call Miracle, was to lift off their halos, as it were, and present them as unique individuals—each with their own backstory. Perhaps in doing so, I hoped we could better see ourselves in the story, too. I took my time with each figure. So it took me about three years to finish the whole group. The time was worth it. I really “entered in”—except in one respect: I could not “unknow” my knowledge of Jesus’ life: his teaching, his miracles, his death and resurrection. We see the Nativity with that knowledge in mind. The persons in the Biblical narrative, of course, did not have that knowledge. Well, perhaps the prophet Isaiah did!
We know of the persons, identified in the Gospel of Luke, who attended the birth of Jesus in the Bethlehem stable. But what about the persons he didn’t name? I imagine other people were also sent down to the stable because there was no room in the Inn. The stable could have been crowded. Did any of those people, not named, and therefore lost to history, also kneel and worship the “newborn king”? Or were they too busy with their own affairs: a child with cholic; a lost wallet; some recurring husband-wife squabble?
What about the people just walking by the stable? There must have been many. The streets of Bethlehem were no doubt crowded and noisy with people who would much rather have been home, and who were only there because the Emperor had decreed that “all the world should be taxed.” They walk by the stable, they look in the open door, see the very scene we have venerated for centuries—and turn back to their preoccupations, their difficulties, their arguments—all legitimate. But in turning back they miss the miracle. Miss it! Mere feet from the birth of the Savior of the World, and yet passed on by, heedless.
All of us get very preoccupied with the business of our lives. We can’t help it! We have to! We don’t want to be interrupted—at least not right now. We’ve got too much to do. But that miracle might be one glance away. Sometimes it takes a disaster to break the preoccupations which bind us, allowing us suddenly to “see Jesus in the face of every child,” as Mother Theresa put it.
We are all about being strong, independent, capable. The Pharisees were strong: devout and sincere in their rigorous obedience to the last jot and tittle of the law. But Jesus ministered to the weak, not the strong. The blind man, the demon-possessed, the cripple. Not that these people necessarily became his disciples. They went away rejoicing and that was that. And Jesus didn’t track them down, get them by the scruff of the neck and say, “I healed you for goodness sake! Now be my disciple!” No! He gave freely of his healing power. Even to the point of death by crucifixion.
May we be open to miracle, even at moments when we’d rather be doing something else.
And all the people said---AMEN!
Remarks by Lawrence Bechtel at the Sunday evening Christmas service
Concluding the weekend Nativities display, December 6-8, 2025
The Church of Jesus Christ, Lexington VA
My aim in crafting the set of Nativity figures I call Miracle, was to lift off their halos, as it were, and present them as unique individuals—each with their own backstory. Perhaps in doing so, I hoped we could better see ourselves in the story, too. I took my time with each figure. So it took me about three years to finish the whole group. The time was worth it. I really “entered in”—except in one respect: I could not “unknow” my knowledge of Jesus’ life: his teaching, his miracles, his death and resurrection. We see the Nativity with that knowledge in mind. The persons in the Biblical narrative, of course, did not have that knowledge. Well, perhaps the prophet Isaiah did!
We know of the persons, identified in the Gospel of Luke, who attended the birth of Jesus in the Bethlehem stable. But what about the persons he didn’t name? I imagine other people were also sent down to the stable because there was no room in the Inn. The stable could have been crowded. Did any of those people, not named, and therefore lost to history, also kneel and worship the “newborn king”? Or were they too busy with their own affairs: a child with cholic; a lost wallet; some recurring husband-wife squabble?
What about the people just walking by the stable? There must have been many. The streets of Bethlehem were no doubt crowded and noisy with people who would much rather have been home, and who were only there because the Emperor had decreed that “all the world should be taxed.” They walk by the stable, they look in the open door, see the very scene we have venerated for centuries—and turn back to their preoccupations, their difficulties, their arguments—all legitimate. But in turning back they miss the miracle. Miss it! Mere feet from the birth of the Savior of the World, and yet passed on by, heedless.
All of us get very preoccupied with the business of our lives. We can’t help it! We have to! We don’t want to be interrupted—at least not right now. We’ve got too much to do. But that miracle might be one glance away. Sometimes it takes a disaster to break the preoccupations which bind us, allowing us suddenly to “see Jesus in the face of every child,” as Mother Theresa put it.
We are all about being strong, independent, capable. The Pharisees were strong: devout and sincere in their rigorous obedience to the last jot and tittle of the law. But Jesus ministered to the weak, not the strong. The blind man, the demon-possessed, the cripple. Not that these people necessarily became his disciples. They went away rejoicing and that was that. And Jesus didn’t track them down, get them by the scruff of the neck and say, “I healed you for goodness sake! Now be my disciple!” No! He gave freely of his healing power. Even to the point of death by crucifixion.
May we be open to miracle, even at moments when we’d rather be doing something else.
And all the people said---AMEN!
