Over the past two weeks, the Christmas crib in my living room has kept members of my family and me focused on the events at Bethlehem connected with the birth of Jesus.

In the middle of the scene is a wooden stable where the child lies, with Mary, his mother, bending over him, and Joseph, his father, standing nearby. In the same space is a friendly donkey and next to it a large ox. These central  figures make a most appealing tableau, a tribute to the craft of the French contemplative nun who molded these small characters.

Then, on the right, villagers approach the stable with cradling small sheep and other gifts in their arms; on the left, the three kings finish their travels as they near the baby. They have come a long way to see and give their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Some angels keep watch nearby.

This display can be seen as merely one of the decorations that come with the holiday season. You can regard it much as the lights that adorn so many homes. Or, from a more spiritual vantage point you can let it be more: you can make it serve as an inducement to contemplation and prayer.

Using scenes from the Bible like this one as a help in prayer has a long history in the Christian tradition and, undoubtedly, in other traditions as well. One master of the spiritual life, St. Ignatius Loyola, made it an important part of his approach to meditation. In his small book, Spiritual Exercises, this Spanish mystic taught his followers and others to use their imagination when they came to pray.

He called this preparation for prayer the Composition of Place. This means putting together the pieces of a biblical scene imaginatively so as to enter into a prayerful mood in mind and heart. One can use scenes other than those that come from the Bible. Any other sacred situation might do, such as an event from the life of a saint.

The Christmas crib or crèche thus serves as an external playing out of what meditators might have within their imagination. Of course, a person can feel free to add new details; in our crèche, the villagers are bringing the child their own gifts: a rooster, a bird’s nest, even a small sweater.

For many people, this approach to prayer through their imagination could prove the simplest and the most enjoyable. There is something profoundly human about using one’s senses to appreciate holy persons and sacred events. This is a way of bringing the Bible to life and finding in its pages inspiration for daily living.

Thus you can imagine the characters talking; you can become part of the scene yourself; you can enter into the conversation. These are typical of the suggestions that St. Ignatius makes about how to pray. Whatever works for you can be the rule of thumb for your style of prayer.

He also suggests using other senses. For example, you could feel the heat given off from the bodies of the animals. You might even conjure up the smell that comes from the sheep. And, in a childlike spirit, you could touch their warm, fluffy wool.

This approach to prayer does not suit everyone, to be sure. And those who do find it sweet could carry it to excess. The important point throughout is, of course, union with God. Whatever helps toward that goal serves us well.

Simple as this method of prayer may seem, it can lead toward mystical depths as well. It would thus respond to what Abbot Thomas Keating calls “an enormous spiritual hunger in the human family.” So many people want a deeper day-to-day existence than what we learn from most television sit-coms.

I am going to feel disappointed this week when the crib comes down. The living room will seem empty of something that added another dimension to the place. Not until next December will the small figures bring their charm and grace to our home.

But in the meantime we will be free to build new cribs or other scenes in our imagination on the way to prayer. We can compose as many places as we wish, with only our mind’s eye limiting our scope.

Richard Griffin