I remember Christmas in California, Missouri, a community with a lot of civic pride and hope. We did "Christmas California Style" on a Sunday night in December. The event was a curious merging of expression of community spirit, public piety, and commerce. The city park became our little town of Bethlehem for that night of celebration. There were carols echoing in the night. There was light in the darkness. There was a moment of ecumenical togetherness amid dogmatic divisions. We braved the winter winds to welcome Christmas. Almost everyone went to the park to keep Christmas together.
For several years, the United Church of Christ was asked to do the live nativity during the city's celebration. We had a formal schedule and had several shifts as I remember it. One's knees can only kneel for so long at the manger. Other costumed characters were ready to take the place of those who grew cold or faint. For several hours, laborers and managers were together in costumes at the manger. It was a holy time of togetherness with our focus on the baby in Mary's arms.
But one Christmas celebration was more special than all the rest for me. That year, an organizer from our church decided everything needed to be absolutely perfect in our depiction of the nativity scene, as perfect as a glittery Christmas card. We practiced posing as figurines in the stable. We barely breathed. We dared not whisper. Youths were admonished about chewing gum and giggling. This was to be a somber, sacred display.
But then, just as a crowd of pilgrims came to view the nativity, an angel sneezed from up high atop a hay bale into the cold night air. It was a high-pitched, Achooooo! For an uncomfortable moment, the spell was broken because an angel sneezed.
Nearly a decade later, I still remember that moment when the angel sneezed. Why? Probably because I was identifying with that organizer who wanted everything to be just perfect. We were trying so hard to live up to his version of Luke's Christmas story. We were all striving for perfection. That angel's sneeze brought me to a deeper awareness. Jesus was not born among stiff statues whose hearts were hardened like concrete. Perfection has to do with being human--even as God became human, enfleshed for the likes of us.
Here's the humbling and hopeful thing about all of this: When I'm tempted to be the perfect disciple and impose a rigid, frozen perfection on everyone around me, some angel will sneeze or hiccup or sing off key--and it will still be Christmas because God makes it so. God still comes to save me from my illusions of perfection. God moves me to laugh with old Sarah at a birth we thought incredible and impossible. And, the scene will still be sacred and beautiful and a blessing. It is so because God is in it. God makes it so. So, God, let your miracle happen again. Let Christmas come anew!
Blessed Christmas!
For several years, the United Church of Christ was asked to do the live nativity during the city's celebration. We had a formal schedule and had several shifts as I remember it. One's knees can only kneel for so long at the manger. Other costumed characters were ready to take the place of those who grew cold or faint. For several hours, laborers and managers were together in costumes at the manger. It was a holy time of togetherness with our focus on the baby in Mary's arms.
But one Christmas celebration was more special than all the rest for me. That year, an organizer from our church decided everything needed to be absolutely perfect in our depiction of the nativity scene, as perfect as a glittery Christmas card. We practiced posing as figurines in the stable. We barely breathed. We dared not whisper. Youths were admonished about chewing gum and giggling. This was to be a somber, sacred display.
But then, just as a crowd of pilgrims came to view the nativity, an angel sneezed from up high atop a hay bale into the cold night air. It was a high-pitched, Achooooo! For an uncomfortable moment, the spell was broken because an angel sneezed.
Nearly a decade later, I still remember that moment when the angel sneezed. Why? Probably because I was identifying with that organizer who wanted everything to be just perfect. We were trying so hard to live up to his version of Luke's Christmas story. We were all striving for perfection. That angel's sneeze brought me to a deeper awareness. Jesus was not born among stiff statues whose hearts were hardened like concrete. Perfection has to do with being human--even as God became human, enfleshed for the likes of us.
Here's the humbling and hopeful thing about all of this: When I'm tempted to be the perfect disciple and impose a rigid, frozen perfection on everyone around me, some angel will sneeze or hiccup or sing off key--and it will still be Christmas because God makes it so. God still comes to save me from my illusions of perfection. God moves me to laugh with old Sarah at a birth we thought incredible and impossible. And, the scene will still be sacred and beautiful and a blessing. It is so because God is in it. God makes it so. So, God, let your miracle happen again. Let Christmas come anew!
Blessed Christmas!
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