From “Christmas” to "Christ-was”

It’s December; my favorite month of the year! I know, however, that this month can be stressful. There’s shopping and baking and planning and budgeting and traveling and cleaning. And then, in the middle of it all, there’s Christmas program practice at church. It’s enough to give a parent second thoughts about having their child participate. Is it worth the hassle? Is it worth the time? Is it worth the effort?

Yes, I believe it is.

When I was a kid I looked forward to the Christmas program for the entire year. I couldn’t wait to find out what part I’d play. Usually I was an angel – though the casting was hardly to type. I don’t think I ever played Elizabeth or Anna or Mary, much though I hoped to. But I didn’t mind. I still loved dressing up, saying my lines, going over the story that I loved so much.

Kids learn by doing. Acting out the Christmas story was an ideal way for me – or for any child – to experience in an infinitesimal way, what Mary and Joseph and those chilly, frightened shepherds experienced. The repetition of it annually only reinforces the message of the story—God’s story—that is greater than any story ever told.

As a parent, I’m convinced that there is almost nothing sweeter than dimpled angels with crooked halos and sagging wings, not to mention the wooly and rambunctious sheep sweating under the lights. And don’t forget their guardian shepherds wielding eye-poking crooks (which they pretend are lightsabers), and small boys wearing their father’s bathrobes, gaudy crowns perched rakishly on mussed-up hair.

This quintessential Nativity scene is perfect, is it not? Never mind that it’s Biblically inaccurate because the wise men didn’t make it to the manger – they came when Jesus was two. But those little boys in their robes are just too cute a tradition to break.

Then there’s Mary and Joseph, two adolescent kids standing awkwardly side-by-side, gazing adoringly at a plastic doll and trying desperately not to look as if they despise each other while their mothers nervously wonder if, someday in the not-so-distant future, those two kids – who have, quite possibly, known each other since diapers – could ever be excited to be so linked.

Some moms are praying that they will. Some are praying that the casting is in no way prophetic.

Sometimes, if our church has enough students enrolled in school band, a tiny ensemble is formed, made up of kids learning how to hold their instruments without bonking their neighbor with the fully-extended trombone slide. I love the off-key “joyful noise” that they make unto the Lord!

And no Christmas program is complete without children singing carols. My favorite is the tone-deaf and rhythm-challenged kid who sings his or her heart out, two beats behind the rest of the angelic choir. Perfection doesn’t matter in Christmas pageants. Sincerity does.

As one who has directed more pageants that I can remember, I cherish the small, sweet voices that stumble over their lines and the bold voices who have worked nightly on their parts and stand with confidence before the microphone because they’ve got this, though three weeks ago they feared they could never do it. I love the tentative voices, whose owners look at me, smiling at them from the front pew, just needing that nod, that encouragement, to boost their confidence. And I especially love the little girl, who, during one year’s program, gave her mom a wink after saying her line perfectly.

That same year eight children were assigned to hold up cards that spelled out C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S. My favorite Christmas program memory – perhaps of all time – is the child who held the “M” card upside down, turning “C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S” into “C-H-R-I-S-T-W-A-S”.

Christ was what?

Christ was born for a purpose. Born to be a sacrifice. Born so that you and I could escape the failings of the Old Covenant and enter freely into the perfection of the New.

Born that we may live.

Born so that he could die.

C-h-r-i-s-t-W-A-S. And He still is.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The angel said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master.’ Luke 2:10, 11 (Message)