I remember, from a few years back, a Sunday morning worship service that happened just before Christmas, a special worship service that was filled to the brim with music.
The choir, filled with regular members as well as other singers who joined just for the occasion—and accompanied by several musicians—had worked extra hard on its songs.
We even had a handbell choir perform that day. In fact, the very first thing in the order of worship was the handbell choir calling us to worship with their rendition of “Silent Night.”
At the appointed time, the members of the handbell choir took their places. The congregation eagerly waited for the music to start. Everyone was ready for what we expected would be the perfect Christmas Sunday worship.
The bells began to ring, and it sounded heavenly. The angels themselves could not have done it better. This was Christmas worship at its finest!
And even though it was all instrumental, we knew the words, and could hear the words in our heads as the bells rang.
Silent night. Holy night. All is calm…
The church where this took place was located not far from an airport. Now, the church was far enough away that the sound of airplanes taking off didn’t normally affect the worship service.
But a couple of times every year, the U.S. Navy F-18 fighter jets conducted training operations at the airport. They always flew in pairs, so when they took off, it was always one right after the other.
And they were loud.
And as it turned out, they were conducting maneuvers on that particular day.
So, as the handbells were ringing the notes that went with the “all is calm,” we began to hear a sound that started quietly at first, like a whisper, but which gradually got louder.
By the time the bells got to the end of the verse—the part that goes, “sleep in heavenly peace”—we couldn’t hear the bells at all, because of the roar of the fighter jets. We could see them being rung, but all we could hear was the jets.
The musicians pressed on, however. And wouldn’t you know it: the next song was also interrupted, this time by some fire engines passing by on the street in front of the church, their sirens blaring.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As pastor, I had wanted this special Christmas Sunday worship to be perfect.
It was turning out to be anything but perfect. We couldn’t even get one song in without being interrupted by noises from outside!
My mood turned sour. Instead of being transported to a heavenly realm by wonderful out-of-this-world music, the thunderous interruption at the start of our worship, and the other unwanted noises that continued, did not allow my mind to escape this world and rise up to heaven, which is what I wanted for me and for all those who were present. I wanted a worship service that took us out of this world with all its troubles, and transported us to where the angels are.
*Sigh*
It wasn't until halfway through the service that a thought occurred to me. Maybe Christmas, I thought, isn't about being taken out of this world, and transported to a heavenly realm.
After all, 2,000 years ago, God didn't choose to take the faithful out of this world. Instead, God chose to come down to this world, to dwell among humanity, to share all the worldly experiences humanity deals with, all the imperfections, all the trials and tribulations…
At Jesus's birth, there were angels singing, but there were also sheep bleating and oxen lowing and snorting. (Try imagining the sound of a snorting ox in your ear while your child is born; not very romantic or idyllic, is it?)
Also, at Jesus’ birth, there was the distant (and perhaps not so distant) sound of Roman soldiers marching through the streets, which I guess would be even worse than the sound of those fighter jets, because the Roman soldiers were not friendly.
Yet that’s how that first Christmas was. It wasn’t perfect. At all. It wasn’t an experience that lifted hearts to heaven.
But it was an experience that brought heaven down to earth.
The beauty of Christmas, I realized, isn't that we are taken out of our world and all its troubles. The beauty of Christmas is found in the fact that God chooses to dwell with us, in the midst of this world and all its troubles.
And I was reminded: that’s what the word Emmanuel means: God with us.
By the time worship ended, my mood had improved. I was even filled with joy, a joy that was perhaps greater than it would have been if I had felt transported to a heavenly realm, because I was reminded that God is here in this world, with us - with me - in our lives - working to bring wholeness to a world that is troubled, and broken, but still good.
This world, with all its imperfections, is still good; and God still loves this world in all its brokenness so much.
In the Bible, among the Jewish people, the idea of “perfection” doesn’t really exist. As Christianity developed and was influenced by Greek ideas and Greek philosophy, the Greek idea of “perfection” did creep into some Biblical passages, but generally speaking, perfection was not the highest ideal in the minds of biblical writers.
Instead of perfection, what the prophets and other Old Testament writers emphasized, and what Jesus emphasized, was goodness.
Goodness; not perfection.
We see this starting with the creation story: In the beginning, God created the world… and it was good. (It doesn’t say it was perfect.)
And when God created humanity, and creation was complete, it was very good.
That worship service wasn’t perfect; but it was good.
The first Christmas wasn’t perfect; but it was good.
Six years ago, just a few days before Christmas, my mom died suddenly and unexpectedly.
…Which made that Christmas the least perfect Christmas I’ve ever experienced.
On Christmas Day, just a few days after, there was a big family gathering planned. Most of my mom’s seven brothers and sisters would be there, along with their spouses, and a great many cousins.
At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. But then, I realized: I had to go.
It wasn’t easy.
To see my mom’s siblings, who naturally resemble mom in appearance and in the way they talk, was difficult. But together we mourned, together we cried, together we even laughed some.
And never have I felt more loved and supported and cared for than at that Christmas.
And even though it wasn’t perfect, it was good. It was very good.
For Mary and Joseph, the night Jesus was born:
They were not where they wanted to be. They were far from home. There was no room for them in the inn. They didn’t have much money. There didn’t seem to be any extended family members around to tend to their needs.
The only people present were some strangers, some shepherds from the field, and shepherds—they were a bit rough around the edges, to say the least.
Then, after Christmas, did things get better? No. Herod made their baby his number one most wanted, so instead of going home to Nazareth, Mary and Joseph had to flee to Egypt. They became refugees.
And yet, we know that—because God was with them and with their baby—goodness was present. There was still reason for joy and celebration and praise, even in the midst of those most trying circumstances.
Because God had come to earth; God had chosen to be a part of this troubled, broken, world, to be actively present among humanity. God was present in the lives of Mary and Joseph, and especially in the life of their newborn baby.
And the presence of God is present with us today. Present through the Spirit of Christ and the body of Christ.
I don’t know how perfect or imperfect your Christmas will be this year, but no matter what, God is present. Christ is present. In whatever you’re going through, God is with you and God’s love surrounds you.
And in this troubled world, where homelessness and war and hate and bigotry and injustice and all sorts of brokenness keep this world from being perfect, God is still present. God is still with us. And God still shows us the way to healing, wholeness, and salvation.
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