Christmas Eve

Real or not real?

A couple of weeks ago, I was watching Is it Cake holiday edition with Kenley. The challenge is that the bakers have to choose an item and make a cake replica. Then the judges are given four items to choose from with the cake one included somewhere. If they are able to identify which one is cake and not the fake, then the contestant is eliminated.

As Kenley and I watched, the camera would zoom in on each snow man or reindeer or ice skates or whatever it was, and I realized.... I’m not very good at spotting the real thing. It became more and more of a challenge to detect the cake among all the fakes.

Real or not real?

At Christmas, we can have a lot of stuff that is fluffy and fun and bright and whimsical…a lot of stuff that when gathered together does make us smile and looks a whole lot like Christmas but that when we get break it open or get down to the meat of it, may have just been posing as Christmas.

To be honest, I like all the stuff. It brings its own sense of joy. I like to buy gifts for others and watch them unwrap them. I am resigned to the fact that when I retire I should open up one of those year-round Christmas decor shops because I love looking at Christmas decorations that much. I will drive out of the way to see that one house that’s lit up every year and will make multiple trips to the grocery to make Christmas snacks. The stuff posing as Christmas does a great job, but that stuff won’t be around much longer. Even past the twelve days of Christmas, people will take down the lights and the trees and movies and music will shift.

And so I guess what I’m saying is that I need a joy and a peace and a hope and a light that goes well beyond tomorrow, one that is going to be lasting, one that is going to change everything.

I need something real.

I remember during last year’s Christmas Eve sermon here we had a baby cry out right around this time and it was just perfect. When we think of Christmas Eve, we should think of a baby crying. We should think of a mother giving birth in dirty hay. Christmas Eve isn’t a porcelain nativity but love that looks like a mud and blood and sounds like a baby’s cry. Real.

There was a pastor named Walt who served a small church when his daughter was seven years old. Her name was Mary, and ironically enough, she was asked to be the Virgin Mary that year in the pageant on Christmas Eve.

For weeks leading up to the big event, she quizzed her father on what would happen, what her lines would be, what she should wear for a costume. So much so that Walt began to wish she had been cast as a sheep instead.

But then, on Christmas Eve, just hours before the pageant, Walt walked into Mary’s room and found her sulking. Not just regular sulking, but full on seven year old daughter sulking.

“What’s the matter?” Walt asked her.

“It’s a doll,” she said. “Baby Jesus is a doll. I was under the impression that I would be carrying a real baby.”

“Now, dear,” Walt said, “That’s not really practical. After all, it’s just a play.”

And as soon as the words left his mouth, Walt realized he had said the wrong thing. His daughter did not speak to him the rest of the afternoon.

That evening, at the service, Walt welcomed everyone and then took his seat near the front to watch the play.

The Virgin Mary came stomping into the sanctuary, staring daggers at everyone around her. Joseph tried to keep up, running behind her with a little manger holding a baby doll.

They got up to the front of the sanctuary, and Mary focused all her angry attention on the little doll in the manger.

Then suddenly, about 2 minutes into the pageant, the Virgin Mary picked up baby Jesus by his ankle and stormed right out of the sanctuary.

If it had been adults performing the play, this might have stopped the action, but the kids went right on as if this was completely according to script.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, the Virgin Mary returned, but this time baby Jesus was nowhere to be found.

She walked up proudly to the front of the sanctuary, and smiled down at the empty manger for the rest of the pageant.

The churchgoers smiled awkwardly at Walt as he shook their hands on the way out. It was certainly one of the strangest Christmas pageants anyone had ever seen, or at least the only one in which Jesus disappeared midway through the first act.

The car ride home was quiet, until Mary spoke up to her father, and said,

“Dad, that wasn’t the real baby Jesus in the manger.”

Walt replied, “No, Mary, I guess it wasn’t.”

“It was just a doll,” she said.

She paused for a moment, and then added, “I just wanted him to know we had room for him.”

Walt asked her, “What do you mean, honey?”

And his daughter answered, “I wanted Jesus to know that if he wanted to come tonight, to our church, we had room for him.”

Walt’s daughter Mary didn’t want anything else other than the real Jesus on Christmas. She wanted to make sure that she made room for the real presence of Christ.

Speaking of room.

I wonder why there wasn’t any room for Mary and Joseph?

Was it like trying to get a last-minute hotel room during the middle of a concert? Everything was overcrowded and overbooked?

Had their family maybe heard about the unplanned pregnancy and suddenly didn’t have any extra space in the guest room?

You see, the word we often translate as inn actually means a guest room as in the guest room of someone’s home.

I want you to think about the guest room in your home, or the room in which you receive guests.

How are you leaving room for the real presence of the holy One this Christmas? Is there something you need to clear out so that if Jesus shows up, there is actually room for him?

I don’t know what brought you here tonight. Whether you had planned to come, were invited, or made to attend so you can open presents later. I don’t know if it’s been awhile since you’ve been inside or not or the wonder of lighting candles together and singing draws you near.

But I hope that when we gather together and worship and light candles, that each small flame sparks within us something real.

That no matter what this year has seen or surrounded you with, that love is born. Real, ridiculous, for unto us a child is born kind of love.

Real hope of the nations.

Real peace on earth and good will towards men.

Real joy of the world.

Real light that cannot be dimmed or extinguished or snuffed or exhausted.

Christmas is real, the most real thing your heart may ever know, because Christ is born.

For unto us a child is born, a son is given.

His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, Prince of Peace.

So do whatever it is you need to do to make room.

For Emmanuel, God is with you.