Christmas. You know, I’ve never been one to get sentimental about Christmas Eve services—all that soft lighting and nostalgia. But standing here on Christmas morning, listening to our people pray for the sick and the hurting and those facing surgery, I’m struck by something.
We come to Christmas supposedly knowing the story. Baby Jesus. Angels. The whole bit. But I think we miss something essential, which is that Mary was terrified. She was a young girl with a baby. Joseph was trying to figure out what in the world was happening. There were no midwives, no family, just a barn and animals. And we’ve turned it into a greeting card.
The real Christmas story starts with people in the middle of chaos asking God to show up. And the thing is—God did. Not with angels cleaning the barn or making everything nice. God showed up in the mess. Vulnerable. As a baby. Depending on a teenage girl and a carpenter.
I keep thinking about the people we lifted up in prayer this morning. Those facing surgery. Those mourning. Those wondering where God is in the middle of their particular mess. That’s what Christmas actually is. It’s God saying: I know you’re scared. I know you can’t fix this. I’m coming anyway. Not to make it prettier. To be present in it.
That changes everything.
A reflection by Rev. MaryGean Cope