When everything looks out of place

Every December, the little town of Oak Grove goes all out for Christmas. They decorate the town square, and all the businesses try and outdo one another on their Christmas spirit. And for the past 60+ years, Oak Grove Community Church reenacts the Christmas story, complete with shepherds, angels, and that typical plastic baby Jesus that’s been around for at least 2 generations of pageants. It’s simple, sweet, and very predictable…until this year. 

This year, Pastor John introduced something he called “creative flexibility.” However, everyone else called it “whatever happens, happens.” 

 

It began the same way as previous years. The children learned which character they would be acting out in the nativity. Parents imagined their sons and daughters respectfully playing the di erent parts, such as angels adorned with gold and silver tinsel halos, singing soft Christmas hymns. But what they got this year was closer to a Christmas-themed version of the Wild West. 

 

How might you ask? It began with the first rehearsal. Five-year-old Erin insisted that the wisemen must bring a camel…a real one. “They traveled a long time,” she explained solemnly. “It’s the nice thing to do.” But because no camel was immediately available (or within the constraints of church budgets), Erin improvised. She convinced her seven-yearold brother, Evan, to wear his brown sleeping bag, crawl on all fours, and pretend to be a camel. She told him to groan every time someone said “Bethlehem”. And during that first rehearsal, the camel groaned…a lot. The subsequent rehearsals were more of the same.  

 

Then came the dress rehearsal. Three-year-old Marcy was the littlest angel. Her job was simple: walk onstage, smile, and say, “Glory to God in the highest.” Instead, she marched out, announced loudly, “I need a snack.” Upon the audience’s laughter, Marcy began to jump up and down, causing those in attendance to try really hard not to add to the attention-seeking behavior. Joseph and Mary weren’t much more composed. Ten-year-old Joseph, played by Dustin, kept strutting in, high-fiving people as he walked to the stable. Mary—played by his too-cool-for-that twelve-year-old sister, Hannah—rolled her eyes so hard she lost her balance and tumbled onto the floor. She was fine, just really embarrassed. 

 

By the time opening night arrived, nobody expected anything polished. Parents took their seats with a mixture of pride, fear, and the familiar thought: “It will be whatever it will be.” The sanctuary lights dimmed. The music began. The audience erupted in applause. At least it’s starting as we expect, Pastor John thought. That thought lasted for a good 25 seconds.  

 

In the back, the shepherds were arguing over who would get the “good stick” loudly enough for everyone to turn around to witness the commotion. They came in alright, but the audience tried to hold back their laughter. And none of those boys looked at their mothers, because they all knew of their disappointing scowls. 

 

Despite hours of rehearsals and practices, the angels made their way down that center aisle more like overly excited puppies, than heavenly beings. Joseph didn’t high-five anyone coming in this time, but about halfway through the performance, he did accidentally drop Baby Jesus, only to then be dramatically comforted by a horrified Mary. 

 

During the wise men’s entrance, Erin trotted proudly, leading her brother-camel with a dog leash. The audience began to laugh hysterically at the sight of the “camel”. And if that wasn’t funny enough, the camel tripped over his own zipper and face-planted in the straw. Emma gasped.

 

What came next was somehow…wonderful. No amount of rehearsal could’ve produced that next moment in time. In front of the whole church, she knelt beside him and whispered, “It’s okay. I’ll help you. That’s what Jesus came to do.” 

 

A hush fell. The angels stopped flapping; the shepherds stopped their bickering. It was one of those small, unexpected moments when all the noise of life just stopped. No longer were the schedules, the stress, the grocery lists, the gift-wrapping disasters the focus. But in this moment, something pure and holy broke through. And they finished their pageant, stumbling over their lines, but smiling their way through the rest of the story.  

 

Afterward, the children were eating their after-performance Christmas cookies and drinking the sugary red and green punches. The adults apologized for everything from forgotten lines to the camel’s groaning, to their kids’ already-moved-on attitude. Pastor John just laughed. “Friends,” he said, “children don’t worry about perfection. They’re too busy believing. That may have been the most accurate nativity we’ve ever done. Because the first Christmas wasn’t polished either. It was messy, surprising, noisy, and filled with people who didn’t know what they were doing. And in the middle of it all, God showed up anyway.” 

 

Parents nodded, some wiping away laughs, others wiping away tears, because it was true. The wonder of Christmas doesn’t depend on perfect performances. It grows in the honest, ordinary moments where we let God reveal His perfect nature to His imperfect creation. 

 

Later that night, Erin summed it up best. As she tugged o her felt crown, she said, “Christmas is when Jesus came so people wouldn’t have to be scared. Even camels.” And that, surprisingly, made the most sense of anything all evening. 

 

So, if your Christmas feels a little chaotic this year—if plans fall apart, if the decorations are crooked, or if someone groans every time you say, “Bethlehem”—take heart. Remember the children. Remember that God stepped into our mess with joy and peace in His hands. The good news of Christmas is the same today as it was then: Even when everything looks out of place, Jesus isn’t.