The Perfect Christmas

Here's what I love: The perfect Christmas.

Did you have the perfect Christmas?

Does it even exist?

We had a charming, wonderful, love-filled, easy Christmas.  But was it perfect?  Well, since half of my meals included a component that came from a box rather than being made from scratch, many foodies would say it wasn’t perfect.  I suppose the fact that we are still in our drafty, old rental house with the quirky wall-paper would make it less than perfect.  Some would say that since we didn’t have the money to get everyone everything they wanted, it wasn’t perfectly perfect. 

We didn’t have every family member with us, so that wasn’t perfect.  Plus, much of our family is experiencing great heartache and grief this Christmas.  In addition, illnesses galore plagued loved ones causing Christmas 2013 to be, not just imperfect, but downright awful. 

So what is the perfect Christmas? 

Homemade everything?

Eggnog and stockings?

Candlelight and silent night?

White lights on a symmetrical tree?

Games and giggles?

Plenty of food and plenty of family?

Health, wealth, and entertainment?

Cards sent and received?

Cake for Jesus?

Elf hijinx completed every single night?

Parties, friends, and fairytales?

Snow, hot chocolate, and mistletoe?

If you know me at all by now, you know that this is where I would throw in my Jesus Juke answer as to why the incarnation is the actual, factual “perfect” Christmas.  I mean, it was the first Christmas after all.  Emmanuel—God coming to be with us.  And yet, somehow, we’ve turned the celebration of Christ’s birth into a gift-giving, family-time frenzy which must include all the holiday trimmings in order to be considered a “good” Christmas. 

All week, I’ve been praying to be inspired by the birth in Bethlehem.  I’ve wanted to be in awe of the angels and enthused by the Magnificat.  I’ve hoped to be reminded of the enormous miracle of Jesus’ incarnation, but those feelings of awe and amazement have never materialized. 

Partly, it’s because my Christ-centered Christmas feelings are drowning in a sea of silliness.  Meal planning, on-line shopping, school parties, and Christmas “duties” have filled my calendar and my brain.  And partly, the awe of Jesus’ birth is struggling for a foothold amidst the consuming thoughts of sadness and pain plaguing the lives of those dearest to me. 

Many of our close family members had not just a less-than-perfect Christmas, but a downright crappy one.

What do I do with that, Baby Jesus?  How can I look into your manger and feel the warm and fuzzy Christmas feelings when I’m so burdened by the reality of evil and suffering? 

I should be giving praise along side shepherds who received announcements from angels.  I should be marveling at young Mary’s obedience and strength.  I should be overwhelmed with thanks for that savior in a manger. 

But instead, I am troubled and sad and fretting. 

I’m fretting for family who have fallen, family who are lonely, family who are ill, family who are reeling from unexpected loss, family who are sick, family who are sad. 

I know Jesus came as a baby for us, but when I imagine that miracle baby in a manger, I don’t see a concerned savior.  I see a helpless baby.  I don’t hear angel praises, I hear sobs of loved ones.  I don’t see a star, I see fear and frustration looming in the night.

But, I myself, am a helpless baby.  I can’t face these realities on my own.

And Jesus did in fact grow into a concerned savior—a God-hero who came to conquer all the fears, sadness, and sickness, which our own sin ushered into God’s perfect creation. 

I often wonder why Jesus felt that God the Father had forsaken Him when he cried out on the cross.  Didn’t he know that in three days death would be conquered and fellowship with God would be restored?  Surely Jesus always had hope, so why did He cry?

I’m sure there are a million reasons why—the weight of sin and the pain of suffering being among them.  Jesus fully felt all of our agony—all the sorrows that wreak havoc on our hearts and minds, all the misery, all the grief, all the distress—He experienced it all.

As Christ followers, we always have the hope of heaven.  We know Jesus will come again.  And we know that we will one day live in PERFECT peace and harmony with God, our everlasting Father.   Yet, we cry out and feel forsaken just like Jesus did. 

There is no such thing as a perfect Christmas, because there is no such thing as perfection apart from Christ.  However, the happy times we do experience here on earth are little glimpses of what’s to come: 

purity in a winter’s snowfall,

peace in the candlelight of silent night,

joy in gifts received and given,

satisfaction in tasty feasts and

    unity in (the often fleeting)      

           family harmony.

These are the little delights, which point us towards the Inventor of joy, the Creator of elation, the Designer of bliss. 

And when the sorrows grip our hearts and the illnesses crease our brow, we look into the eyes of our innocent Savior who cries out in anguish with us.  Then, we lift our tear stained faces and cling to hope—Hope born that Christmas night long ago.