Jesus had a long history of family dysfunction. You might too. Before we discuss these issues, let me introduce you to some church families I met one Christmas season.
Once upon a time, I was asked to speak at a church Christmas festival in an unnamed town in the state of chaos. Two large families left a lasting impact. To maintain confidentiality for those now under FBI protective custody, I will refer to them as the Hatfields and the McCoys.
These feuding families were not the actual descendants from the frosty hollers of Appalachia. They also did not show characteristics of any direct links to the three wise men from the Orient.
The pastor waited until after the celebratory fistfight to inform me that the Hatfields were notorious for their wild tempers and questionable fruitcake concoctions, while the McCoys were noted for their stubbornness and pecan-pie petty pride.
Every two years, the feuding families alternated firing the current pastor and selecting the subsequent one. So, every pastor arrived to the church celebrated and condemned, awaiting execution by accusation.
The current pastor had his bags packed. Apparently, his suggestion to cancel the church Christmas festival was the last straw. As one family lamented his holiday departure, the other joyfully prepared for a new season.
The only thing these two clans agreed on was that the other family was loonier than a squirrel in a moonshine still.
Christmas should have been a time for peace, but not in this church. The families arrived armed with casseroles and a box full of grievances. The tension in the air was thicker than the gravy on the mashed potatoes. The Christmas tree hid behind the piano awaiting the impending drama.
No one warned me. In fact, all the families greeted me as if I were the driver of Santa’s sleigh, loaded with presents for every boy and girl.
I shared the Biblical reason for the most important thing in life no matter what the season. A few people from different sides of the church yelled “Amen.” At first, I was encouraged, then worried. I quickly finished with a closing prayer.
The “Amen” adulations quickly evolved into a shouting war of words. “Preach it, brother; they need to hear this!” That ignited a response of “Hypocrite!” which was countered by another name for Jack’s Donkey!
The atmosphere cooled for the children’s Christmas play. It was not a good idea that Joseph and Mary came from different tribes, but probably non-negotiable.
The innkeeper’s bad attitude felt real and not like acting.
The kings and the shepherds were not talking. No peace accord was on the table.
The angels had frowns larger than their tinsel halos. While the shepherds rounded up their stray cats, the three kings brought gifts to the plastic baby in the manger. There was fruitcake, pecan pie, and a half-eaten candy cane.
The peace was temporary. It was only intermission!
Someone struck up the band, and the music entertainment took center stage. The competition returned with the carols.
The Hatfield kids sang ‘Jingle Bells’ at a tempo that would make a bluegrass band rush and blush. The McCoy angelic host countered with a moaning version of ‘Silent Night’ that lasted over twenty minutes.
The soft sounds of ‘Away in the Manger’ came next, but it was not the cattle who were loudly ‘lowing.’ I think it was Granny Hatfield. They begged Uncle Leon to sing his version of ‘Noel.” (My mind was flooded with the lyrics from my friend Jeff’s version of “Noel spelled backwards is Leon.”)
Next came the gift exchange. The feuding heightened as one side repetitively complained it should have been a Secret Santa gift-swap. As the back-and-forth escalated in volume and intensity, each gift was returned or thrown in the trash.
By dessert time, all hopes of peace melted faster than the Jell-O mold. Sister Grace stormed out the back door and left the building with Elvis. Cousin Cletus tried to spike the punch with a homemade bottle of Moonshine Kindness.
Grandpa Herman pulled off the snowman’s corn cob pipe, stuck it in his mouth, and began sarcastically wailing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Aunt Gladys snatched the pipe out of his mouth and shouted, “No Smoking! The Hatfield’s dry fruitcake is highly flammable.”
Well, the insulted Mother Mary Fruitcake responded by calling the pecan pie, “tasteless garbage.” Her pecan-pie toss in the trash missed its target and splattered across the tile floor.
That was the spark that lit the keg of explosives. The ladies shoved one another.
Someone rang the bell and the fisticuffs began flying. So did a few fruitcakes and pecan pies!
Some cheered as others tried to stop the fight, slipping and sliding on the smashed pecan pie. Thankfully, a few gained enough traction on the hardened fruitcake to separate the scuffling squaws.
Loud curses drowned out the grand finale piano sounds of “O Holy Night.”
Some wept. Some laughed. Some left. Strangely, no one looked surprised. Except me. This was a horror show.
Eventually, the chaotic flare-up settled into a time of mutual confusion over what to do next.
The pastor had everyone join hands as he prayed for “Peace on Earth and Good Will to All Men.” Everyone echoed an “Amen. God bless, everyone.”
The pastor shook my hand as he informed me that the departed Sister Grace was supposed to give me the honorarium check. He would leave a note for the next pastor.
“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.” I have been waiting ten thousand years with no less days to receive my pay than when this had first begun.
My counselor friend, Jeff, once told me, “All families are ‘dysfunctional.’ They just differ in degree of dysfunctionality.”
In Part 2 we will consider Jesus’ dysfunctional family Christmas story as chronicled in Matthew 1, and where you fit in through all of this.
The Christmas story can be summarized in that glorious declaration, “God is with us.” The Creator of the universe became a person to live among us, to die for us, to dwell in us, and to reign over us.
Families face conflicts behind closed doors. There is tension in times of stress and hurt. Perhaps you are very familiar with those feelings.
Back in the times of the American Civil War, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow penned his feelings of grief as well as hope. His country was politically divided by the war. His wife had died in a tragic accident. His son was brutally wounded in battle.
With the thunderous sounds of cannons pounding in his thoughts, grief filling his hearts over his household torn apart by conflicts within and without, he heard some Christmas Bells. He wrote this poem.
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.” (Christmas Bells)
God is alive! God is at work! Do not despair.
Political divisions, family dysfunctions, conflicts, problems, troubles, and hate might be strong. But they will not prevail. THERE IS HOPE!
Step back and see the big picture.
God carries on His perfect plan with imperfect people. Jesus brings about individual change and generational change. The mistakes lead to miracles. The big messes produce the majestic colors of God’s masterpiece.
Take this to heart. We have a family Christmas story that is beautiful!
(Much more of that Biblical truth in Part 2.)
This is our Christmas message:
LOVE ONE ANOTHER!
LOVE FIRST! LOVE MOST!
I pray you hear the Christmas Bells ringing Hope and Love.
LOVE FIRST...LOVE MOST 