Thirty years ago I was given Barbara Robinson's story of the “Best Christmas Pageant Ever.” His story is set in what could be any church, in any town in America where the story of Christmas is told through the innocence of children. Just like our contest that took place last week, this contest was shrouded in tradition and expectation. Everyone knew who was going to direct it, because the same woman had been directing the show for the past thirty years. Each child knew who would play the lead role long before the auditions. And, like every other religious show across America, this show was expected to run like clockwork, with no surprises. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay That is until the director fell and broke his leg and the Herdman kids showed up the week the auditions were announced and for some strange reason decided they wanted to be in the play. Now, there was nothing wrong with the Herdman children, just that there were a lot of them and they weren't exactly the kids you would expect to see in the Christmas show. They were dirty and disheveled, not exactly well-behaved, and basically tough as nails. Every child in town was afraid of the Herdmans. So when the Herdman children decided they wanted to be part of the show, and be the stars no less, none of the other children resisted. So the older sister played the Angel Gabriel, the brothers played the three wise men, and the youngest and toughest of them all, Gladys, played the Virgin Mary. On the night of the show, the Herdman children independently decided to add their own twist to the show. Christmas story. Instead of the angel Gabriel greeting the shepherds with “do not be afraid,” they were greeted with Hey you! Instead of bringing the baby Jesus gold, frankincense, and myrrh, the wise men brought Jesus what they believed were more suitable gifts: toys and the family's Christmas ham. And Mary, well, instead of appearing completely clean, innocent and pure, she was dirty and disheveled with her veil all askew. When the shepherds arrived she held her newborn baby tightly, protecting him from anyone who dared to take him away from her. As Barbara Robinson recounts, there was no doubt among the children and most of the congregation that the Herdmans had ruined the Christmas display, until the narrator finds Gladys in a corner looking intently at a picture of the Virgin Mary , with tears flowing. along his cheeks as he declares, “this is how it should look.” No, the narrator observes, not like in the image, but more like Gladys because that is where God chose to enter the world. So often, when we choose to enter the darkness of Christmas Eve to go to church, or even on Sunday morning, we arrive full of anticipation, hoping to somehow separate ourselves from the chaos of the world we live in. To find ourselves, at least for a few moments, able to escape the pain that could be so deeply a part of our lives. or to find a moment to stop and catch our breath amidst the frenetic pace that life imposes on us. We often come to believe that if we can pause our lives we might experience a glimpse of the Almighty. On Christmas Eve we seek to enter into an ideal world where a mother kneels peacefully next to her sleeping newborn while we pray that our lives may be equally serene and peaceful. Only to realize that our lives or even life itself will never be this peaceful or serene. In the midst of our own.