by Rev. Donna Schaper

On my perfect Christmas Eve, the candles are all lit and haven't started dripping on the tablecloth yet. The turkey is bronzed. The ham is glazed. No one has nibbled at it or stuck their fingers in any of the sides, which are all beautifully proportioned on platters. Wonderfully wrapped gifts sit under a tastefully decorated tree in a spotless living room. Not one of the guests has parked their car on the lawn, and I haven't yet teared up, releasing mascara onto my white cashmere sweater.

In reality, the soup sprayed all over the microwave, and the dog walked off with the ham.

Really, we just want to get into our pajamas, the comfortable ones that don't match. But that perfectionist glow compels us all to the tableau.

No one wants to be asked to "give the blessing" because no words would really work. So, we return to an old family favorite, worn as the pajamas are, and hold hands; "Bless this food, O God, and us to thy service," not using the word "thy" much except on nights like this; or, "Come Lord Jesus be our guest and let thy gifts to us be blessed"; or, "Rub a dub dub, three kids in a tub, please bless our grub."

The prayer gives just enough pause for the reminder that we are the lucky people: "I thank thee God that I am not like those poor people?" No, not that way. True gratitude would be for what the perfect purports. We ache for everyone in the world to eat as well as we will tonight.

After dinner, some smoke cigars and drink brandy, while others try to keep a favorite uncle from drinking too much. Then the great mess begins as presents are opened. Soon you need a walking stick to get through the room safely. As the kids start to fight, we finally relax into the glow of the Christmas tree lights. We look around at our intimates, thanking God for them, one by one, savoring the perfect imperfection of Christmas.

We breathe, realizing the strength of the theology of the incarnation; its holiness put in human packages. It is perfectly imperfect, linking heaven to earth, time to eternity, body to soul, God in human. A baby human at that. Wow. What a mess! Diapers and all.

God made the decision to come in human form, voted for imperfection, incompleteness. It was a stab at beauty, not an ownership of it. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till the imperfections of holiness arrived.

Howard Thurman's Prayer

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among all,
To make music in the heart.

- From The Mood of Christmas by Howard Thurman, author, philosopher, theologian, educator, civil rights leader.

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Donna Schaper is one of the founders of Bricks and Mortals in New York City. She served as pastor at Judson Memorial Church for 15 years. Currently she is pastor-in-residence at the Community Church of San Migel de Allende. She teaches leadership at the Hartford University for Religion and Peace. In her rewirement, she is working with Bricks and Mortals on S4, Spiritual Solutions for Sacred Sites.

Donna has written 39 books, including one 40 Days with Howard Thurman, after her husband Warren Goldstein gave her the best Christmas/Hannukah present ever, the complete works of Howard Thurman, 19 out of print books. She recommends, as Thurman's best book in print, Jesus and the Disinherited..

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