It was the first Sunday school Christmas pageant for our three-year old grandson. Outside the church, snowflakes gently fell. All was calm. All was bright…

Inside, the church was filled to capacity. The entire right side of the church was composed of our grandchild’s proud parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and anyone with a remote genealogical connection to the family. 

In the church entrance, where the Nativity cast had assembled, noise levels had reached a fevered pitch. The Nativity was getting restless. Canes borrowed from elderly grandparents for shepherd props were being used in sword fights and one of the sheep had escaped the flock and was headed for the row where his parents were sitting. 

Meanwhile, a piercing yell from the adjacent room cut the din. It was the Sunday school teacher. The door opened and we were accorded a brief glimpse of her Dante’s Hell as she wrestled the last of the children into their costumes and into formation. 

More carols.

At last, the Nativity cast was ready. The mother of Baby Jesus tiptoed on stage and placed her pride and joy in the manger.

The grade-three narrator was in her place. Baby Jesus was sucking on his soother in the manger. The assorted animals were gathered around the manger. Mary was elbowing Joseph to stop picking his nose. One of the angels had bent her halo down over her eyes and was looking out into the audience through the circle with her nose scrinched up. 

Our grandson was chosen to play a bull, one of the many stable animals. The other bull was another three-year-old. Both were cast for their excellent acting skills and because the bull horn headbands fit their little angelic heads. 

Our grandson looked wonderful. We beamed our admiration. A star would be born this night.

The narrator began. 

“She gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manager.” The teacher whispered to the narrator. “Manger. Not manager,” said the narrator.

 “There were some shepherds in that part of the country who were watching their flocks by night.”

The shepherds in this story were not watching their flock by night. The shepherds, with their grandmother’s canes, were standing behind the herd of cattle, testing whether or not the canes would wrap around the cattle horns.

“An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone about them.”

One of the beautiful white robed angels spread her wings and said, “Glory to God in the highest and peace on earth and goodwill to all men!”

Just at that moment, the other bull realized he’d had enough of “peace on earth and goodwill to all men.” He lowered his head and poked his horns into our little bull. 

Our little bull retaliated. He lowered his head and poked his horns into the other bull. It was then that our bull noticed his mother shaking her finger at him from the audience. He had to decide — face a fearsome mother or fight the other bull. He contemplated momentarily and then moved back from the bull. There. He’d done the right thing. But the other bull persisted. This was too much! Mother’s finger-wagging aside, our bull went into fight mode. 

Back and forth they went. Horn to horn. Then the shepherds set into action, trying to separate the two bulls with their canes. The angels took off their halos and used them as shields. 

Joseph, being the oldest cast member, assumed leadership. He marched up and took the canes away from the shepherds and placed some angels between the bulls. The organist tried to rescue the situation and began to play “Silent Night Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright…”

It didn’t work. The wise men continued to tousle and landed in the straw next to the manger, waking Baby Jesus who began to cry. His alarmed mother marched up on stage and took her Baby Jesus back to where she was sitting. The narrator stood frozen at the podium and the Sunday school teacher began to weep.

When the dust from the hay settled, the front of the church was a mash-up of halos, canes and the discarded robes and towels of shepherd costumes. Our grandson picked up his horns, announced “I’ve had enough of this” and marched to his parents who made no attempt to acknowledge him.

The audience, which had previously been quietly laughing, was now out of control. I laughed so hard that I snorted while the grandfather of this bull wiped his eyes with his hanky.

The parents of the little bull cast a cold eye on him and spoke to him through clenched teeth. I later heard that the Sunday School teacher was “resting comfortably” after the Nativity pageant.

To this day it was the best Christmas pageant ever.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

- Beth