Mary, likely only about 14 at the time, was a child having a child: the kind of unexpected situtation that we, here and now, might automatically suggest abortion for. Just days after her giving birth in secret, Herod, in an effort to pre-empt the prophecy, kills off hundreds of innocent children, thinking that Jesus was among them. Through the ordeal, the players in the Christmas pageant endure some of the worst that society has to offer — discrimination, aggression, and genocide — with only a crucifixion and death to look toward.

Christmas comes without ribbons, it comes without tags. In the bleak midwinter, when the snow has just become annoying and the temperatures are dipping below the freezing mark, when the days are the shortest, and the sky is overcast, the trees barren, in the bleakest moment in world history, surrounded by pain and suffering and the worst of the human condition, Christmas was, and is, a beacon of hope, a reminder that our time in this place is only temporary. After all, if He helped us out once, He can help us out again.