The Christmas story—the real Christmas story—is more than 2,000 years old. And as such, it doesn’t hold a lot of surprises. We know about the shepherds, the wise men, the livestock in the manger. Most of us could recite the story in our sleep. And if we’re honest, some church-based Christmas pageants just might put us to sleep, too.
That might be said for the annual pageant held every year in the little town of Emmanuel. For 74 years, the pageant had gone off like clockwork. Oh, different Marys and Josephs and wise men might’ve come and gone. But the nuts and bolts of the production never changed: Angels would sing Christmas carols. Kids would shuffle on and off stage in bathrobes. Mary and Joseph would look down at their wriggling infant in the manger and silently encourage the audience to consider this, the greatest gift the world had ever received.
That was supposed to have been the case for the 75th performance, too.
The Herdman kids are Emmanuel’s own collective township terror. Beth, a classmate and frequent target of ringleader Imogene Herdman, knows just how bad they can be. “They lied,” Beth tells us. “They stole. They smoked cigars—even the girls.” Threats and violence came second nature to the whole Herdman clan, and they honed both with ever so much practice. They even burned down Fred Shoemaker’s ugly tool shed.
“My father said that was the only good thing the Herdmans ever did,” Beth reports. “And if they had known it was a good thing, they wouldn’t have done it at all.”
Most of the townsfolk might’ve thought that the Herdmans would’ve burst into flames if they ever stepped into church. But lured by the promise of free food and candy, step in they did, and none of them so much as sparked. Soon, all six of them volunteered to fill the most prominent roles in Emmanuel’s Christmas pageant: Mary, Joseph, the three wise men and the Angel of the Lord.
And because there were no other volunteers—the Herdmans made sure of that—they took over the pageant itself, lock, stock and manger.
What happens when the chaotic, bruising force of the Herdmans runs headlong into a tradition that never, ever changes? Well, the entire town of Emmanuel is about to find out.
And they wouldn’t miss this Christmas pageant for the world.
One of the reasons why the pageant has always stayed the same is because Mrs. Armstrong, a woman who seems to run almost everything in Emmanuel, wanted it that way. But when Mrs. Armstrong breaks both of her legs, the job of running the pageant falls into the hands of Beth’s mother, Grace. And true to her name, she ultimately shows a lot of it.
Grace understands just what a disaster the pageant could be with the Herdmans dominating it. And plenty of townspeople want her just to kick the kids out of the production—and out of church while she’s at it. But Grace, ultimately, pushes back. “The whole point of the story is that Jesus was born for the Herdmans just as much as for us,” she says. And even though she knows that keeping the Herdmans around might just ruin the pageant and make her a laughingstock, Grace refuses to turn them away.
Just as Grace stands up for the Herdmans, so Beth stands up for her mother—putting herself in harm’s way as she does so.
As Imogene and the other Herdmans learn more about the Christmas story, they show signs of changing. Their original motives for getting involved—free food and, for Imogene, a hint of fame—morphs into something altogether better. And when it comes time to give a gift themselves, they demonstrate unexpected kindness and a willingness to sacrifice.
We learn that Beth’s dad regularly distributes hams to the less fortunate folks in town—and as a consequence, he always gives one to the Herdmans. A few people in town also prove to be more kind than we’d expect.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is not overtly preachy, and there’s not really an altar call to be found here. Not a single Herdman explicitly confesses their sins and accepts Jesus Christ as their Savior. But make no mistake, this is an inherently spiritual story, from the opening credits to the final bell. This is about Christmas—not Santa or Scrooge, but the gift of Christ and the change that gift can affect, or should affect, in all of us.
When the Herdmans first show up to take over the pageant, they—ironically—don’t know anything about it. And when Imogene demands that Grace tell her all about it, “from the beginning,” Beth is momentarily worried that they’ll go back to Genesis and the words “In the beginning …”
But Grace does not. Instead, she reads the Christmas story from the beginning, stopping frequently to give the Herdmans context. The baby Jesus wasn’t put in “wadded-up clothes,” as the Herdmans thought, but rather “swaddling clothes,” which kept the baby snug and safe.
“They tied Him up and put Him in a box?!” Imogene explodes. “Where was child welfare?”
But as Imogene and the other Herdmans learn more about the Christmas story, they show more and more interest in it. They’re furious with Herod, and want to see someone show him some terminal justice. (“They picked out the right villain,” Grace says. “That’s something.”) They want someone to give the selfish innkeeper a good piece of their mind. And they feel like they would pick out far better gifts for the Christ child than frankincense and myrrh.
“I don’t think I was ever [as] interested in anything as Imogene was in the Christmas story,” Beth tell us, reminding us of the biblical narrative’s inherent power and beauty.
We often see Beth praying for various blessings: that God “send the Herdmans far away until I grow up,” or that He’d “make it a good pageant so that Mom doesn’t get blamed,” or “do something to help Mom and save the pageant,” and a few other requests besides.
Elsewhere, we hear that the Herdmans asked for library cards so that they could check out Bibles. Kids sing plenty of religious Christmas carols. Crosses, stained-glass windows and images of Mary and Jesus are seen in church. We learn that after the events of the film, one of the characters becomes a pastor.
Early in the story, the kids in church stand in front of a full sanctuary to say what they like most about church. Most of the children say appropriately sweet and holy things, while Beth’s little brother, Michael, says, “What I like best about church is there aren’t any Herdmans here.” Beth tells us that most townspeople figured the Herdmans were “headed straight to hell by way of the state penitentiary.”
The Herdmans doodle on pictures of Moses in church and snake money out of the collection plate.
When the Herdmans puzzle out what Mary being “great with child” means, one blurts out that she was obviously pregnant.
“It’s not very nice to say that Mary was pregnant,” Alice says. Beth explains that Alice’s mother was very aware of anything remotely sexual, to the point that she never let Alice have a sleepover with anyone who had two rabbits.
There’s a line about someone’s dad walking around in his underwear at home.
As mentioned, perennial pageant boss Mrs. Armstrong broke both of her legs, and we see her wheeled out of her house by paramedics. (When asked if she’s in pain, Mrs. Armstrong says, “Yes, terrible,” without showing a bit of it.) We’re told that one of the few things that differentiates the Herdman siblings from one another is the different black-and-blue marks where they “clomped” each other.
One of the Herdmans brings the family cat in for show-and-tell; we learn, presumably, that the cat ate another kid’s show-and-tell goldfish. When hearing the Christmas story for the first time, Ralph Herdman says that his character (Joseph) should’ve burned down the inn, and that Jesus should’ve killed Herod.
A snowball fight gets a little out of hand. When no one volunteers for any of the important pageant roles, Grace asks Charlie why he didn’t raise his hand. “Gladys Herman hits too hard,” he says. (Later, we do indeed witness Gladys thwap someone across the head.) A Herdman draws a finger across her throat menacingly to deter anyone else volunteering, too. During the first rehearsal, Grace says that she’s going to “ignore everything except for blood.”
At the outset, Beth tells us that the Herdmans both “cussed teachers” and “took the Lord’s name in vain.” We don’t hear any hardcore cussing (though we do see a couple of Herdmans mutely shout presumed swears). But Imogene does utter God’s name in an inappropriate context during some pageant rehearsals. (Alice, like a future Plugged In reviewer, quietly jots the instances down.) Someone says “pull it out of your—” and leaves the rest of the sentence unspoken.
We’re told that the Herdmans all smoked—“even the girls.” Imogene is accused of smoking in the church bathroom.
Imogene steals a necklace from Beth. (“What do you want? This necklace, or your neck?” she says.) She threatens to stuff a plant down someone’s ear, so it’ll take root and grow. Beth notes that it’s no idle threat, as she’s allegedly done it before. We’re told that the Herdmans often go to movies, but they never pay (and see the distraction they create in order to get in free). Imogene teases someone about having cooties.
When Charlie says that his favorite thing about church is “no Herdmans,” his dad asks why he would utter such a thing. “It’s the truth, and you say, always tell the truth.” But when one Herdman child repeatedly steals Charlie’s lunch money, an exasperated Charlie lies, telling him that he gets all the candy and soda and cake he wants at church. (That lie actually triggers the Herdmans’ newfound interest in church.) When Grace tells the children participating in the pageant that she’s “glad to see all of you,” Beth (in narration mode) dryly says “that might’ve been the biggest lie ever said out loud in church.”
“The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world.”
So begins Barbara Robinson’s short novella The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. And it’s a sentence that never fails to make me smile. I’ve heard, and read, and said these words countless times over the years: My mom read the book to me when I was a kid. I read it aloud almost every Christmas to my own children. I still laugh out loud at most of it. I still get a little misty at the end.
And while there’s no replacing the book come Christmas, this movie does a bang-up job of bringing it to the screen.
As you might’ve gathered by now—or hey, even from just reading the movie title—this story is pinned to the Christmas story. And if you dig underneath all the movie’s humor, it’s intended to reminds us just how beautiful, powerful and messy that story is.
We tend to forget that mess, the story suggests. But as the Herdmans force Grace to tell them the Christmas story “from the beginning,” we see it through fresh eyes. We’re reminded that the manger was a feeding trough. That Mary and Joseph weren’t as clean-faced and holy as we imagine them, but rather dirty, confused and scared. We hear the Christmas story separated from Renaissance-era Nativity scenes and picture-perfect cards, and so find the story infused with more context and urgency.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever also does something that Jesus did back in the day: It calls out the most pharisaical among us. It reminds us, uncomfortably perhaps, that the very people we tend to avoid are exactly the people we should embrace.
“Jesus would not have suffered Herdmans!” says Alice, Beth’s prim-and-proper friend who—before Imogene—had played Mary at every Christmas pageant. But, of course, we know Jesus would have suffered them. And by the time the credits roll, we get the feeling that Imogene Herdman came to understand Mary and Jesus far better than Alice did.
In the Christmases of our imagination, we picture the beautiful lights, the beautiful trees, the pure, white, freshly-fallen snow.
But if you live anywhere that it snows, you know what it turns into when it’s mixed with dirt and leftover leaves and tire tracks and grime. Snow gets grimy. Just like we do. God made us, like snow, to be pure. But in our fallen world, we never stay that way. We get dirty and slushy and gross.
And yet God loves us anyway. He loves us in the hope that we—like Imogene—will discover, all in a rush, that we love Him. That we will see Him through the muck and mud of our lives. That we will see the love, hope and beauty under the snow, the colors just waiting to sprout come spring.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever contains plenty of content that would make the Alices of the world raise an eyebrow. but it’s all done to point the story—and us—to something better, something true. It reminds us that hey, unto us, a Child is born.
And that makes all the difference.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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