The carol “O little town of Bethlehem” – it’s technically a hymn – is one which most of us know by heart. We love the picture, probably enhanced by years of Christmas cards, that it brings to our minds: the picture of a sleeping town with stars (possibly The Star!) in the sky, and a pinpoint of light spilling from the door of the stable. The atmosphere – just as in “Silent Night” – is one of stillness, tranquillity and calm; God is in his heaven and Bethlehem, indeed the whole world, is at peace.

“O little town” was written by the American minister Phillips Brooks for the children of his church in Philadelphia, following a lengthy trip to Europe and the Holy Land in 1865. He arrived in Bethlehem late in December and attended the Christmas Eve service held in the ancient church built on the traditional site of Christ’s Nativity. Earlier in the evening he had ridden out to the so-called “shepherds’ field” and was pleased to see that they still contained shepherds, keeping watch over their flocks or leading them home. The experience deeply moved him, especially as America had just come to the end of its bloody, four-year long Civil War. Bethlehem seemed to offer a picture of hope.

At the beginning of December this year, the “Arab News” website painted a very different picture: “For a second year running, there is no Christmas cheer in Bethlehem, with tourists shunning the city and many residents seeking a way out as the Gaza war grinds on. Manger Square is largely deserted and the souvenir shops are shuttered”. This website quotes Issa Thaljieh, an Orthodox priest from the Nativity Church, who says: “During these difficult times that our Palestinian cities are going through, especially in Gaza, it is difficult to show any signs of joy and happiness”. He tells us that Christian families are looking to escape, demoralized by the tourist slump, the increasing restrictions on free movement in and out of the city, the soaring number of people being arrested and detained without charge or trial, and the threat of violence that constantly hovers over the West Bank. I could add a great deal more detail; let me just say that the Lutheran church in Bethlehem has a nativity scene with baby Jesus lying not in a manger but on a pile of broken bricks and rubble. This thought-provoking nativity scene has been copied in other places, including Washington DC and the Vatican.

However, and despite the heavy atmosphere, not everything is doom and gloom. Last Christmas, church leaders in Jerusalem told their congregations not to put up decorations as they seemed frivolous and inappropriate; this year they have encouraged them to celebrate the season with public signs of hope. “In this way”, they say, “we will echo the Christmas story, where the angels announced glad tidings of Christ’s birth in the midst of similarly dark times in our region”. Children in Bethlehem took this to heart, with a joyful Advent procession along Star Street to the Church of the Nativity. But this was no flight from reality, as many of the children held up placards saying, “From the bottom of my heart, peace in Gaza and Beirut”, “Peaceful solutions are always better”, and “Together we can create change”.

I suspect that, by this point in my message, you’re thinking, “This isn’t right, this isn’t the Christmas story I came to church to hear. I wanted to hear cosy words of love and peace and goodwill and joy – but you’ve been talking about fear and gloom and politics”. Well, I may have unsettled you; but I’m not apologising for that. And the reason I’m not apologising is because of what I believe Christmas is all about. Yes, it is about happiness and joy, it is about feasting and family, it is about giving and receiving – and everything else. But, above all, Christmas is about Emmanuel – that mysterious Hebrew word which crops up in our carols and means “God with us”.

John, the Gospel writer, says: “The Word (that’s Jesus) became a human being and lived among us”. Paul the apostle wrote: “he gave up all he had, took the nature of a servant and appeared in human likeness”. Or, as one carol states: love compelled Jesus “to come from highest bliss down to such a world as this” – not a perfect world of our imagination but the real, dirty, unkempt, beautiful, ugly and conflict-filled world of the first century – and of today; not just Bethlehem but every place which is fearful, sad and forlorn. If we separate the Nativity from reality, then we are completely missing its point.

About fifteen years ago Martin Leckebusch, who hails from Leicester but now attends a Baptist church in Gloucester, updated the lyrics to “O little town”. We’d probably never want to sing them, but they do make us think. He begins, “O West Bank town of Bethlehem, how still thy victims lie … such hopes and fears, such bitter tears are met in thee tonight” and concludes, “May we, like Christmas angels ,announce Immanuel, till all are given a glimpse of heaven and not a taste of hell”. Is that faint glimmer, no more, of hope, the best we can manage this Christmas? Perhaps it is.