It was the fourth Sunday in Advent, with Christmas coming on Friday, and Pastor James was sermonizing. He was at his best on days like this, when there were likely to be newcomers or twice-a-year believers in the seats. He felt bound to step it up a bit to make a strong impression on those who were on the margins, those perhaps questioning their world view, or the backsliders (as they had bee called back in the day). He was oozing sincerity, radiating confidence, sparkling with inspiration as he moved from one scripture passage to the next. The congregation was struggling, to be honest, to stay with him. They were distracted. He was laying it out there, but they were just not picking it up.

The weather itself was backsliding, questioning its own world view, moving rapidly from one mood to another as quickly as James moved through scripture passages. It was cold, but not bitterly. Clouds hurried from west to east across a mostly blue sky, alternately brightening and dimming the sanctuary. Occasional flurries of snow could be seen through the high windows on either side of the large room.

James, though doing a stellar job of delivering the message of good news and great joy, was also distracted. He generally encouraged parishioners to come to church with a Bible, and he had been gratified over the years to see that most folks did come with their versions of the scriptures, whether a hefty leather-bound study Bible, a smaller pocket edition, or a special-focus version (women’s, couples, students) in a variety of personalized carrying cases. But he had not been prepared for the rise of the electronic Bible on e-readers, the Bible apps on smartphones and tablets. While his logical self could admit the usefulness of such devices, with search capabilities and multiple Bible versions ready at hand, another part of him was a bit distrustful, suspecting that folks were actually browsing the internet or playing games rather than following along with his scripture lessons.

A small but growing number of the faithful at Christ the King church used devices with glowing glass screens to read their Bible, and it was anyone’s guess how many of those might be distracted by other apps or online enticements during church. But on this Sunday morning, many were distracted by the season, the weather, or the general flurry of activity that was part of life and only increased at the holidays.

A young mother was wondering if she had counted the gifts correctly so that her three children would have the same number of packages to open on Christmas morning. Another mother had a similar thought, but centered around the amount spent on each of her children, so that no one would feel neglected (or that she and her husband would not feel that they had short-changed or favored one child over another). Each took a quick moment to check the notes stored on their smartphones to re-check the gift tally.

One couple was fretting over whether the relatives would make it there from Texas. A big winter storm was predicted for Christmas Eve, threatening their hopes of hosting the extended family at their house for the first time. The husband may have been checking the weather forecast on his iPad, watching the changing chances of snow between now and Thursday.

A middle-aged man had his Bible app open on his phone, but was not able to focus on the screen. He had been laid off earlier in the year and would not be able to take his grown children on the much-anticipated vacation trip as he had planned. The children would be understanding, of course, but he was weighed down by the thought of having let them down, of not being adequate.

A teenage girl had broken up with her boyfriend on the previous Friday, and was scrolling through the many text messages they had exchanged in the months leading up to the split. There were tears in her eyes, and the text blurred, but she knew what they said well enough. What had happened to the feelings those messages had expressed?

Many others were just so excited by the coming of Christmas that their thoughts flitted from colored lights to the scent of a fir tree; from a manger to Santa Claus; from holiday parties to time off from work. The true meaning of Christmas was in the mix, but many other things were there to distract, to entice, to dilute.

Outside the church windows, the brief snow flurries had turned into heavy, blowing snow that was starting to stick to the windows. The members of the congregation turned almost as one to look. Some were excited by the prospect of new snow, while others dreaded the hazardous driving conditions that would come with it.

James had moved on through the familiar scriptures, from Isaiah to Micah, to Malachi, to Matthew. He was weaving a tapestry of hope and joy, but he sensed that he had lost the attention of those he knew so well, those seated before him. His eyes were drawn to downturned faces, fingers swiping and tapping; other faces turned toward the rising blizzard outside; still others with closed eyes, slack faces.

The good pastor came finally to the second chapter of Matthew’s gospel; passages with shepherds, angels, no room at the inn, a bright star, and a newborn baby. As he moved through this familiar story, the weather outside suddenly shifted from dark clouds and blowing snow to bright sun and blowing snow. The sanctuary was immediately lit brightly by direct sun and moving sparks of light flashing off flying snowflakes. Pastor James was stopped in his verbal tracks, and a low gasp was heard from the congregation. James lifted his eyes to heaven, feeling he had finally lost all momentum, had lost the thread of the message, had completely lost the attention of everyone in the room.

Looking upward, he saw numerous bright shards of light flickering on the ceiling, forming patterns and moving on, then returning. They looked like fireflies but faster and brighter, and much more organized. He realized with a start that he was seeing snow-filtered sunlight reflecting off the glass screens of smartphones, tablets, e-readers, and smartwatches. These devices, randomly distributed throughout the sanctuary, were focusing the winter light into fleeting patterns—stars, angel wings, a crown—that could not have been made deliberately by the users of those devices, but which were there nevertheless. His mouth dropped open, and all he could utter was “Oh, Glory!” The congregation then followed his gaze upward and was treated to a miraculous light display that was there for only a moment before the blizzard shut out the light again.

Pastor James managed to bring the service to a close, and was greeted by those departing with astonished questions and exclamations. “Did you see that? How did you do that?” He credited it all to a Christmas miracle—a small one, in God’s scheme of things, but even small miracles become large in the hearts of those who experience them. Several hearts in this congregation had needed lifting, and had received just that.

Circumstances for them might still be difficult, even dark, but it had just become clear that there was something special at work in the world. James, being a thorough scholar and theologian, took several messages from this particular miracle, one of which was to be more accepting of new technologies, perhaps even optimistic about their potential. But he knew that it was not in the design of any device to perform unexpected miracles. It was, though, in the design of human hearts, minds, and bodies to interact for the glory of God; to move in individual ways that would, on occasion, come together for a greater good; to cast light or reflect it in ways that surprise and delight.

Pastor James decided to try, in the coming year, to reflect the Light in new ways, to be open to the unexpected. He might even look into a tablet for his own Bible reading.