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Around this time of year, “Peace on Earth, good will toward men” becomes the clarion call of anyone celebrating the holiday season. Say it how you might — Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, or even the much-maligned “Happy Holidays” — we’re all caught up in a worldwide love-fest of peace, joy, happiness, and universal brotherhood.

All except for me, that is. Please allow me to wish you calamity, strife, and tidings of woe. And that’s from the bottom of my heart.

Now, before you throw me to the conservative talk show hosts for dismemberment, please hear me out.

If asked to identify a Christmas Carol that best describes the birth of Jesus Christ, most people would instantly hit on “Silent Night.” You know the tune — “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright… sleep in heavenly peace” etc. From sentiments like came the Nativity figurine industry and most of Mannheim Steamroller’s profit margin.

But when you think about it, this was hardly the most calm and peaceful night for young Mary and her newborn child. Last time I checked my history books, epidurals and spinal blocks weren’t around in first-century Bethlehem. Birth was a messy, noisy, and painful process. Add in the fact that she recently completed a cross-country journey (on a donkey, no less) and that the best accommodations available were divided into “mooing and non-mooing” and you probably had one miserable, ticked off mommy-to-be. In addition, poor Joseph didn’t have the benefit of modern-day birthing classes, so all he could do was try to convince his young wife that manger cribs were all the rage back in Nazareth.

Our Lord was born into a calamitous time, during which Israel was undergoing yet another occupation by a foreign power (foreign domination was kind of a way of life for the Hebrew people). Not only did they have to contend with the Roman Empire, but they also had to put up with locally-owned despots like Herod and his sons. The Herods were so antisocial that the merest hint of local competition caused them to slaughter every young boy under the age of two.

But the fun and games didn’t stop with Jesus’ birth and early years. By the age of twelve, he had already mastered the art of making his parents freak out. He did this by hanging out in the Temple instead of staying in the pilgrimage caravan like other good little Judean boys. When called onto the carpet for this (assuming the Temple had a carpet), he further cemented his arrival into adolescence by refusing to admit he’d done anything wrong. Makes me wonder if his parents ever said, “Why can’t you be more like your father?”

Adulthood did absolutely nothing to temper Jesus’ flair for the dramatic. After a command performance in the desert, he immediately began offending the status quo left and right. He healed the sick on the Sabbath, which ticked off the Pharisees. He forgave sins, which ticked off the Pharisees. He ate with tax collectors, which ticked off the Pharisees. He cast moneychangers out of the Temple, which ticked off the Pharisees. In short, he did everything short of writing “Jesus Rulez, Pharisees Droolz” on the Temple walls. Jesus had notorious impatience with the overly pious and zealous, calling them “hypocrites” and “blind guides.”

Wherever Jesus went, so did rabblerousing and controversy. Indeed, controversy didn’t just happen around him; he sought it, continually and with great enthusiasm. He drove things to such a boiling point that he somehow managed the impossible — he got the Jews and the Romans to cooperate long enough to put him to death.

Even at his death, Jesus did not go quietly into that good night. Crucifixion is a messy, noisy, and overly time-consuming way to meet one’s maker. Add in the flogging and the whole bit with the crown of thorns and you have one major spectacle, 1st-century style. Even after death, Jesus refused to let silence have its last say; a mere three days later he was rolling away tombstones, flashing blinding lights at Roman guards, and making speeches that generally lasted much longer than one would have expected from a dead man.

Everything that Jesus did during his short stay among us fostered controversy, anger, and righteous indignation. Yet if you were to take just about any of these events in and of themselves — the healing of the blind man, the saving of the adultress, the redemption of the thief on the cross, the feeding of the five thousand — only a curmudgeon would say that these things were the work of a rabble-rousing madman.

Why did Jesus do his best work admid conflict and strife? Because, my friends, that’s the human condition. Who among us hasn’t ever had a moment in life where we did our best work under pressure? Who among us hasn’t ever risen to a challenge and become a better man or woman because of that triumph? We thrive on conflict; we rejoice in the conquering of obstacles. Some men climb mountains because, as the saying goes, “they are there.” Anyone who gives even a halfway shot at life does the same thing day-in and day-out. Why do we work so hard at life? Because it’s there, and it’s worth the effort.

However, as we fight the good fight, we must remember that there is still a place for peace. Jesus may have reveled in the storm, but he also calmed it with a whisper of “peace, be still.” He sought peace and solace in the Garden at Gethsemane in the hours before his trial and execution. He told his disciples, “peace be with you” knowing full well that their lives would be anything but peaceful. Peace is our place of refuge and rest; it heals us from the wounds of life; it prepares us for our next battle. But it isn’t where we’re supposed to stay. Jesus’ last command to us was to share his Gospel with the world, and you can’t do that by staying at home and keeping your garden tidy. You have to go out there into the world, toe-to-toe with the crazy, messed-up people whom God says are our “brothers and sisters.”

We should desire problems in our lives. To paraphrase the book of James, we should be thankful when life throws us curveballs and sliders, for when we learn to swat those balls, we learn to swat anything that life might throw us. Pity the man who has no challenges in his life, for he will never truly experience the sweet taste of victory.

So when I wish you the “peace and joy of the Christmas season,” know that I am not wishing you a peaceful, uneventful life. What I wish is for you to have peace within. Use it to gird your loins and cinch your armor. You’re going into the world to do battle and claim victory, so be prepared.

Our world is capable of making a great deal of noise. As you step into that world, remember that the calamity, confusion, and conflict that you hear is not the sound of a lost world; it’s the voice of God, calling on His children to change into something better.

Peace be with you, brother, ’cause you’re gonna need it!