A huge storm a few years ago plunged much of Washington State’s Puget Sound region into electronic deprivation just before Christmas. My husband and I, along with the small island community where we live, faced the third of three nights without power, just before our church’s Christmas concert.

Word was passed that the concert would take place as planned. My husband and I walked to the church through dark and hushed streets in an atmosphere in tune with the real event in Bethlehem. The church had no heat, but no matter. The community packed the sanctuary and sat close together in parkas, stocking caps, gloves, and lap robes (like gatherings in earlier churches, I imagine).

A small generator provided a single light for performers. The choir sang as joyously as ever, accompanied only by the piano. The bell choir needed no electronic aid. The accomplished soloist and the cellist lifted us from ordinary lives.

I have seldom seen an audience so touched, so appreciative. When the concert ended, no one moved for several moments. We did not want to leave but finally made our way back to our darkened homes.

The next day, Sunday, power remained a distant dream. Still in our winter garb, we trooped back to church and watched the children’s Christmas pageant. After the service we gathered in the fellowship hall for the children’s “birthday to Jesus” party.

The candles were lit on the birthday cake, appropriately iced with the words “Happy Birthday to Jesus.” As we sang “happy birthday, dear Jesus.” my husband looked up and pointed. The electric lights had just flashed on. Not that we needed them now. We’d celebrated the season without them, thank you very much.

Come to think of it, the angels didn’t announce the birth of God’s son over the Internet. The three kings didn’t send gift certificates by email. Joseph didn’t even have a flashlight to guide him in assisting his young wife with the birth of her first child or modern plumbing for washing up.

Christmas came anyway.