A few weeks ago, I assigned my high school students a project: to put Jesus on trial. They were asked to read the Passion narratives to develop witnesses.

Needless to say, most of them wanted to be on the defense team. But as the trial progressed, many of them found it easier to prosecute him. It underscored for them the complications involved in history, in relationships (those of Jesus’ time) and in truth. The fact is, our history books and the Bible are replete with well-packaged stories, some of which make relationships look easy. For instance, Jesus calls and people “drop their nets”; I’m not sure it was quite that simple.

As our “trial” moved forward, it manifested something within me: the idea that things aren’t always as neat and clean as they appear in the history books … or the Bible. Relationships in Jesus’ time were confusing, if not downright frustrating. It hasn’t changed today. And no other season highlights that more than Christmas.

I love this time of year. But I imagine some don’t. It’s a season filled with dichotomy and confusion. On one hand, it brings a sense of great joy. On the other hand, people are often “foisted” into gatherings with family members with whom they may have difficulty getting along. Christmas should be a time of great rejoicing. Why, then, is it so difficult for some? One reason might be that this season highlights the human condition more than any other — and Lord knows that condition can be maddening. It’s that idea of the relentless struggle between blessing and hassle; contentment and stress; joy and frustration — all concepts with which we become familiar when we’re in relationship.

I learned a while ago not to pray for certain things. Why? Because God always answers. For instance, whenever I pray for patience, God usually gives me the opportunity to exercise it. I find whenever I cry out to God to fix someone else, He puts it back on me: “Fix yourself first.”

It took me years to recognize this, but I’ve come to the conclusion that all our blessings in this life are riddled with difficulty. My job is a blessing, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a struggle sometimes. I thank God for my family, but it doesn’t mean they won’t get on my nerves (or me on theirs). My home is a blessing, but if I have to fix one more thing, I think I’ll scream. We have this inordinate ability as humans to expect our blessings to be stainless, our lives to be perfect, and our relationships to be eternally placid. And when they’re not, we have the temptation to forget they’re blessings.

So what does it mean for this time of year? Maybe what it means, when dealing with family, friends or co-workers, is to get out of this, “what-have-you-done-for-me-lately” mode. Or to recognize that our relationships don’t have to be perfect in order to be blessings. When we spend too much time qualifying who has “earned” the right to our love, we have less time to give it. And frankly, do we always “earn” God’s love? If God gave up on us every time we disappointed Him, where would we be?

At the heart of these confounding questions is the fact that nothing is truly what it seems. When we gaze at other families and dream of how great things are for them, we forget that there isn’t a family that’s ever lived — save the Holy family — that isn’t in some way dysfunctional. The difference between those that thrive and those that don’t isn’t ignoring those who may be the “trouble-makers,” or allowing people to “walk on us.” Rather, it’s choosing to focus on the good that exists within those relationships. It’s being less concerned with what I’m owed and more concerned with who God expects me to be.

There once was a time in history when people were actually more concerned with their responsibilities than their rights. I’m not sure what happened, but somewhere along the line that changed.

The human condition hasn’t changed in 2,000 years. And I don’t expect it will any time soon. The only thing we can do is ask God to lift us past our fears, prejudices and grudges. Perhaps if the people of Jesus’ time had done that, things would’ve turned out differently for him. But that’s a separate column.

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Paul Stuligross teaches theology at Livonia Ladywood High School and is a former police officer.