| The Christmas Story - Redux |
The Christmas Story - Redux
Luke 2:1-14
December 30, 2007
I can hear your collective sighs this morning. Christmas or at least the
expectations of Christmas are over for most of us. For those of you who
agonize over giving the perfect gift… good job, you did well. For those of
you who ate more pieces of antacid than you did Aunt Mabel’s
fruitcake… cheer up, regular eating patterns will soon be resumed.
Whether you struggled with being alone or with being around too many
people, Christmas 2007 will soon fade into the recesses of memory.
On this Sunday, falling so close on the heels of Christmas, I thought it
appropriate to slow things down a bit and rather than add to your, or my,
layers of angst, continue the Spirit of the celebration with a story. For me
anyway, stories are the way in which I grasp the holiness of the holiday.
I know that you come here Sunday after Sunday seeking a word or a
phrase that will help you understand the week that came before or how
survive the week to come. Perhaps, in the telling of this story or that
story, you’ll feel your load lightened by the weight of a tear. Perhaps you’
ll find a chuckle escaping without warning and remember what it is like
to laugh without care. And you might... it is my prayer that you will... take
the holiness that you have tasted here this morning back into the world
with you and share it just as the angels shared it with the shepherds so
that someday we will all join in the chorus singing “Glory to God in the
highest...”
This tale is entitled The Christmas Story. The author is that world famous
writer who goes by the nom de plume “Unknown.”
Jesus Christ, the Savior and the Son of God appeared this Christmas
season for a moment among the people of the world. Oh, of course, this
was not the coming in which He will appear according to his promise at
the end of time in all His heavenly glory, and which will be sudden as
lightning flashing from east to west. No, He visited the modern world
briefly as if to catch the real spirit of humankind in this enlightened age.
He came softly and unobserved, and… appropriately… He came during
the Christmas season. The multi colored lights and trappings, the green
boughs of the Yule tree, the hasty greeting of the season, and the
nervous movements of crowds flowing from store to store, all signified
the approach of Christmas tide.
Perhaps the trace of a wry smile lightened His features as He thought of
all this feverish activity. Truly, what was humankind celebrating and to
what purpose? Supposedly, they reveled in and paid homage to His
birth. It mattered not so much that the time of celebration was altered
from the actual event. What did matter was the spirit and intent
engendered by the occasion. To determine the depth and direction of
this spirit and intent was the purpose of His visit.
He moved silently in our midst with a gentle countenance and a smile of
infinite compassion. Jesus came during this season of Christmas with
the sun of love burning in His heart and light and power shining from His
eyes. Yet, to nearly all, He was unrecognized but not totally so: An old
man, blind from childhood, passing in the throng, touched His garments
and perceived His being.
O, Lord, heal me and I shall see, the old man cried.
And as it were, scales fell from his eyes and the blind man saw.
A child of the street, not too long from His heavenly presence, felt His
influence and placed her tiny hand in His. This brief encounter, with its
silent exchange of knowing confidence and guileless love, was
reminiscent of similar occasions so long ago.
The blind man and the child shared for a brief moment what the entire
world sought but was too busy to recognize.
He passed on through the madding throng, absorbing the moods of the
occasion. A young couple stood in front of the music store. They were
arguing rather heatedly over their financial status. These two, who were
tenderly endeared to one another less than an hour ago, were now in
real danger of losing that sweet feeling.
“Oh, my children,” thought the Savior. As if the true spirit of love is
measured by the cost or size of a trinket.
He recalled the story told of another couple the cutting of her hair to
provide a watch chain and the sale of his watch to provide matching
combs for her hair. Would that all lovers could feel this same spirit
toward each other.
He passed by the unhappy opponents, fleetingly touching each in turn.
Her lowered eyes, jeweled with tears, rose to meet those of her mate.
“I do love you. “
“And I, you,” he replied.
The young voices of a quartet emanated from the music store. The
words: “All I want for Christmas is to keep the things I have.”
The Savior, seeking sanctuary from the milling shoppers, made His way
into a building and became a spectator, with others, of the traditional
first grade portrayal of His birth. The grade school had enacted the
nativity story each year since its founding. This year the presentation had
proved like all the rest, a test for teachers to get the correct reactions
from six year old shepherds and wise men.
One problem had been particularly persistent. The little boy with the
round face and the very tender heart had been asked to play the part of
the inn keeper. During each practice, when the time came for him to
deny the saintly Mary and the quiet Joseph a place to sleep, he would
develop a quivering lip and finally break into tears. He was just not able
to turn them away.
Finally, the teacher in charge felt that an understanding had been
reached. She had carefully explained to the weeping inn keeper that it
wasn't really his fault that the inn was full. It was just completely sold out
and there was nothing he could do about it. This explanation seemed to
restore the necessary emotional balance and the nativity was presented.
The crucial moment arrived when the inn keeper had to do this
imperative duty.
“There is no...,”
A quivering lip…
“...room.”
A sob, a pause, and then a half smile. “But won't you come in for a drink
of water?”
There was little wonder in the Savior's heart as to why little children
made up the bulk of His kingdom.
The department store was large and stocked to overflowing with nearly
every conceivable device and need of man. The Christ made his way
through the mountains of merchandise that paled the remembrances of
the Phoenician bazaars and trading ships of long ago. A knot of people
in one corner of the store attracted His attention. A flaxen bearded man
with a red suit and black boots sat on a chair at the head of a long line of
children and parents. Santa Claus looked tired and Jesus felt a distinct
kinship to him, for He understood how tiring a day of requests could be.
Two little girls one six and the other about three made their way
forward and ensconced themselves on each knee of the bewhiskered
union man. The usual pattern of question and answer followed.
“And what do you want Santa to bring you this Christmas?”
Instead of really listening to the replies, Santa was noticing the poor
material and roughly patched clothing of the two. Stringy hair and
pinched faces surrounded bright and expectant eyes.
“And have you been good little girls?”
Again, he failed to hear. Their stockings had long ago lost their elasticity
and their shoes had disintegrated under the relentless wear given them.
Santa gave each eager pair of hands the plastic bank the store had
provided for each child as a memento of the occasion. But he couldn't
seem to let the experience end here. He reached into his pocket and
drew forth nine coins and proceeded to place them alternately in each
bank. The intense childish eyes grew wide with excitement, and Santa
saw what joy even this small offering was bringing. Each coin had been
received with such ecstasy that he wished each one could have been a
hundred in number.
Each child had four coins in her possession and a moment of decision
had arrived what was Santa to do with the ninth?
Santa asked, “And who should I give this last one to?” The older and
more precocious spoke with little hesitation.
“Give it to my little sister.”
The Savior saw the mist of emotion cloud the eyes of Santa Claus as he
placed a kiss on two cheeks.
The Redeemer left as He had come, quietly and unobserved. He had
seen and felt some of the good and the bad of the world. But He left with
a confidence that right would prevail. The jarring and contending of
governments seemed to be offset by the inherent good will emanating
from person to person. It is true that the excessive commercial drive and
intent of the Christmas season reminded Him somewhat of the money
changers in a past time, but the spirit of giving was everywhere
prevalent and dominated the commercialism found in some quarters. He
noticed, too, that often the true meaning of Christmas was submerged
under fable and folly. And yet, the underlying strength of the real story
permeated all the other and influenced it for good.
Thus ends this story written by an unknown. Hope for humankind still
alive at Christmas.
And now begins our new story, written by those of us who are known.
Known to God… Known to each other... Together we are invited to tell
the real story to the rest of the world. How will we tell it?
Luke 2:1-14
December 30, 2007
I can hear your collective sighs this morning. Christmas or at least the
expectations of Christmas are over for most of us. For those of you who
agonize over giving the perfect gift… good job, you did well. For those of
you who ate more pieces of antacid than you did Aunt Mabel’s
fruitcake… cheer up, regular eating patterns will soon be resumed.
Whether you struggled with being alone or with being around too many
people, Christmas 2007 will soon fade into the recesses of memory.
On this Sunday, falling so close on the heels of Christmas, I thought it
appropriate to slow things down a bit and rather than add to your, or my,
layers of angst, continue the Spirit of the celebration with a story. For me
anyway, stories are the way in which I grasp the holiness of the holiday.
I know that you come here Sunday after Sunday seeking a word or a
phrase that will help you understand the week that came before or how
survive the week to come. Perhaps, in the telling of this story or that
story, you’ll feel your load lightened by the weight of a tear. Perhaps you’
ll find a chuckle escaping without warning and remember what it is like
to laugh without care. And you might... it is my prayer that you will... take
the holiness that you have tasted here this morning back into the world
with you and share it just as the angels shared it with the shepherds so
that someday we will all join in the chorus singing “Glory to God in the
highest...”
This tale is entitled The Christmas Story. The author is that world famous
writer who goes by the nom de plume “Unknown.”
Jesus Christ, the Savior and the Son of God appeared this Christmas
season for a moment among the people of the world. Oh, of course, this
was not the coming in which He will appear according to his promise at
the end of time in all His heavenly glory, and which will be sudden as
lightning flashing from east to west. No, He visited the modern world
briefly as if to catch the real spirit of humankind in this enlightened age.
He came softly and unobserved, and… appropriately… He came during
the Christmas season. The multi colored lights and trappings, the green
boughs of the Yule tree, the hasty greeting of the season, and the
nervous movements of crowds flowing from store to store, all signified
the approach of Christmas tide.
Perhaps the trace of a wry smile lightened His features as He thought of
all this feverish activity. Truly, what was humankind celebrating and to
what purpose? Supposedly, they reveled in and paid homage to His
birth. It mattered not so much that the time of celebration was altered
from the actual event. What did matter was the spirit and intent
engendered by the occasion. To determine the depth and direction of
this spirit and intent was the purpose of His visit.
He moved silently in our midst with a gentle countenance and a smile of
infinite compassion. Jesus came during this season of Christmas with
the sun of love burning in His heart and light and power shining from His
eyes. Yet, to nearly all, He was unrecognized but not totally so: An old
man, blind from childhood, passing in the throng, touched His garments
and perceived His being.
O, Lord, heal me and I shall see, the old man cried.
And as it were, scales fell from his eyes and the blind man saw.
A child of the street, not too long from His heavenly presence, felt His
influence and placed her tiny hand in His. This brief encounter, with its
silent exchange of knowing confidence and guileless love, was
reminiscent of similar occasions so long ago.
The blind man and the child shared for a brief moment what the entire
world sought but was too busy to recognize.
He passed on through the madding throng, absorbing the moods of the
occasion. A young couple stood in front of the music store. They were
arguing rather heatedly over their financial status. These two, who were
tenderly endeared to one another less than an hour ago, were now in
real danger of losing that sweet feeling.
“Oh, my children,” thought the Savior. As if the true spirit of love is
measured by the cost or size of a trinket.
He recalled the story told of another couple the cutting of her hair to
provide a watch chain and the sale of his watch to provide matching
combs for her hair. Would that all lovers could feel this same spirit
toward each other.
He passed by the unhappy opponents, fleetingly touching each in turn.
Her lowered eyes, jeweled with tears, rose to meet those of her mate.
“I do love you. “
“And I, you,” he replied.
The young voices of a quartet emanated from the music store. The
words: “All I want for Christmas is to keep the things I have.”
The Savior, seeking sanctuary from the milling shoppers, made His way
into a building and became a spectator, with others, of the traditional
first grade portrayal of His birth. The grade school had enacted the
nativity story each year since its founding. This year the presentation had
proved like all the rest, a test for teachers to get the correct reactions
from six year old shepherds and wise men.
One problem had been particularly persistent. The little boy with the
round face and the very tender heart had been asked to play the part of
the inn keeper. During each practice, when the time came for him to
deny the saintly Mary and the quiet Joseph a place to sleep, he would
develop a quivering lip and finally break into tears. He was just not able
to turn them away.
Finally, the teacher in charge felt that an understanding had been
reached. She had carefully explained to the weeping inn keeper that it
wasn't really his fault that the inn was full. It was just completely sold out
and there was nothing he could do about it. This explanation seemed to
restore the necessary emotional balance and the nativity was presented.
The crucial moment arrived when the inn keeper had to do this
imperative duty.
“There is no...,”
A quivering lip…
“...room.”
A sob, a pause, and then a half smile. “But won't you come in for a drink
of water?”
There was little wonder in the Savior's heart as to why little children
made up the bulk of His kingdom.
The department store was large and stocked to overflowing with nearly
every conceivable device and need of man. The Christ made his way
through the mountains of merchandise that paled the remembrances of
the Phoenician bazaars and trading ships of long ago. A knot of people
in one corner of the store attracted His attention. A flaxen bearded man
with a red suit and black boots sat on a chair at the head of a long line of
children and parents. Santa Claus looked tired and Jesus felt a distinct
kinship to him, for He understood how tiring a day of requests could be.
Two little girls one six and the other about three made their way
forward and ensconced themselves on each knee of the bewhiskered
union man. The usual pattern of question and answer followed.
“And what do you want Santa to bring you this Christmas?”
Instead of really listening to the replies, Santa was noticing the poor
material and roughly patched clothing of the two. Stringy hair and
pinched faces surrounded bright and expectant eyes.
“And have you been good little girls?”
Again, he failed to hear. Their stockings had long ago lost their elasticity
and their shoes had disintegrated under the relentless wear given them.
Santa gave each eager pair of hands the plastic bank the store had
provided for each child as a memento of the occasion. But he couldn't
seem to let the experience end here. He reached into his pocket and
drew forth nine coins and proceeded to place them alternately in each
bank. The intense childish eyes grew wide with excitement, and Santa
saw what joy even this small offering was bringing. Each coin had been
received with such ecstasy that he wished each one could have been a
hundred in number.
Each child had four coins in her possession and a moment of decision
had arrived what was Santa to do with the ninth?
Santa asked, “And who should I give this last one to?” The older and
more precocious spoke with little hesitation.
“Give it to my little sister.”
The Savior saw the mist of emotion cloud the eyes of Santa Claus as he
placed a kiss on two cheeks.
The Redeemer left as He had come, quietly and unobserved. He had
seen and felt some of the good and the bad of the world. But He left with
a confidence that right would prevail. The jarring and contending of
governments seemed to be offset by the inherent good will emanating
from person to person. It is true that the excessive commercial drive and
intent of the Christmas season reminded Him somewhat of the money
changers in a past time, but the spirit of giving was everywhere
prevalent and dominated the commercialism found in some quarters. He
noticed, too, that often the true meaning of Christmas was submerged
under fable and folly. And yet, the underlying strength of the real story
permeated all the other and influenced it for good.
Thus ends this story written by an unknown. Hope for humankind still
alive at Christmas.
And now begins our new story, written by those of us who are known.
Known to God… Known to each other... Together we are invited to tell
the real story to the rest of the world. How will we tell it?
DeWitt United Methodist Church
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