Christmas Eve, 2004:

The six and eight year old brothers were spending the night with Granddad and Grandma a few days before Christmas.  The six-year old was saying his bedtime prayers.  In a very loud voice, he prayed, “Dear God, remember to tell Santa that I want a new ten-speed bike, a Play Station Two, and a DVD player for my room.”  The older brother said, “Why are you shouting your prayers?  God isn’t deaf.”  To which the little brother replied, “No, but Grandpa and Grandma are!”

This is not a night in which we must yell.  Indeed, God is not deaf.  God’s ear has been tuned into the pulse of the universe from the moment of creation and God knows what we need most.  Tonight we remember and celebrate that gift.

This story has been around for a long time.  I’ve never told it until now.  In a time before time, but not so long ago, there was a man who looked on Christmas as just a lot of what Mr. Scrooge called, “humbug.”  He was not quite as bad as Scrooge.  He was basically a decent person, cared deeply for his family, was a great father, and honest in his work and business relationships.  He just didn’t believe all this stuff about the Incarnation what churches proclaim at Christmas.  He considered himself too honest to be hypocritical about it.  The man’s wife and children were pretty faithful in attending church and the man would say to them, “I’m sorry to upset you, but I simply cannot understand this claim that God became a human being.  It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

One Christmas Eve his wife and children prepared to go to the midnight service.  He again declined to accompany them.  “I’d feel like a hypocrite,” he said, “I’d much rather stay at home.  But I’ll wait up for you.”

Shortly after his family drove away in the car, snow began to fall.  He went to the window and watched the flurries getting heavier and heavier.  “If we must have a Christmas,” he thought to himself, “it’s nice to have a white one.”

He went back to his chair by the fireplace, put another log on the fire, and began to read a stock market newsletter.  A few minutes later, he was startled by a thudding sound.  It was quickly followed by another, then another.  He thought someone must be throwing snowballs at his living room window.  When he went to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow.  They had been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter had tried to fly through the window.

“I can’t let the poor creatures lie there and freeze,” he said to himself, but how can I help them?”

Then he remembered the barn where the children’s pony was stabled.  It would provide a warm shelter.  He quickly put on his coat and boots and trampled through the deepening snow to the barn.  He opened the doors wide and turned on the lights.  But the birds didn’t follow and would come inside.

“Food will bring them in,” he thought.   So he hurried back to the house and crumbled up some bread, which he sprinkled on the snow to make a trail into the barn.  To his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around helplessly in the snow.  He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around and waving his arms.  The birds scattered in every direction, except into the warm, lighted barn.

“They seem to find me a strange and terrifying creature,” he said out loud, “and I can’t seem to think of any way to let them know they can trust me.  If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps I could lead them to safety.”

Just at that moment, the church bells began to ring.  He stood silently for a while, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas.  Then he sank to his knees in the snow.

“Now I understand,” he whispered.  “Now I see why you had to do it.”  He hurriedly changed his shoes and drove off in the direction of the church.

I hope, I pray that we see why God had to do it?  Tonight, glorious news is pronounced.  There is a child, an unknown and unnoticed child of the working poor, a baby wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a feed bin.  Tonight we remember and celebrate again that God is born of woman.  She is Mary and is tended by Joseph, the dreamer.  Tonight we remember and celebrate again that God desires to be born of us, all men and women, boys and girls, all who believe in the Word.  He begins as a baby, just as we each began.  We love babies for their innocence, but also because we anticipate for them.  We gaze at each new arrival and wonder if this will be the one to unravel one of life’s great mysteries.  Will this one be a great athlete or public figure?  Will this ten-pound miracle grow to be a two hundred pound CEO of a major company or a hundred and twenty pound President of the United States?

We love the baby Jesus.  At Christmas we bring out the crèche and place the little boy in the crib and thank God that “the little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.”  The world is noisy enough without crying babies.  The well-behaved baby makes no demands on us, delivers no sermon, nor makes any claim on our allegiance, our time, our treasure.  He’s just precious this night.  That’s an okay beginning.  But, the babe of Bethlehem grows up.  That’s where the problem starts.  It is with the grownup Jesus that we have difficulty.  I wonder what Christmas might feel like if instead of all the serene, peaceful cards with the baby Jesus lying in the crib, halo brightly shining, the cards showed the adult Jesus, whip in hand, chasing people out of the temple, with the words, “You shall not make my Father’s house a house where the poor are trampled.  Happy Holidays.”  Or Jesus talking with the rich young ruler, like our stained-glass window, with the words, “You lack one thing.  Go and sale what you have and give it all to the poor.  Merry Christmas.”  What about, “Whoever lives by the sword dies by the sword.  Happy New Year.”

I would want to suggest that tonight is just the beginning.  The promise has been fulfilled.  The long-expected One has arrived and that means that expectation now gives way to mission.  We see him this night as a babe.  He will not stay that way.  God is born anew in this world, with the desire to be born in every heart.  We did not deserve such extravagant love, but the gift has been given.  We cannot give it back.  What we do with it is our gift back to God.  Will we use it or carefully place it in the closet again; removing it again this time next year to see the precious babe?

I think I’ve shared with you about the Ballenger family.  It was the day before Christmas and Richard Ballenger’s mother was busy wrapping last minute Christmas packages.  She asked Richard, her seven-year old son, to shine her shoes for the Christmas Eve service.  Soon the boy returned and held up the shoes for inspection, with a proud smile that only a seven-year old can manage.  His mother was so pleased with his effort and his attitude and gave him a whole dollar.  Later that evening as she put on her shoes to go to church, she noticed a lump in one shoe.  She took it off and found a dollar bill wrapped up with a note.  Written on the paper in a child’s unsteady scrawl were the words, “I done it for love.” 

The gift has arrived, wrapped in bands of cloth.  Somewhere in that manger/crib, if we look closely enough, we find the message that explains this whole night.  We know precisely why God did it.  The note is from God.   It says, “I did it for love.”  Merry Christmas.  Amen.