It was Christmas Eve the one night in the year when 7-year-old Bobby was in a hurry to go to bed. His stocking was tacked to the mantel; the beautiful tree stood in the corner. He kissed his mother and father good night. Then he raced upstairs and leaped into bed.
It seemed to Bobby that he hadn’t been asleep any time when a harsh voice shouted “Get up!” He opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. Then he remembered what day it was. With a joyful shout he hurried into his clothes and bounded down the stairs. On the bottom step he stopped. No stocking hung from the mantel. The Christmas tree was gone too. “But . . . but I put the angel on myself,” Bobby began, when the shrill whistle from the factory made him jump.
“The factory can’t be open on Christmas!” Bobby thought, as he put on his coat and ran out of the house. The gateman at the factory was his friend. He would tell Bobby why . . .
“Clear out of here, you!” The gateman jerked his thumb at him. “No kids allowed!”
As Bobby slowly turned to go, he saw to his amazement that up and down the street all the stores were open. “Why are they open on Christmas?” he asked a woman coming out of the supermarket.
“Christmas?” The woman asked. “What’s that?”
The hardware store, the bakery, the five-and-ten everywhere it was the same. People were busy. They were cross. They’d never heard of Christmas.
“I know one place where they’ve heard of Christmas!” Bobby cried. “At my church! There’s a special service this morning!”
He started to run. Here was the street! At least he thought it was. But there was only a weed-grown vacant lot. The tower with the carillon bells, the Sunday School windows where Bobby had pasted snowflakes–there was nothing here.
Just then, from the tall grass near the side of the road, Bobby heard a moan. A man was lying on the ground.
“A car struck me!” he gasped. “Never even stopped!”
“Help!” called Bobby to a lady walking past. “This man is hurt!”
The lady jerked Bobby away. “Don’t touch him! He doesn’t live here. We don’t know anything about him.”
“I’ll run to the hospital, mister,” Bobby promised. “They will send an ambulance.” And he tore off down the street.
“Hospital of the Good Samaritan,” Bobby had often read the name over the archway in the great stone wall. But now the stone wall ran around an empty field. Where the name of the hospital had been, was carved instead, “If He Had Only Come.”
Suddenly Bobby was running home as if his life depended on it. Last night his father had read from the Bible! Maybe the Bible would tell him why everything was changed. The Bible was still lying on the table in the living room. Bobby snatched it up, ran upstairs to his room. But where the New Testament should have started, there were only blank pages. There was no Christmas story no Jesus at all.
Bobby flung himself on his bed and began to cry . . .
“Merry Christmas, Bobby!” It was his mother’s voice from downstairs. “Aren’t you getting up on Christmas morning?”
Bobby sprang out of bed and ran to the window. There was a Christmas wreath on the house across the street. And suddenly the carillon bells from the church tower began to ring: Joy to the World! The Lord is Come!
“Here I come, Mother!” Bobby called. But he paused at the door and shut his eyes. “You came!” he whispered. “Thank you for coming!” (1)
That is our prayer to the Lord Jesus this Christmas Day . . . Thank you for coming.
Comedian Bob Hope used to joke about how poor his family was when he was growing up.
They were so poor, he said, they didn’t get presents, but on Christmas Eve they would hang up their stockings before they went to bed and sure enough, the next morning when they woke up they’d be nice and dry.
Hope also said that since his folks couldn’t afford to buy them any toys for Christmas . . . every Christmas Eve after everyone went to bed, his father would tear an extra page off the calendar; and when the kids came downstairs the next morning, He’d point to the calendar and say, Look, it’s December 26th. Where were you kids yesterday? You MISSED CHRISTMAS! (2)
We don’t know if Bob Hope was joking or not, but we’re glad we didn’t miss Christmas. We’re here, and life is good, and we are thankful.
One of my favorite Peanuts cartoons has Lucy coming to Charlie Brown and saying, “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. Since it’s this time of the season, I think we ought to bury past differences and try to be kind.”
Charlie Brown asks, “Why does it just have to be ‘this time of the season’? Why can’t it be all year long?”
Lucy looks at him and exclaims, “What are you, some kind of fanatic?”
That, of course, is the challenge of Christmas . . . and the dream. Why can’t we preserve feelings of peace and goodwill all through the year? Maybe if we fully grasped what happened at Christmas, it would make a difference.
The writer of Hebrews tried to express the true meaning of Christmas in our lesson for today from the Epistle: “In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven. So he became as much superior to the angels as the name he has inherited is superior to theirs.”
There are at least three stunning claims about Christ that the writer makes in this passage. First of all, he tells us, the babe in the manger is the fulfillment of the plan of God. The birth of Christ was no accident. Since the beginning of time God has tried to express God’s plan and God’s purpose for humankind without impinging upon our freedom of choice. Most recently before the coming of Jesus, God spoke through the prophets who called for righteousness and justice and who tried to express to Israel how important Israel was to God’s plan. But the people misunderstood the message. Or they refused to listen. That happens even today.
Luis Palau tells the story of a wealthy European family who decided to have their newborn baby baptized in their enormous mansion. Dozens of guests were invited to the event, and they all arrived in the latest of fashions. After depositing their elegant coats on a bed in an upstairs room, the guests were entertained like royalty. Soon the time came for the main purpose of the evening, the infant’s baptism. When they asked for the child, no one seemed to know of his whereabouts. Panic ensued as they desperately searched for the baby. In a few minutes the child was found buried underneath all of the coats, jackets, and furs. The very object of the day’s celebration had been forgotten, neglected, and nearly smothered. (3)
We are often reminded to remember “the reason for the season.” The materialism, the hedonistic partying that takes place in our society before Christmas can smother the call for righteousness and justice today just as it did during the times of the prophets. The coming of Christ is the fulfillment of the plan of God. Christ came to call us again to righteousness and justice and to demonstrate once and for all how important we are to God’s purpose for the world.
The second thing the writer says to us is that Christ is the perfect reflection of the character of God. He writes, “The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being . . .”
One woman tells about her niece Samantha who was a teacher at a Christian elementary school. She had the job of producing the Christmas play one year.
She stressed to her students that if they forgot their lines, they should ad-lib something instead of just standing there.
On the big night, all went well until the Three Wise Men made their entrance. The first was perfect. “Baby Jesus, here is your gold,” the boy said.
The second boy was perfect, too. “Baby Jesus, here is your frankincense,” he said.
The boy playing the third Wise Man said, “Baby Jesus, here is your . . .” and froze, having forgotten the name of his gift.
After a tense few seconds had passed, the teacher whispered out to him, “Say anything!”
The boy then peered into the manger and exclaimed, “Oh, doesn’t he look just like his dad!” (4)
Well, he does look just like his Dad, says the writer of Hebrews. Christ “is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being . . .” That doesn’t mean that Jesus looked like God, of course, but it does mean that Jesus showed us everything we need to know about God God’s self-giving love for all people.
There is one thing more that the writer of Hebrews tells us. Christ now reigns with the Father. “After he had provided purification for sins,” says the writer, “he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven . . .”
The humble carpenter who worked with his hands, who held little children in his arms, who reached out to the lepers and the lame, the least and the lowest, this humble carpenter now occupies the throne with the Father. An old spiritual says it like this: “Oh, Mary, where is your baby?” Mary answers, “They done took Him from the manger and done carried him to a throne.”
Why is that Good News? Here’s why. In I John 2:1 we read these words, “My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have an advocate with the Father Jesus Christ, the Righteous One . . .” That’s amazing good news. Jesus sits at the right hand of God. He knows what we’re going through. He’s been here, and now he is an advocate in our behalf. “They done took Him from the manger and done carried him to a throne.” This is the meaning of Christmas day. God’s plan for humankind has been fulfilled. The Savior of the world has come. He is the perfect representation of God, and now he reigns with God, world without end, forever and ever.
1. A story from Norman Vincent Peale, Author Unknown.
2. Mark Adams, http://www.redlandbaptist.org/sermons/sermon20001224.php.
3. Luis Palau, Where Is the Child? Luis Palau, 142. 1988, p. 1-2 Cited by Raymond McHenry, Something to Think About (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1998).
4. Mark Mail, http://mrhumor.net/l.