The Gift

Christmas Eve

Luke 2:1-20

It wasn’t what they expected. They had traveled quite a distance – from Nazareth to Bethlehem – and they expected to be able to find a place to stay – with relatives, perhaps, but certainly in one of the small inns in town. But there wasn’t any place – as the song goes, “No room. No room.”

We don’t know if it was a barn, or a lean-to, or a cave, or maybe a combination of all of that, but we know that Jesus was born in less than ideal circumstances. He was born in a manger - a cattle stall. We don’t know if the owner of the inn offered it, or if Joseph just found some place for Mary to get out of the night-time elements – but it was out of the way, and it was better than having the baby out in the street. Whatever the case, it wasn’t what they expected.
It wasn’t what they expected – those Israeli shepherds. Young boys, mostly. Just another Palestinian night, out on the hillside, tending the flocks. Quiet. Except for the occasional bleating when a coyote howled, it was dark and quiet. They certainly didn’t expect angels. They didn’t expect that . . .

First one angel – then a thousand. Prophecy fulfilled and announced, and then they were gone. Where did they say we could find him? In Bethlehem? Should we go? Should we leave the flock? But we have to see this thing – my, what a night!!

It wasn’t what they expected – certainly after such a grand announcement. Lowly shepherds find the baby, and his parents, just like they had been told. But look at these surroundings. Couldn’t they have found something better? Why would angels sing about a baby born in a cattle stall? What does all this mean? It wasn’t what they expected.

32 years ago tonight. I was Ben’s age. It was my senior year of High School. Our family went to services at our church early in the evening. It was your typical Baptist service. We’re not too good with listening for holy things – lots of chatting before the service – especially in the youth section – and then we all slapped backs and guessed at what we would find under the tree the next morning. Just your typical service – about what I expected – except for it was my last Christmas Eve service at my home church.

After the family returned home, I left around 10:30 to attend services at the Lutheran church with my girlfriend. It wasn’t what I expected. She met me at the door, but she was singing with the choir, and so I entered and sat alone – not really sure how these Lutherans would do church. It was quiet. There were enough people to be having some conversations, but they were sitting still – listening, waiting. The service was beautiful, and then we lit candles, and left silently. So much reverence. So much holiness. It wasn’t what I expected.

It wasn’t what I expected when I turned the last corner toward my house there on South Houston Road, and I could see the flames. Just two streets over from my house. I actually followed one of the fire trucks to the house. Firemen were already dousing the house, and the second call had been answered. The house was totally engulfed in flames – nothing would be saved.

I watched as the family who lived in the house arrived home, minutes later. The mother actually passed out in the yard – neighbors holding back the children, trying to comfort them. The tree caught fire – wouldn’t you know it. The symbol of the gift had brought this most unexpected and unwelcome turn of events – I felt a sick feeling in my stomach – this was about to ruin my own Christmas, I thought.

And then it happened – it wasn’t what I expected. From across the street she came, in her pajamas and robe. She couldn’t have been older than 5. She found her friend – the youngest of the family whose home was now collapsing, and she handed her one of her own Christmas presents from under her own tree. A gift – one bought for her – to be given to her – now given to her friend. She gave me a gift that night - my Christmas for that year and for the rest of my years was redeemed. It wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t what I expected.

“For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given . . . and his name will be called ‘Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.’”

He wasn’t what we expected. Our friend Peterson puts it well.

Half-sick with excitement and under garish lights
I do it again, year after year after year.
I can’t wait to plunder the boxes, then show
And tell my friends: Look what I got!

I rip the tissues from every gift but find
That all the labels have lied. Stones.
And my heart a stone. “Dead in trespasses
And sin.” The lights go out. Later my eyes,

Accustomed to the dark, see wrapped
In Christ-foil and ribboned in Spirit-colors

The multi-named messiah, love labels
On a faith shape, every name a promise

And every promise a present, made and named
All in the same breath. I accept.[1]

He wasn’t what we expected. We expected a Messiah – coming to conquer all that conquers us. We expected glory. We expected majesty. We expected power. Maybe we even expected that we would be given power over that which overpowers us. Instead, He gave us a gift. We open the gift, wrapped in Christ-foil and ribboned in Spirit colors – in the package is the gift – faith - shaped like a child.

I do not know what shape our faith will take this year, but I do know that in each of our hearts – in each of our lives – for faith to be faith, it must take some shape. You may find faith that shapes your physical health. You may find faith which shapes your service to this church, or to our community. You might find faith that takes shape in the political arena, or maybe in the soup kitchen.

It might even take on a new shape in your family. Your faith might have to sustain you in a new role in your family. Your faith might have to find strength that you don’t yet know you can access.

Your faith might take the shape of new ventures. You may step into new opportunities of service to others who are considerably less fortunate than you. You might take a mission trip – across the country, or across your street.

But I do know this – for faith to be faith, it must take some shape. God has given us a gift this Christmas – really for all of our Christmases. God has given us the gift of faith, and we express that faith – by making our trip to Bethlehem, by listening to and heeding the angels who sing to us “Glory to God in the highest,” and by taking the gift which has been given to us across the street to that little girl or boy whose world has collapsed before their eyes.

God has given us a gift – a gift of faith – and we share that gift with others. What shape will your faith take this Christmas – this year?

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

[1] Eugene Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor, Eerdmans, 1989, p. 170.