Christmas Eve
A dialog sermon preached with two voices.
It wasn’t really intended to be hidden—but
it wasn’t the most obvious either. The gift in a box—a basically plain
and ordinary box—a little padding around it to protect and keep safe. It
was out back—behind the house—surrounded by various items stored away—a
bit too much dust and dirt—a gift in a place where it was unlikely to be
found except with the help of a few clues—hints to help the seekers.
There were several Christmases when I was growing up that the
gift could not be packaged. It was too heavy or too large. I remember this tiny
little box with all our names on it. My parents must have thought that great
fun—giving five boys a present with all their names on it that could be
held in the palm of the hand of the smallest of the boys. I still remember the
younger brothers unwrapping it—opening the box and pulling out a sheet
of paper. One of the other brothers was saying, “It’s money, right.
It’s gotta be money! How much—a lot. I’ll bet it’s a lot
of money!” The note was handed to me—I was the oldest and the best
reader—And I announced that the note instructed us to go next door and
look in the neighbor’s garage.
“Great,” moaned a younger brother, “a car that none of us can
drive.”
“Or maybe it’s a horse,” came the suggestion of another young
voice.
“Yeah, it’s gotta be a horse.”
We all put on our coats and boots—marched out the back door—through
the snow—there was always snow at Christmas in Minnesota—through the
snow over to the neighbor’s garage. We opened the
garage door and there was this huge box—bigger than any box we had ever
seen. It was a pool table and ping pong table. It took us the rest of the night
to move it home and into the basement. The biggest and most unexpected present
we had ever seen.
The gift in a box. A box is where we place most gifts. We wrap them carefully against harm or damage. So the gift out back was wrapped—carefully protected and laid in the box—padded—protected. She took care with the gift—not sure if it would be right. The size looked good to her—but what if others didn’t like such a gift—what if they felt the time wrong. Exchanging this gift was out of the question—there could be no exchange. To her there was no question of being the right size, shape or color. This gift came in only one size—small—too small for most people.
Presents. That’s what I remember most about Christmas. Great mounds of presents filling an entire corner of the living room. The family would gather Christmas Eve at our house and everyone would bring gifts to be opened. My Uncles Bud and Laverne would stop by in the afternoon with car loads of presents that we would unload and place around the tree—spilling into the room. We’d help carry the presents into the house—some small but so heavy—others large but amazingly light. There were always one or two presents that were so strangely shaped that everyone knew what it was. A new golf club left little to the imagination even when wrapped. And the year my Dad got a new bowling ball there was little mystery.
Some times the greatest challenge is not deciding what to give but rather how to package it. So the gift was wrapped and placed in the box—Long anticipated—an item on the wish list of many for years—decades—centuries—even longer. A gift of timeless quality and yet one that could be so easily overlooked and forgotten—A gift that could at times seems so right and yet other times not seem to fit at all. She looked upon the wrapped gift and was filled with wonder. Could anyone—would anyone—ever appreciate what she had gone through to bring this gift to this place and time. Here in the cold dampness of the night it seemed almost anticlimactic to offer such a gift. In her heart and dreams the gift should have been presented in the bright light of day—in the warmth of her own home—surrounded by friends and family—not here—not in such a simple box out back behind the house.
One of the greatest challenges of Christmas is buying the right gift—With the youngest children almost any toy will do—but as they get older the gift requirements set in—a certain type or color or style or brand. Many of the gifts we give full fill a certain obligation of relationship—Something nice for a friend or relative—to say I thought of you.
But there is that special gift that you seek for that certain person—I remember spending hours—days—weeks—deciding on the ID bracelet that was intended to say we were more than just high school friends. The gift search continued through the years as I tried to find ways to say something more personal—something deeper. Now it is not just finding a gift—it is something more—even more than love.
A gift that is special because of who gives it and who receives it. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing all that special about the gift. But she could not help feeling that as far as she was concerned this was a unique gift—one of a kind. Certainly the box she placed the gift in was as common as any similar box—and the padding could be found abundantly around the village. Yet this gift had special meaning to her—and she wanted to believe special promise for all who would encounter it. Of type—too common—and yet in form a gift that transcended the ordinary.
Part of the joy of the day is telling others what you got—the trouble with leaving childhood is that the gifts become more practical—there comes that year when all you get is clothes—while appreciated you really had hoped that someone could have found some way to surprise you—give you something unexpected. The surprise—the wonder—the awe.
A gift in such an ordinary box would normally not attract much attention. There are gifts with far better packaging and wrapping. While special to her she really did not expect many others to even care or pay attention. Gifts are given every day. Yet she was surprised to find that this gift attracted so much attention. She wanted to believe that it really was as special as she had thought—but that also scared her. If this gift really was as valuable as she thought it was there would be those who would be threatened by it—there would be those who might even kill to have it. Her fear was real—because gifts of such value cannot be kept hidden or kept secret for long. There were sure to be those who told others about the gift—and the plain ordinary box would not be able to contain its valuable secret for long.
And so in the days to come there will be exchanges. Gifts will be traded for items that better fit—are styled more to our liking—or simply meet a different need. Of course the selection from which to make an exchange is always far more limited than we would like after Christmas. Many stores will have moved on to another season. The winter is over—the spring has begun. The bloom of summer is already anticipated—with hints of the fall to follow. A sweater is exchanged for a t-shirt and swim wear—there is no looking back. Forget the gifts of the present—what do you want next? What was once a special gift is now too familiar—everyone has one—we have to move on to the next fad—the next popular form.
And so she picked up the gift from the ordinary box—held it close—pondered the promise proclaimed by all who had come to see the gift. A valuable treasure given for the moment to her but one she would soon be expected to share with others.
Some gifts are like that—given that they might be shared with others. Not like a plate of cookies or a box of candies but more like a gift of fine art or music—a gift that in the sharing becomes part of the lives of all who have witness it—they remember—not only remember but feel compelled to tell others of what they have seen—the beauty—the joy—the power of the gift to change a life. All those gifts over all those years under so many Christmas trees—all that wrapping paper—all those years of giving and receiving—receiving and giving. Yet I barely need two hands to count my memory of gifts that are still a part of my life. I find it difficult to remember one gift that I can honestly say changed my life. All those gifts under the tree—things, possessions—many did bring genuine moments of joy—but only moments—and then it was on to the next gift—always looking for another gift except for one thing.
One gift I have received and offered to my children and others—a gift—the most important gift of Jesus Christ—a gift that was never wrapped with paper or bow.
The gift in a box—a basically plain and ordinary box—a little padding around it to protect and keep safe—Out back behind the house—in the stable. She gazed with wonder and love as most every new mother looks upon such a gift—the gift in a box. And Mary knew that she would never forget this moment but she wondered if anyone else would ever remember or know how special this gift was. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
Amen.