I have been asked by Bishop Mack to preach the Christmas homily on Christmas at the cathedral. In reviewing hundreds of online stories, I want you to notice that the story about the birth of Jesus is for children, not for adults.
Jesus said, “Unless you become a little child, you’ll never know what it’s all about.” On Christmas morning, I’m going to tell three true stories and then a small conclusion, because you cannot explain the gospel. We always look for explanations. The Bible is different: stories, just simple little stories. Jesus never explains anything. He says proverbs and stories. He entices the imagination. No explanations are necessary. In stories, you accept the story. And the truth is not in explaining the story, it is receiving the story into your own heart.
Here is a glimpse of one of my stories.
Grandma taught her little grandson everything about Christmas. However, his big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus, even dummies know that!"
Grandma was not the gushy kind, so he fled to her that day because he knew she would be straight with him. He knew Grandma always told the truth.
"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
She drove to Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything, like Vidler’s in East Aurora. Grandma handed him ten dollars. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
He had no clue what to do, when suddenly he thought of Bobbie. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in class. Bobbie didn't have a coat. He would buy Bobbie a coat.
The lady cashier looked at the coat, the money, and me. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" she asked kindly. "Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobbie. He's in my class, and he doesn't have a coat." The nice lady smiled at me. He didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished him a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped him wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, "To Bobbie, From Santa Claus" on it ... and we drove over to Bobbie’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.
Suddenly, Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell twice and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. He looked down, looked around, picked up his present, took it inside and closed the door.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie bushes. That night, he realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: Ridiculous!
Santa was alive and well ... and we were on his team!
My stories are Christmas stories, but they’re only for children, not for adults, and if you want to understand them, you must become a child.
For Jesus says, “Unless you become a little child, you’ll never, never know what the love of the Kingdom is all about.”
Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that they know deep in their hearts that You hear their every prayer and come into their hearts to bring us all peace and joy. Blessed Christmas Everyone. Fr. Matt
