The Mayberry Preacher

THERE WAS ROOM FOR DENNIS

Luke 2: 1-20
Steve Lindsley
December 24, 2012 - Christmas Eve

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I want you to know, my friends, that I had a nice little Christmas Eve meditation all planned out for you this evening. It was called “The Problem of Skipping Christmas, as you can see in your bulletin. I rather liked it, actually - it was all about John Grisham’s book and the movie with Tim Allen and Jamie Lee Curtis and Dan Akroyd.  But I'll have to save it for next year.

Because I learned earlier today that it was not the message I was supposed to share with you this evening, on this Christmas Eve. The message that you needed to hear is "Thank You." A simple but extremely heartfelt “Thank You.” The thanks comes from a man named Dennis. You probably don’t know him, and that’s perfectly okay.  He wanted me to tell you how much he appreciates all you did for him, and how he’ll never forget this Christmas Eve for the rest of his life, thanks to you.

I got to know Dennis around 10 o’clock this morning.  That was when my home phone rang. “Is this the pastor,” the man on the other end asked. You know the sound a human voice makes when you can tell they’re at their rope’s end; when they would have a mental breakdown if they had enough energy to?  That was the sound of the voice on the other end of the phone.

I answered that yes, I was the pastor. And that's when he told me that his name was Dennis. He was at the Brintle truck stop at the 89 & 77 intersection, hanging out in the lobby area at the front where it was warm and dry. He had been there all morning, after his last ride had dropped him off because he couldn't take him any further.  All Dennis asked was if he could sleep on the church floor in the corner of some room, just for a night; someplace warm and dry, because he hadn't slept indoors in two weeks.  And if he could get a loaf of bread or something, that'd be great too.

I told Dennis that I could help him out and would be there in an hour.  Except it wasn't just "me" who was going to help him.  It was "you" – all of you here tonight.  Because Dennis hadn't called my home phone that morning to speak to Steve Lindsley.  He called to speak to the pastor of First Presbyterian Church.  He was calling all of you.  So from this point on, it was “you” who was going to help him.

So, YOU all drove to The Hollows on Hwy. 52 and booked Dennis a room for the night.  After that, you headed across the street to Sagebrush and got a $25 gift certificate, since they’d be open that night until 8pm.  You did this with the benevolence fund our church has to help folks like Dennis in need.  With those two things taken care of, you then drove out to Brintle’s to meet Dennis.  You found him right at the entrance; a man in his late 40's, you would guess, wearing heavy clothing and boots and a backpack filled with everything he owned.  He was a broken man, you could tell; not someone who would take advantage of the situation.  He was so very glad to see you.

As you headed back into town, Dennis told you his story.  He was coming from Portland, Maine, where he had lost his job two weeks before. He had a brother in Texas who said he could take him in, but he'd have to get there by himself. He had no home, no car, nothing.  So he had been hitchhiking his way, relying completely on the kindness of strangers.  You asked him where he spent last night.  Under an overpass in Virginia, he said.  He had a fire going to keep him warm, but a state trooper came by in the middle of the night and made him put it out, because he said the concrete bridge might burn down.  "I'm just so melancholy," he said to you.  "I don't know what to do, other than keep going.  Keep going and find room whenever I can." 

Gives a whole new meaning to the expression "no room at the inn,” doesn't it?

You’ve probably never seen someone get so excited over a restaurant gift card.  What you’d consider to be a gift you give someone when you can't think of anything else, Dennis treated like it was gold, frankincense and myrrh.  As you pulled into the hotel parking lot, he told you with more than a hint of joy that he would go get something to eat and bring it back to his room, where he would eat and "sleep like a baby,” because he was so incredibly tired.

You asked Dennis what he was going to do tomorrow, knowing that it would be Christmas Day and there wouldn’t be many people at all on the roads, much less kind strangers.  He told you that he would probably try and get back over to Brintle, knowing that a major thoroughfare like I-77 would be his best shot.  And let me say as an aside, if any of you have any interest in possibly helping Dennis get back over there tomorrow morning after he checks out, please come see me after worship tonight.

As you said goodbye to Dennis, he couldn't stop saying "thank you.”  Could not stop saying it.  The man was starving, exhausted, at his rope's end.  But he was so thankful, so incredibly thankful.  Because, as it turned out, there was room at the Inn for Dennis.  And he couldn’t have been more grateful for it.

So let me congratulate you for what you did this morning.  But still, it doesn’t seem right, does it?  Doesn’t seem fair.  After all, it’s Christmas!  And this is a time for family and friends.  This is a time for Christmas traditions we engage in year after year after year.  This is time to get the Christmas tree decorated, to wrap and open presents, to go caroling and attend Christmas concerts and pageants.  To go to the church Christmas Eve Communion and Candlelight service. 

But that’s not what Christmas really is, if we’re honest with ourselves.  In fact, the truth of the matter is that Dennis’ Christmas looks a whole lot more like the original one than our own.  There was nothing planned or anticipated about that first Christmas.  There were no traditions.  It was chaotic, haphazard, unplanned; one crisis blending seamlessly into another.  It wasn’t like Mary and Joseph had planned this long journey to Bethlehem – they were forced to go against their will.  No telling where they slept along the way, if they slept at all.  No telling where they got their food, if they ate at all.  Relying totally and completely on the kindness of strangers, when and if that kindness ever came.   

And then, in their hour of greatest need, when Mary was about to give birth to her firstborn and there was no room at the inn, they found help.  They found YOU.  And while they would’ve gladly slept on the church floor in the corner of some room, you got them a room at The Hollows and a gift card to Sagebrush.  You welcomed them into your life and into your hearts.  And they were so grateful for it.  They were changed by it – as were you.

I’m going to be thinking a lot about Dennis this Christmas; about that other message we were apparently supposed to hear this year.  I’m going to be thinking about the fact that he’ll be sleeping in a warm bed with a full belly.  That on this night, at least, he has a home.  That there really was room for him after all.  In fact, I think that should be the title for this new Christmas Eve meditation: “There Was Room For Dennis.”  Yeah, that sounds right. 

My friends, let there always be room for the strangers in our midst.  Let there always be room for God to come along and surprise us with a new message.  And on this Christmas Eve, may there always be room for Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus, in spite of our routines and traditions and celebrations.  May we welcome them into our hearts and into our lives, this holy night and forevermore.  Come, Immanuel, Come.  Thanks be to God, AMEN.

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POSTSCRIPT: After worship I was immediately inundated by half a dozen folks who wanted to help Dennis even more than we already had.  Within minutes, arrangements were made for a church member to drive him to the bus station in Winston-Salem in the morning (yes, Christmas morning), pay for a bus ticket to Texas, and provide him an envelope of cash to help him out the rest of the way. Once again, I am blown away by the amazing generosity of this church, and the miracles that God can perform through you.  Merry Christmas!

A prayer in response to the CT shooting

I did not preach in worship this morning - our church choir had its Christmas Cantata; and hearing their lovely voices proclaim "light shining in the darkness" and "a baby born in a manger" turned out to be the perfect message for our church on a day when so many of us were still overwhelmed with sadness and grief.  You can hear the worship service in its entirety HERE.

While I didn't preach, I did take the opportunity to address the shooting in my Prayers of the People this morning.  Here's the text of that prayer.  Feel free to share with others, and please add your own thoughts of comfort in the comments.

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Lord, we have just had the pleasure of listening to the “sounds of the season;” the music of our wonderful choir singing songs of great joy – songs of Christmastide and hope and peace and promises fulfilled.  About your son, Jesus Christ, born in a manger and wrapped in bands of cloths, and visited throughout the night and over the weeks by wayward shepherds and wise men.  About Jesus, being born into our world.

And it is here, God, where we take pause.  “Jesus, born into our world” – it sends a chill up our spine when we hear it now. It didn’t last Thursday, or the days before.  But for the past three days, it certainly has.  We wonder why in the world Jesus would want to come into a world where a madman can take the lives of twenty children and six adults so randomly, so completely, so suddenly?  How can we ever welcome Jesus into a world like this?

Our president summed up the thoughts of many: our hearts are indeed broken.  And we have been here too many times before.  We are shocked, sickened, saddened.  We want to hug our children a little tighter; we struggle with what to share with them and what to hide from them.  We struggle because, honestly, we’re still trying to wrap our minds around it ourselves.

And we ask individually and as your people, where is the peace and hope we're supposed to seek this time of year?  Where is the star in the sky shining light in the midst of such darkness?  Where is the Good News?? 

And it is then when we are reminded of the fact that on that night long ago when Jesus was born, he was not born into a world of peace and hope.  There was little good news to be found.  There was more darkness than light.  There was Roman rule and oppression, and a system fraught with injustice, and a young unmarried pregnant teenager, and a long and grueling trip to Bethlehem, and no room at the inn.  It was chaotic, it was crazy, it was out of control.  Just like this past Friday.

And so we pray this morning for so many things, God.  We pray for our brothers and sisters in Newtown, Connecticut who are having to deal with the unthinkable.  We pray for a community in a very dark place this weekend.  We pray for our schools here and everywhere who are hit especially hard by this.  We pray for our children, who through no fault of their own are born into a broken world of uncertainty and risk.

And as we pray all of this, we pray together as the people of God: Come, Immanuel, Come.  Never have those words meant more to us than now.  We just want Jesus to get here, and get here as soon as possible.  To bring that peace and hope we obviously are in such desperate need of.  To give us some good news for a change.

We pray together as the people of God:  Come, Immanuel, Come. It's not a catch phrase anymore; not a fancy slogan for the season, not a fun little hymn we sing. It is a heartfelt plea from God’s children for God to be with us in the midst of such turmoil and confusion.

We pray together as the people of God:  Come, Immanuel, Come.  Bring us songs of joy, calm our hearts, renew our spirits, bring us hope.  Hope that shows us love is always, always greater than fear.  Hope so that we can live boldly in the world and pave the way for your mighty acts of grace. 

We pray together as the people of God:  Come, Immanuel, Come.  Come, even as a baby born into a world of darkness, vulnerable and at risk as all our children are.  Come into our world and bring us light, bring us warmth, bring us love.  Bring us peace.  Because now that we think about it, baby Jesus, your birth could not have come at a better time. 

We pray all of these things in the name of Jesus, who is coming soon, who is here right now, and may all of God’s children say, AMEN.

A MARKED-DOWN JESUS

Luke 2: 1-20
Steve Lindsley
Christmas Eve 2011

A few years ago, as Christmas approached, one of America's biggest department stores tried marketing a baby Jesus doll. The advertisements described it as "washable, cuddly and unbreakable." It came neatly packaged in straw, satin and plastic, with select biblical texts plastered all over the box. To the department store execs, it looked like a sure-fire winner, a real moneymaker during the holiday season.
But they were wrong.  It barely sold – a total flop!  And so in a last-ditch effort to get rid of all their baby Jesuses, one of the store managers placed a huge sign in a prominent display window. It read:

JESUS CHRIST
MARKED DOWN 50%
GET HIM WHILE YOU CAN!

Now first, I got to say – I really wish I had one of those dolls!  If you’ve been in my office, you might have noticed that I’m a bit of a sucker for Jesus novelty items.  I’ve got the “Jesus Action Figure” with poseable arms and walking-on-water gliding action.  I’ve got “Answer Me Jesus,” which is kind of like a Magic-8 Answer ball – you ask Jesus a question and then turn him over to see the answer.  Believe it or not, it sometimes comes in handy with some of the decisions I make.

So I, for one, don’t easily get my feathers ruffled over things like that.  But back to that sign: JESUS CHRIST – MARKED DOWN 50% - GET HIM WHILE YOU CAN!  I’m not sure what’s more offensive here – the Jesus being “marked down” part, or “Get him while you can,” like he’s some sort of sale item.  Obviously that store manager was being silly or downright disrespectful, or both.

Perhaps.  But there was one other thing he was, whether he realized it or not: he was being biblical.  It’s true!  That store manager was relaying the story of the incarnation – of God made flesh – more effectively than any preacher’s best sermon, any church’s slicked-up Christmas production.

And it all begins with the manger scene, the one you have on your fireplace mantle at home or engrained in your head.  It’s a picturesque scenario, isn’t it?  Everything in its place; everyone right where they’re supposed to be.  We pull the various pieces out of the box in the attic and place them accordingly.  And that’s where they are, year after year; in this perfect little scene we re-create every December.  It’s what we expect.  It’s what’s supposed to happen.

Which, if you think about it, is really kind of funny.  Because the truth of the matter is that that first Christmas was anything but.  It was the perfect storm of the unexpected, the imperfect; of everything seemingly going wrong.

I mean, it started out great.  Mary and Joseph, two teenagers, engaged to be married.  Joseph earning a good living as a carpenter; Mary from a well-respected family.  They’d been courting one another for awhile; so it probably wasn’t a big surprise when Joseph made arrangements with Mary’s father.  The whole town was looking forward to the wedding.  Everything was going according to plan!

And then that plan got derailed like a bullet train spinning out of control.  That’s because young, engaged teenage girls were not supposed to suddenly get pregnant.  And to make matters worse, Mary dared to claim that the baby’s father was not Joseph, or even some other guy, but that it came from the Holy Spirit.  How would you have reacted if you heard that young Mary down the street was blaming God for her little predicament?

Mary’s reputation sunk overnight – and she took Joseph with her.  And even when he tried to do the right thing – keeping her instead of sending her packing per the custom of the day – even then, Joseph suffered ridicule and scorn, perhaps even more than Mary herself.

This is how our “perfect” Christmas story begins.  And it gets better!  Just when they seem to have weathered the storm, just when Mary and Joseph think they’ll be able to bring their child into the world in some sense of normalcy, they get word: the emperor – a man who has more control over their lives from afar than they had themselves – the emperor has decreed a census, and everyone has to go to their hometown to register.  That means Joseph has to travel to Bethlehem, and Mary with him – Mary, who is now eight-plus months pregnant.  It is a long journey, and it is agony on her body.

And when they finally get there, they don’t know a soul and have nowhere to stay.  Which, of course, is right when Mary goes into labor!  How terrifying that must have been!  With each door slammed in their face, the bar gets summarily lowered:

A suite would be nice.
Okay, a single room with a bath nearby would be fine.
Actually, just a room with a bed would be great.
Come to think of it, who needs a bed?
You say you have a barn with some animals and moldy hay?  We’ll take it!

And that, my friends, is where Jesus is born.  The son of God. The one we believe in and follow; the one who tells us to do crazy things like love our enemies and feed the hungry and turn our cheek and welcome the stranger.  The one who heals the blind and kicks death to the curb.

That Jesus is born in a rickety old shack that you and I would barely consider “shelter.”  He was born to two teenaged parents and placed in a small wooden structure, coated with the dried remains of the slop the animals ate out of it.  There were no doctors or nurses in this birthing room – instead there were sheep and goats and pigs and cows, and all the wonderful things that come with sheep and goats and pigs and cows!  There were no aunts or uncles or grandparents in the waiting room – instead, some nomad shepherds who didn’t smell any better than the animals, and some random fugitive royalty with exotic but impractical gifts (sure could’ve used a diaper genie over the frankincense, bro).

This is the way our Lord and Savior came to be with us. 

Never, ever be offended by a marked-down Jesus!  On the contrary, on this Christmas Eve, rejoice in it!  Give thanks to God for sending God’s son in a way that the absolute least among us can relate to.  Give thanks to God that Jesus was born in the worst of circumstances, when everything was going wrong and nothing was going right.  Give thanks to God that Jesus was born in the filth and dirt and muck of a scene that would make modern-day OBGYN staff’s skin crawl.   Because it is not his miracles or his teachings or even his death at the end that makes Jesus our savior.  What makes him our salvation, above all else, is the way he came to be with us at the beginning.

Jesus Christ, Marked down 50%.  Marked down to be with us, for us, among us.  Get him while you can.  Come, Immanuel, Come!  AMEN.

WHAT'S MISSING FROM THE MANGER

Christmas Eve 2010
Steve Lindsley

If you’ve attended Sunday morning worship the past four weeks, for Advent, you know that, for our Children’s time, Shasta and the kids have built the nativity scene from the ground up, piece by piece.  Back on the last Sunday in November they began with the manger and some barnyard animals.  For the second Sunday in Advent, shepherds and sheep were added.  Two weeks ago Shasta talked about the angels bearing good news, and so an angel was set in place.  Last Sunday, Mary and Joseph made their debut.  And mere hours ago at the Children’s Christmas pageant, the baby Jesus made a glorious, if not slightly early, appearance.

So now we have before us what we are inclined to say is a completed nativity scene, with the exception of the wise men who, like their actual appearance, came after Jesus’ birth.  But aside from them, everything appears to be finished; all the pieces in their proper place. 

But tonight I would like to suggest to you that if we made such an assumption, we would be wrong.  Because there is still one last thing that is missing from our nativity scene, one that we must have if we’re going to call this a truly authentic depiction of the Christmas story; one that we commonly neglect in this waiting game we call Advent. 

And it’s not like forgetting something in the Christmas season is unheard of, is it?  I mean, with our crazy schedules and ever-growing errands and Christmas gift lists, is it any wonder that something might fall through the cracks?  We are busy people this time of year!  There’s that last present for our loved one that we can’t find anywhere.  There’s the unexpected gift-giver who shows up at our front door with goodies in tow – which is why my Mom always had a few extra tins of munchies laying around, because Lord knows you can’t receive a gift and not give one in return!  And then there’s the way that time seems to move at warp speed, so that we blink in November and find ourselves here, on Christmas Eve.  It’s easy – all too easy – for something to go missing.  And the frustrating thing is when we can’t figure out what it is.

And I’ll be honest with you all, as your pastor – I personally have felt something “missing” for me this Christmas season, and I can’t put my finger on it.  And that bothers me.  You know, our Christmas mood so often reflects the year leading up to it.  And it’s been a very interesting year!  The three months that you and I spent apart on sabbatical were both wonderful and difficult for me – it’s not easy to just stop doing what you feel called to do.  My fall has been consumed with all the plans and preparations surrounding the transition and change in our church’s music ministry; and as we know, transition and change are two things that don’t always come easy for the church.  Helping steer the church through all of that has been a challenge, to say the least.

So I guess the best way to explain it is that I’ve felt a little like Luther Krank this Christmas season.  You know him; from that movie, Christmas With The Kranks, in that scene near the end where he’s standing out in the middle of the road looking back at his house, the lively neighborhood Christmas party going strong; watching his friends and family laughing and smiling and singing through the living room bay window.  He’s standing there in the middle of the road looking back because something is missing for him, something isn’t quite right; and it’s more than just the fact that his dream Caribbean vacation is off.  So he’s standing there, his physical separation from the party inside mimicking the disconnect he feels within.  In some ways I’ve felt a little like that this Christmas season, and I am almost certain that I’m not alone.

Which is why we all should take comfort in the fact that the Christmas story itself tells us that it’s okay to feel like this.  Because on that very first Christmas long ago, there were no preset plans about how things were supposed to happen.  There were no family traditions or religious celebrations that took place every year.  In fact, that first Christmas was the antithesis of plans and traditions.  It was about a young mother on the verge of giving birth to her first child in a cloud of scandal; a father who was forced to answer the call of the Roman government to pick up and travel to his hometown.  And most of all, it was about the fact that there was no place for them to stay.  There was no room for them, no bed to lay in.  There was no midwife to assist in the birth, no blankets and hot water.  There was no shelter to fend off the bitter cold winds that would whip across the desert at night.  I mean, if you think about it, there was a whole lot missing that first Christmas – and the greatest testimony to that is our nativity scene.

Which is why I wonder if the story I’m about to share with you might help us figure out what’s missing from the manger.  It’s about an orphanage in a distant country, and two young missionaries who traveled to serve there.  On Christmas Eve the missionaries decided to share the Christmas story with them.  Together they told the children and caretakers about Mary and Joseph arriving in Bethlehem, and finding no room in the inn, and then settling down in a stable, where the baby Jesus was born and placed in a manger.  As they told the story, the children and staff sat on the edges of their stools, grasping at every word, enthralled.

When the story was complete, they gave the children some basic craft supplies to create their own manger scene – three small pieces of cardboard for a manger, small paper squares cut from yellow napkins for the straw, tiny flannel pieces for the baby's blanket. The missionaries walked around and observed the children at work and offered their help where needed.

Each of the manger scenes looked pretty much the same, except for one.  It belonged to a six-year old boy.  His nativity scene was different because there was not a baby in the manger.  There were two.  Did Jesus have a twin??  The missionary worker called the translator over to ask the lad why there were two babies in the manger. Crossing his arms in front of him and looking at this completed manger scene, the child began to repeat the story very intently. Each part was recounted just as it had been told, until he got to where Mary put Jesus in the manger.  And that’s where things took an amazing turn.  This is what the little boy shared through the translator:
 
When Mary laid the baby in the manger, Jesus looked at me and asked if I had a place to stay.  I told him I have no mamma and no papa, so I don't have any place to stay. Then Jesus told me that I could stay with him.  But I told him I couldn't, because I didn't have a gift to give like everyone else.  But I wanted to stay with Jesus so much, so I thought about what I had that I could give as a gift.  And then I thought maybe if I kept him warm, that would be a good gift.  And so I asked Jesus, "If I keep you warm, will that be a good enough gift?"  And Jesus told me, "If you keep me warm, that will be the best gift anybody ever gave."  So I got into the manger, and then Jesus looked at me and he told me that I could stay with him there, for always. (http://www.sermons.org/2babesnmanger.html, visited on 12.19.2010)

Friends, you and I take part in this little Advent journey every year.  We celebrate it in this church with Christmas hymns and pageants and cantatas and candy houses and candlelight communion.  We celebrate it in our community, with Christmas tree lightings and parades.  We celebrate it with friends at Christmas parties and get-togethers.  We celebrate it in our families as we unwrap presents and travel to see the grandparents.  We fill ourselves up with the signs and sights of the season.

And yet, something is still missing from the manger.  And how surprising it is when we learn that that something is ourselves.  The beauty of what that six-year old boy did was to realize that he – all of us – are part of this Christmas story, not just observers of it.  The story of the birth of Jesus is not some fanciful tale that’s supposed to make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  It’s not a doctrine that we’re supposed to believe in or a ritual to observe.  It is a real story, a living story; and it is within each and every one of us: God coming to be with you and with me. 

So this Christmas, let’s not forget the final piece.  Because it’s about more than just the baby Jesus lying under the watchful eyes of his mother and father; more than barnyard animals and shepherds and kings.  It is about you and me, too.  We are the final piece of the Christmas story.  We give to Jesus our very lives, and it is the greatest birthday present we could give.  And because of that, we get to stay with him always. 

And when we realize that, when we understand what’s been missing all along, that is when Christmas becomes real to us.  That is when our manger scene is truly finished.

Come, Emmanuel, come!  AMEN.

THE CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS TREE

Luke 2: 1-20
Christmas Eve 2009
Steve Lindsley
 
I got this at Walgreens right after Thanksgiving – paid ten bucks for it.  It's been sitting on my office desk all month long.  Some would say it's a waste of money for a few pieces of wire wrapped in brown tape, fake green pine needles and a cheap ornament, but I'd respectfully disagree.  Memories are hard to put a price tag on, as is nostalgia.  See, every time I have looked up from my office desk this month, this little “tree” takes me back to my childhood – and to what I believe to be the greatest Christmas television special ever.  It involves a bald-headed kid who always wears the same yellow-and-black-striped shirt, and a blanket-toting genius and his overbearing sister, and the coolest beagle on the planet.

You probably don't need me to recount it for you, but this is a season for telling stories.  So they are planning the annual Christmas pageant; all the kids, no adults, which seems to be the way things operate in Charlie Brown's world.  They're planning the pageant, but there's something's missing.  It is decreed (by Lucy, of course) that they need a Christmas tree, so Charlie Brown and Linus are sent on a mission – to find the perfect Christmas tree.  They walk outside, all bundled in their coats and hats; and looking up they see two huge skylights shining all over the place, like a car dealership when they have a sale.  They follow the lights to a Christmas tree lot.  Except these trees are not the kind of Christmas trees you and I are used to.  They are aluminum – they make a hollow metallic sound when Linus knocks on them, like when you kick an empty gas can.  They are colorful and fantastic – red and blue, gold, silver and purple.  Pink.  Linus surveys the scene and looks at Charlie Brown and says, in all seriousness, Boy, this really brings Christmas close to a person. 

The camera scans through the mass of multi-colored aluminum Christmas trees until it stops at one in the middle which stands out from the rest.  And unlike the others it is not aluminum.  In this sea of metal and color is an actual living, breathing, Christmas tree – albeit not much of one.  Three stubby branches hang off its tiny trunk, each containing just a handful of needles.  It is anchored to a cross stand with some nails.  Linus asks no one in particular, Gee, do they still make wooden Christmas trees?

What Linus sees as an anomaly, though, Charlie Brown sees as an opportunity.  This tree, he declares, is the one they will use in the Christmas Pageant.  Linus is skeptical, reminding Charlie Brown that Lucy wanted a tree that would “represent the modern Christmas spirit.”  But our hero insists and picks the tree up – only to see half its needles fall to the ground.

Linus was right about one thing – Lucy is infuriated when Charlie Brown shows up with his “tree.”  Everyone laughs and makes fun of him – even Charlie Brown's own dog Snoopy joins in the heckling.  Man's best friend!

You know, ever since my childhood I've watched this Christmas show (we have the DVD now, of course).  Every year I watch it and I know it's going to happen; the whole picking-the-puny-tree thing.  And I know the kids will make fun of him and Linus will swoop in to save the day with the reading from the gospel of Luke, God bless him.  Every year I know all of this, and yet I still watch it in agony.  Because somewhere deep inside I can't help but ask myself, why on God's green earth does Charlie Brown pick the scrawniest, silliest, most sorry excuse for a Christmas tree – knowing full well no one would like it?  Why didn't he just do what everyone wanted him to do – pick an aluminum tree?  That's what they were expecting.  That was the safe bet.  Why does Charlie Brown – the guy who foolishly believes every time that Lucy will actually hold the football down so he can kick it, the guy who gets rocks in his Halloween bag and not one Valentine in his mailbox, the guy who allows Peppermint Patty to talk him into throwing a Thanksgiving feast and winds up serving popcorn and toast – why does he yet again set himself up for failure?  Why does he pick this tree?

Huh.  That's actually kind of a deep question, isn't it?  It's amazing that something like this finds its way into a children's Christmas television program.  Because the thing is, this is about a whole lot more than some bald-headed kid who persists in making a fool of himself.  In fact, it reminds me of another scene that gets played out over and over again this time of year.  Except it doesn't revolve around a puny Christmas tree.  It revolves around this: 

I mean, it's nothing fancy, really – just some wood and nails.  It's the cheapest of its kind.  No doubt it'd be dwarfed in the shopping lot by fancier, more colorful models – aluminum, of course!  It crops up every Christmas season on our fireplace mantles and upright pianos – and yes, even in our beloved children's Christmas pageants.  It's what you and I refer to as a manger.  And contrary to popular belief it is not intended to serve as a bed for newborn babies.  It's a contraption used to feed barnyard animals – one step up from having them eat off the ground.  They put that yucky animal grub in these things and let cows and mules and sheep and all kinds of four-legged creatures stick their heads in it, slobber all over it, breathe all over it, do other stuff all over it.  It stays outside day and night, year after year, where it is baked in the hot summer sun and drenched in the hard seasonal rains.

Sometimes, just for kicks, I wonder what those heavenly hosts really thought when they heard the news.  Sometimes I try to imagine what transpired when God, after embarking on a mission to enter this world, after declaring it time to “represent the modern Christmas spirit,” I try to imagine the reaction God got when God came back toting one of these.  Don't you think they laughed at him, shook their angel fingers at him, expressed their displeasure and disappointment – a manger?  Don't you think they questioned his sanity, wondered what possessed him to do such a thing – a manger??  Don't you think they racked their little angel brains trying to rationalize what would make the creator of the cosmos choose a dirty, germ-infested, yucky-animal-grub-filled, rotting wooden manger as his vehicle for becoming human and being with us?  Don't you think they wondered about that?  Haven't you?

It really is something when you get beyond the sweet scene we've been conditioned like Pavlov's dog to see every year.  Or maybe that's the whole point.  Maybe there is a reason we faithfully drag out that old family manger scene and stick it on our mantles.  Maybe there is a reason we deck out our precious children in angel costumes and shepherd's garb and parade them in front of an adoring audience.  It is so we never, ever forget the day that God showed up with a scrawny Christmas tree in tow.  And the fact that the whole world is still shocked by this, and that God's gift was never what the world expected, is precisely the reason Christmas is so important to us. 

And so there is Linus, standing in the snow, gazing with the others at the much-maligned tree in front of them; its branch bent to the ground under the weight of a single ornament.  He takes his beloved blanket and wraps it around its base; and he speaks words that could have easily come out of the mouth of God on this very night: I never thought it was such a bad little tree.  All it really needs is a little love.

So here's the thing: if anyone asks you what it is exactly that you find in that dirty, rotting wooden manger, just tell them it's love – Emmanuel, God-with-us.  On this night, and forever.  Merry Christmas!

CONFESSIONS OF AN UNSUSPECTING INKEEPER

I know you’ve heard of me before – everyone has.  Let me tell you what it’s like being me – imagine being remembered as the guy who called the timeout near the end of the Carolina-Michigan championship basketball game when there wasn’t a timeout left?  Or the Chicago Tribune back in 1948 predicting Dewey over Truman?  Or Napoleon at Waterloo?  Well, some will say you’ll find me in this select company.

See, I’m the innkeeper, the one who, on a cold winter night long ago, relegated a scared-looking young man and his pregnant wife to my stables in the backyard.  I had to do so, you see, because all the rooms in my inn were booked up.  Not one single vacancy, I promise.  And yes, of course I felt bad that they had to stay outside in that dirty manger, especially with the young woman about to give birth to her first child.  But what were my choices?  What options did I have - kick a tenant out?  I couldn’t do such a thing.

You see, it had been a very busy couple of weeks.  The Emperor at the time, Augustus of Rome, had issued a decree for a massive census to be taken.  This census covered the whole Roman empire - which ended up being most of the civilized world at the time.  Quite an undertaking - not only for the government, but for its residents as well.  You see, everyone had to register in their original hometown, their place of birth.  This caused a huge movement of people across the land as they traveled to their destinations.  You can bet I was thrilled with this!  For quite some time my inn remained booked solid, and in just a few weeks I took in more income than I had all year.  Suffice to say that the emperor’s census was good for the empire and even better for my business!

I guess I was so used to turning people away that when the young couple came to my door late that night I didn’t hesitate with my standard response:  Sorry, no room.  It was then that I noticed two things: first of all, the young woman was pregnant – very pregnant, in fact.  Secondly, I saw how tired she was - both of them, for that matter.  I guess that was what compelled me, as they slowly turned away and headed back to the street, to call to them: Hold on a minute!  Listen, I don’t have any room inside.  But I do have an empty stable in the back.  It’s not much, but it’s shelter and the hay will keep you and the baby warm.  I sensed a ray of hope in their eyes and a slight smile; and they followed me to the backyard.

Now let me stop here for a second to say that this wasn’t a standard business practice of mine – just in case you were wondering!  I don’t typically make a habit of utilizing my animal stables as room overflow.  But you would’ve thought I gave them the president’s suite at the Taj Mahal, the way they reacted.  We entered the dingy, smelly stable and I pulled some hay loose for them.  The young man lovingly and carefully helped his wife off the donkey she was riding and lay her to rest in the hay.  I brought them a pail of water and a few old torn blankets that had lived out their human usefulness and were now part of stable supply.  They thanked me profusely - I actually felt embarrassed.  With that I left this couple in the dark of night.

You know, actually I remember now - it wasn’t all that dark.  It was strange.  Sometimes, when the moon is full it’ll light up the sky to the point that you can see the whole terrain before you.  That’s the way it looked this night.  But it wasn’t the moon.  It was that strange star.  I had never seen it before.  It hung there high in the sky, glistening in the night.  It seemed to warm up the chill in the air.  It made everything it touched seem as bright as day.  As long as I live, I will never forget that star.

I remember the star not only because it was so bright, but because its light allowed me to witness the strange events that unfolded.  You wouldn’t believe what happened next!  Actually, I take that back.  I know you believe what happened because you talk about it every year around this time.  You tell this story over and over again.  Your ministers preach about it.  Your children act it out in their Christmas pageants.  Your choirs sing about it in their Cantatas, and your advent wreaths and the hymns you sing tell the story.  So of course you believe all of this.  But try putting yourself in my shoes, just for a second, to see what it was like to be the first witness to all of this.

I guess the young woman had had her child by now - I saw her and her husband cradling what looked like a tiny baby in their arms.  In my stable - wrapped in my old blankets, they had their child!  Later that night a group of shepherds came and visited them.  And I thought that was the strangest thing.  I mean, shepherds are known for being nomads and folks out on the fringes of society.  They didn’t appear to be acquaintances or friends - so how did they know these people? 

My question was answered as their excited voices traveled from the stable to my window.  They had received a message from an angel, they said, that a child was being born, and that child was….the Messiah!  I must confess to you that my cynicism kicked in at first - maybe these shepherds had been spending a little too much time out in the middle of nowhere!  But the man and woman seemed happy to have them there, and they showed them the newborn child, to which they paid great honor and respect.  It was almost as if the young couple anticipated the strangeness of these events.  It was almost as if they knew…

A few days passed and this couple and their newborn child went on their way.  They thanked me for the accommodations; and once again I felt embarrassed.  I haven't seen them since.  But I’ve heard the stories.  I heard about how they were paid a visit by three kings from the east not long after they left me; men who had heard of this birth and who followed that star, which still lit up the midnight sky.  Imagine that - a child so revered that he would command the attention of both nameless shepherds and great kings!  It was then that I began to let go of my cynicism and start believing that perhaps – perhaps – this was a special child.

My beliefs were confirmed many years later; it didn’t take long for me to hear the wonderful tales about this man.  How he roamed the countryside, preaching and teaching about God.  How he healed those who were sick and even brought a young girl back from the dead.  How he challenged the authority of the Sadducees and Pharisees and tried to share with folks something new about the God they believed and worshipped.  And, of course, how he would be put to death for a crime he didn’t commit and was resurrected three days later.  So now I can see in hindsight what I would’ve never imagined before.  Jesus, child of Mary, born in a stable; savior of humankind, Son of God. 

I know today you all make a big deal of this.  You call it Christmas, and you go all out with it.  You decorate your houses and have parties for each other, you give presents to loved ones and remember those in need.  Your entire schedule and way of life is dramatically changed for a month or so because of this.  Most importantly, you experience the never-ending reality of God’s grace and love for you.  And to think this all started in my stable, with some old blankets, some hay, a bright star, and some visiting shepherds. 

Some people ask me if I ever regret doing what I did - putting them in the stable.  My answer is always the same - No.  No, I don’t regret it.  I didn’t give them much, but I gave them what I had to give.  And over the years I’ve come to understand that that is exactly what God expects of you and me – to give God what we have, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.  Out of so little came so much.  Out of a stable comes the Christ.  Don’t you see the truth, the beauty of it?  I have; and I’ll tell you, it has changed my life forever.  I hope it does the same for you.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

IF SHEEP COULD TALK

Luke 2: 8-15
Steve Lindsley
December 21 2008

They're standing right over there – can you see them?  The Shepherds?    They're talking like crazy, and they're shaking in their shoes.  And who can blame them?  I'm not exactly so firm in my hooves either.  I mean, after what just happened, after what took place in our presence, what would you expect?  You'd be a little on-edge, too, if it were you.  I may not be the smartest animal in the barn – ok, I'm definitely not the smartest animal in the barn – but even I know what they're talking about.  They're trying to decide – should we stay, or should we go?

See, I'm just a bystander in all this.  Me and my type don't get to play much of a part in the decision making process.  Ovis aries, is what they call us.  I kind of like the sound of it, you know?  It's a whole lot more sophisticated than just “sheep.”  And that's a good thing, because there's not much sophisticated about us anyway.  If you were to ask me what it's like being an Ovis aries, this is what I'd tell you: not much.  Here's our daily schedule, if you want to call it that: we wake up in the morning.  We eat.  We rest some.  We eat some more.  We take a nap, and then we wake up.  And then we eat.  We chill out for a while, and then we go to sleep.  After which – you guess it – we eat.  That's pretty much the agenda for our day, and while the location may change the routine doesn't.  I guess you could say we don't do a whole lot.

Ah, but that's why we love our shepherds!  I honestly don't know what we'd do without them.  I mean, seriously – there's no way for our little sheep-brains to imagine a world without shepherds in it.  We have a hard time taking care of ourselves, you see.  The world is a big mean place and there's all kinds of stuff out there we don't want to mess with.  Wolves, for instance.  We don't like wolves.  We don't like them because they eat us.  That's why we need the shepherds to keep the wolves away.  The weather can be a problem, too.  A little rain is fine, but when it starts getting all loud and flashy, that's not good.  Or when it's the middle of a scorching summer day – those shepherds take us under a big tree to protect us from the elements. 

And that's not even mentioning the vast open land we live in; and how those fields go on forever.  Let me tell you: that's a sheep trap just waiting to happen; just waiting to swallow us up if we dare wander away from our flock.  Which we're very inclined to do, by the way.  That's where those shepherds come in handy; keeping us all together, grabbing us by that crook thing and yanking us back into the fold. 

So, in short, our entire sheep lives are pretty much indebted to the men in burlap carrying their big sticks.  And I must say that I personally admire these guys for what they do.  I may be just a sheep, but even I know how hard a life it is for them.  It's not exactly the pinnacle of one's career aspirations, if you catch my drift.  Mama's don't let their babies grow up to be shepherds.  Standing around all night and day, watching animals eat and sleep.  Exciting!  

It's interesting – there's actually a pecking order in the shepherding world.  You wouldn't think so, but it's there.  Those with the most “clout,” if you can call it that, get the daytime hours – maybe even a lunch break if they're really high up on the totem pole.  The “newbies” get stuck with the third shift; the late night hours.  Let me tell you – I'm happy to be a sheep.  I like my sheep life.  But if I were a shepherd, the last kind of shepherd I'd want to be is the one stuck with the night shift.  Because nothing ever happens on the third shift.

Well, I take that back, actually.  Most of the time nothing happens.  Most of the time it's as dull as dull gets.  Unless you have a night like the one we just had, and then everything changes.  And the thing is, it happened so suddenly.  So suddenly, with no warning whatsover.  It went from, Shepherds were keeping watch over their flock by night to And then an angel stood before them.  From boring to shocking, from ho-hum to omigosh!  From the peace and quiet of a third-shift shepherd watching a bunch of sheep sleeping to Hello, I'm an angel, how are you?  Seems to me that God has a way of interrupting people's routines suddenly and without warning; kind of crashing in on their world, doesn't he?

We sheep may be dumb, but our instincts are pretty sharp.  It didn't take too long after that angel guy made his sudden appearance for the flock to huddle up tight like we do when we're scared; this little cluster of wool with our heads and necks in and around each other, peeking out to see what's going on.  And when I dared to take a look, I saw this strange person talking with the shepherds.  Glowing, sort of; all bright and shiny.  I could tell the shepherds were terrified – why wouldn't they be?  They were the third-shift newbies.  They had no idea what was going on.  And to be honest, we didn't either.

And I guess the stranger noticed this, because that's when he told them not to be afraid.  Riiiiiight.  That's like taking a four-year old on the “Death by Twists and Turns” roller coaster at the theme park and then telling them to chill out.  It ain't happening.  No matter what this stranger said, they weren't going to calm down all that much.

But then the shiny stranger went into this thing about someone being born, and some guy named David, and something about a manger.  The manger bit sounded good to me, personally.  I could use a nice tuft of hay and roof over my head.  It was hard to make out everything he was saying – remember, I'm in my sheep huddle over here – but I did pick up on a few things.

First, he told the shepherds that he had some good news for them.  And I'm thinking to myself, wow, I wonder what kind of news this must be to be good news for a shepherd.  A promotion to first shift?  A brand new shepherd's crook?  It could be something like that – but seriously, that'd hardly be the kind of news that a bright shiny stranger would bring so suddenly in the middle of the night.  No, this news must be bigger than that.

He also told the shepherds that this news would be news of great joy.  Hmmm.  I'm hearing this and thinking to myself, not just joy.  Great joy.  “Joy” is kind of a hard concept for us sheep to get, you understand.  I guess we're in our joy when we've got a good field of green grass to munch on and a place in the shade.  That's “joy” for us.  So I'm wondering – as I'm sure those shepherds were – what kind of “great joy” this good news would be to them? 

He told them one more thing that I could pick out – he told them that this “good news” of “great joy” would be for all people.  For all people.  This got me thinking, as I was huddled there in my sheep mass.  I don't have a lot of experience with people, you see.  My interaction with the human race has pretty much been limited to the handful of shepherds who care for us night and day.  That's like, what, six or so?  Still, I know that there are a whole bunch of people out there; people I'll never get to see.  People I can't even imagine in my little sheep brain.  People who lived long ago, and people who haven't even been born yet.  And here's this angel, bringing “good news” of “great joy” for every single one of those people.  No one is getting left out of this news.  Especially not the shepherds.

Everything after that was pretty much a blur.  I remember some singing coming from somewhere, something about “Glory to God in the highest” and “peace among those whom he favors.”  It sounded pretty, whatever it was.  And then, just as quickly as it all came about, it was over.  The angel stranger was gone, and the shepherds were left standing there, wondering what in the world had just happened.  Eventually everyone kind of relaxed a bit; we sheep broke from our huddle and lay down in the grass.  Some of us even went off to sleep.  But not me.  I'm still thinking about everything, as much as sheep can do that sort of thing. 

And so are the shepherds – which brings us to where we are now.  They're talking over there, and they're trying to decide: should we stay or should we go?  I can tell they want to make their decision quickly, you know.  You just don't sit on good news like this for very long.  You don't respond to a shiny angel by doing what you've always done before.  Something's gotta change.

And that's the thing of it, I guess, isn't it?  Nothing will ever be the same for these guys.  I mean, they can't just go back to their lives as they were before.  Third shift will never be the same for them ever again.  Or for anyone, really.  I mean, don't you think it's interesting that this angel chose to appear to shepherds?  If this really is the kind of good news that will bring great joy to all people, wouldn't you think it'd shared with people who have the most clout; who can do something about it most effectively?  See, if I were the angel, if I were calling shots, I would've first gone to some of those other people out there I've heard about – the governor or temple leaders or someone like that.  People who are in charge and can actually do something.

But that's not what the angel did.  Instead he came and told shepherds – the guys who are hopelessly stuck in a dead-end career.  And not only that, not only did he choose to share his news with shepherds, but he chose the lowest of the low – the third shift shepherds – to be his inaugural audience.

I don't know.  I'm just a sheep, mind you; but the more I think about it, the more it really amazes me.  Shocks me, to be honest.  Some might say that the angel made some kind of mistake – oops, wrong address, sorry!  But I don't think so.  In fact, I'm willing to bet – whatever sheep bet – that those shepherds are exactly who needed to hear the news first.  Maybe that's precisely why this news is so good, and why it's full of great joy.  And maybe that's why this news is for all people.  If the third shift shepherds get to hear about it, then it really is for everyone.

Whoa, look!  There they go.  They're packing up their stuff.  Looks like they're going to do it.

And so I guess the question now is: are you going with them?  Are you going to make the trip?  Take the journey that leads you and the shepherds to a manger scene with the animals and the hay; and two very young parents, and “a child wrapped in bands of cloth?”  And if you do, when you get there, will you find not just those things but so much more – the hope and promise that comes whenever God decides to break into our little world, even the world of third-shift shepherds?

Are you going?  I hope so.  After all, like the angel said, this is good news of great joy for all people.  And that includes everyone.  Good news for you and your family.  For your church.  Good news for your neighborhood and your city and your country and your world.  Good news for people who have expected this their entire lives, and those who expected nothing.  Good news for people who believe with all their hearts, and people who don't.  Good news for the content and satisfied, and the needy and lacking.  Good news for the well-off, and the poor.  Good news for those who are in, and those who are out.  This is good news for everyone.  This is news for you.  Especially for you.

Here they go, heading off to the manger.  I really hope you'll come along.  Like I said, I'm just a sheep.  But I get the feeling you'll be glad if you did.  Very glad at what you find there.  Emmanuel – God with us.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

IF JESUS WAS BORN IN A WAL-MART WORLD

NOTE TO READER:  Today was our annual Christmas Cantata, which becomes the "sermon" for Sunday worship.  I subscribe to the belief that God's word can be sung as well as spoken.  My plan was to provide a link here to our church website where you could listen to the service and cantata (the link is actually at the top of this page to the far right - you can click it any time)

Alas, my plans were thwarted when computer hiccups prevented us from recording the service.  Bah humbug.

Instead, I've decided to post an Advent sermon from last year.  Hope this will suffice.  Thanks for reading!

TMP

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Luke 2: 1-7
Steve Lindsley
December 2, 2007

It happened a little over three years ago, somewhere around the video aisle at Wal-Mart.  I remember her grabbing her abdomen and a twinge of discomfort across her face.  You okay?  I asked.  She responded that she was.  But in the silence that followed we both frantically wondered to ourselves – was this it?  Was our second son about to be born?

Maybe we just didn’t want to admit it to ourselves.  Last thing we wanted was to unnecessarily set into motion “The Plan:” my parents getting the phone call to hightail it to Mount Airy, her parents meeting us at the hospital in Winston, and a good friend of ours dropping whatever they were doing at the moment to come watch Connor.  Maybe it was that, and admitting to ourselves that our life was on the cusp of dramatically changing once again.

We temporarily parted company so we could do some Christmas shopping for the other.  She didn’t say anything else about it until long after we left Wal-Mart; probably while unloading bags in the kitchen.  By then the contractions had gotten stronger and more frequent; and it was only a matter of time.  Finally, around 9:00, phone calls were made to grandparents and our good friend came to stay with Connor.    We packed our bags and made the long drive to Winston-Salem; my wife actually encouraging me to go well over the posted speed limit.  Which I did.  We arrived at the hospital a little after 11; and two hours later Hunter Logan came to be with us. 

It has been said that the average person has a life expectancy of around 80 years, which works out to be a little under 710,000 hours.  Some of these hours come and go leaving hardly a trace in our memory banks.  But three years after the fact – Hunter celebrated his birthday this past week – three years later I can still recall every minute of what happened that Sunday evening – engrained in my psyche forever.  Zooming down 52, coming home in the morning to tell Connor about his new brother. 

And Wal-Mart – I’ll never forget Wal-Mart, because it was there where the crazy journey of the day began.  I have what I like to call a “strained fascination” with Wal-Mart.  On one hand I’m not crazy about some of their business practices and how they treat their employees with wages and health insurance.  But on the other hand I gotta admit – it’s got everything you need!  And I also see this store as a microcosm of our society – our consumer mentality, our desire to have “the latest thing” at the cheapest price.  You find all kinds of people at Wal-Mart – the wealthy and prosperous, right alongside the working poor.  All races and lifestyles, all family histories – they’re there under the same roof, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  And I think that’s why when I look back on Hunter’s birth, part of me will always think of Wal-Mart.

Sometimes the journeys of our lives begin in the strangest of places; places you and I least expect them to.  It certainly was that way for Jesus, don’t you think?  I mean, it was bad enough for Mary and Joseph that she was pregnant.  Keep in mind, we’re talking about two teenagers.  Two unmarried teenagers.  It was as scandalous back in the day as it would be now.  No one believed her explanation that the child inside her was from God; a gift of the Holy Spirit.  And can we blame them?  Would we have believed her?

Then to make matters worse, a census was decreed by the high emperor and each man had to return to his homeland to be registered – he and all members of his family.  Joseph was from Bethlehem, which was a hundred miles away.  Mary was eight months pregnant.  Talk about lousy timing! 

So this was the scene: a scandalous pregnancy that had everyone talking, and a long hard trip they absolutely had to make.  There’s a great scene in the movie that came out a year ago, The Nativity Story, about the events leading up to the birth of Jesus.  The scene begins just as Mary and Joseph are heading out of town to Bethlehem – Mary on the donkey’s back and Joseph leading the way.  We see some of Mary and Joseph’s friends in the mix; “former friends” they should be called, because they couldn’t handle the fact that Mary got pregnant and Joseph continues to love her anyway.  They’re staring at Mary and Joseph with disgust and scorn.  The young couple is aware of this; and as they make their way through town Joseph turns to Mary and, with a wry smile, says, I think they’re going to miss us.

You and I know this story; we’ve had it seared into our brains for as long as we can remember, thanks in part to children’s pageants, Luke readings, manger scenes, and a certain hymn we are prone to sing this time of year:

Away in a manger, no crib for his bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head
The stars in the sky look down where he lay
The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay

Awww!  It is a scene we have successfully romanticized over the years.  But is it a realistic romanticism?  For if we stop to think about it – I mean, really think about it – it doesn’t make a lick of sense.  Jesus – born in an animal stable!  Last time I got near one of those, I had to hold my nose because of the stench.  How is it that we have become so comfortable with the idea of God’s son being born in a place like that?  And what would it look like, I wonder, if we brought the manger scene into the 21st century – if Jesus was born in our “Wal-Mart” world?  What would that look like?

They’re heading back to his hometown of Mount Airy for a number of reasons.  One is simply because they need to get away from where they had been.  Their teachers and friends had not been too thrilled when they began dating, but when she started showing it was like the end of the world had arrived.  Plus, a few months prior he picked up a traffic ticket in Surry County and had to have his day in court.  It didn’t help matters that Mary was about due, but the law’s the law, so they say.

So they pile into Joe’s 1987 Ford Mustang and make the 100-mile trip to Dobson, and he can tell she’s not comfortable.  Things get worse after his court appearance, although he did get improper equipment.  But the baby’s arrival is imminent, and making the trip back home is out of the question.  They don’t know what to do – they are young, lonely and confused.  They cruise down Highway 601, stopping at every hotel, but unbeknownst to them it is Mayberry Days and there’s not a vacant hotel room in sight.  Frantic, they pull into the Wal-Mart parking lot, because they need to pick up a few things, and because they have no idea what else to do.

She doesn’t want to be left alone in the car, so despite how much it hurts they walk into the store together.  People pass them by and know something’s wrong, but no one stops to help.  They grab the few items they need, but as they stand in the checkout line Mary doubles over in pain.  Joe shouts out for help – anyone, please!  The store manager comes over.  It’s obvious that it’s too late to get to the hospital now.  He doesn’t have much to offer, but there is the staff lounge in the back, and there’s a somewhat decent couch there, along with some tables and chairs.  They’re welcome to it, he says.

Mary and Joe stumble into the window-less room.  And later that night, but not much later, their baby son is born.  Born not among barnyard animals but amidst the Coke and snack machines.  Born not in the presence of wayward shepherds, but beside the “Employee of the Month” display (last month it was “Corinne.”)  Born not underneath the shining light of a celestial star, but from the light of the room’s harsh fluorescent lights.   “And Mary 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.”

Can you imagine this scene – it’s almost comical, isn’t it?  It’s not almost comical.  It is comical.  It is side-splitting, jaw-dropping, laugh-until-you-drop hilarious!  This story would make front page of half the newspapers across this country.  CNN would add it to their daily feed, and Cameron Kent and company would interrupt their regular newscast with “Breaking News! Baby born in Wal-Mart!”  And you and I would hear about this story, tell a few friends, shake our head in amazement, and then get on with our life.  And years later, when folks realized just who that Wal-Mart baby really was, somebody would surely wonder: how could God’s son ever have been born into the world like that? 

You know what I think, though?  I think it’s the only way God’s son could’ve been born.  I think Jesus had to enter our world right where we are – not in some sweet, peaceful serene scene we conjure up in our minds, as if an animal stable is the next best thing to a nice condo on the beach.  No, Jesus had to come into the world in all of its messiness; the very human, very radical, very raw reality we call our home.  Jesus – breaking into our world amidst all the good and all the bad; all the consumerism that takes over this time of year; all races and classes of people that sometimes get along and often don’t; all the many stories that define who we are and how we live our lives.  Jesus, born in a manger!  Born in Wal-Mart!  Born into our world!

Which begs the obvious question, of course: if Jesus actually came into the world this way today, would we recognize him?  Would we praise him as the Messiah and follow him with our lives?  That, my friends, is why we have four weeks of Advent: to prepare for what we know is coming, and to remind us that God often comes to us in the most mysterious of ways, when we least expect it.  We need four weeks to make sure we see him coming into our lives, for we dare not miss him.  We want to see the baby Jesus, wherever he is.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.