Sermon for
December 24, 2004
Christmas Eve Service
“Santa Claus: the True Story”
Isaiah 9:2-7; Luke 2:1-20
It
is at Christmastime when the words of Jesus make the most sense to me,
especially these words of Jesus:
Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the
kingdom of God as a little child will never
enter it.
Mark 10:15
You see, at Christmastime you “gotta” believe, don’t you? With all the
music in the air and the excitement growing and the promise of wonderful
things to come, you have to believe in the message of the season. If you
don’t believe the proclamation of “peace on earth, good will to all,” if
you don’t embrace this rare experience in our culture when just about
everybody seems to have finally found a common bond of humanity in the
greeting, “Merry Christmas!”, then, like Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch,
there is just not much hope for you.
You
just have to believe. That’s the truth of the Gospel, isn’t it? When you
accept this child Jesus and let him rule your life, there is not only
peace and good will in your heart, there is the real power of his
resurrection shaping, molding, and changing you, restoring to the center
of your life the very image of God in which you were created. With the
birth of Jesus the Son of God, creation is so transformed that the
principalities and powers of this world are finally defeated and hope is
restored by the King of kings.
But
you “gotta” believe, don’t you? You have to have faith. You just have to
accept the gift of his grace with the trust and wonder of a little child.
St.
Nicholas knew that. He knew that because he himself accepted the gift of
the grace of Jesus in his own heart. He knew that as he shared that love
in his service as a minister and priest of the church. He knew that as
his church conferred upon him the responsibilities of Bishop. His church
honored his ministry in the name of Jesus in calling him Saint.
That’s why Santa Claus gives gifts. Although our culture has taught us
well how to anticipate what we are going to get in this season, it was and
is the giving spirit of the patron saint of children that inspires this
entire experience. It’s the church’s job, it seems to me, to instill in
our hearts in this season that it is the giving, not the receiving, that
is the true meaning of the Christian celebration of Christmas. That’s the
true story of Santa Claus. You just “gotta” believe!
An
anonymous personal story seems to illustrate this point:
I remember my first Christmas
party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on
my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is
no Santa Claus,” she jeered, “Even dummies know that!”
My grandma was not the gushy kind,
never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be
straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that
the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of
her world-famous cinnamon buns.
Grandma was home, and the buns were
still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for
me. “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.”
“Go? Go where,
Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second cinnamon bun.
“Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that
had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its
doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
“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.
I was only eight
years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I
shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded,
full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few
moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill,
wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of
everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at
school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out,
when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath
and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade two
class.
Bobbie Decker
didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess
during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher
that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn’t have a
cough, he just didn’t have a coat.
I fingered the
ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a
coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked
real warm, and he would like that. “Is this a Christmas present for
someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten
dollars down.
“Yes,” I replied
shyly. “It’s…for Bobbie.” The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any
change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening,
Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write,
“To Bobbie, From Santa Claus” on it—Grandma said that Santa always
insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker’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. Then 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 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.
Forty years haven’t dimmed the
thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie
Decker’s bushes. That night, I 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.
Sisters and brothers,
make no mistake about it. The spirit of St. Nicholas is alive and well in
our world today. When you give, when you find more joy in giving than in
receiving, when your world no longer revolves so much around you but
embraces the needs and hurts of others in the world, then you begin to
really believe the kingdom of God and are more prepared than ever to enter
it.
Few experiences in my
ministry have brought this home to me than the annual celebration of the
Advent Angel here at South Roanoke Church. Before our celebration was
over on the evening of December 12 this year, this chancel area was full
of wrapped packages, huge Christmas bags, and just plain yard bags filled
with gifts for the less fortunate children related to the Henry Fork
Service Center in Bedford County. That one generous gift of the people
of God amounted to over $13,000!
You see, you “gotta”
believe. Like a little child believe what the angels announce and God
proclaims in this season. Like a child just trust the One who has made
you and loves you. Like a child be lost in wonder, love, and praise.
This night you are
invited to share in the Sacrament of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Once you have received these elements of his love you may, like a child,
want to kneel tonight at the manger, either at the rail or on the steps.
As you come there is good news for you and for me. If there is hope for
the likes of Ebenezer Scrooge and even the Grinch, then there is hope for
you and me. We can be delivered from our own selfishness and own greed
and find here, at the manger, joy, real joy in giving and strength to
believe. At the manger, the world can be delivered from strife and
suffering and war, and, by God’s grace, experience peace on earth, good
will to all forevermore.
