The Morning After Christmas
Originally scheduled for December 26
It is the very definition of quiet chaos. You get up on the
morning after Christmas, dressed for church, and walk through the
living room. Wrapping paper is everywhere. Over in the corner is
that little tin windup toy Santa, the one with the drum on the back
of the tricycle. Everyone likes to wind up watching go across the
floor, making an incredibly raucous noise designed to split the
eardrums and fracture are the nerves of the parents.
There are regrets. There are the things you did not get for
Christmas. How your wife was supposed to know that you really wanted
a hydraulic ramjet peanut butter spreader is some what beyond
comprehension. But that doesn't lessen your disappointment.
Perhaps you also regret that you did not tell the story. I know
that everyone's heard it; and they put it more than once. But as you
look back on Christmas Day you think to yourself, perhaps I
should've told the story. Perhaps I should have mentioned what
Christmas is all about.
It's important. For the birth of Christ, the Incarnation, is the
basic miracle of Christianity. Without the babe in the manger there
would be no Christ on the Cross. If there is no cross, there is no
resurrection. If there is no resurrection, then death triumphs.
But there is a manger with a babe in it. He grew to go to the
cross; he went to the grave. That is what we remember here at
Communion. It is the triumph over death that is the basis of
our faith. At Christmas you should remember to tell the story.
At Communion you tell the story each time.
