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I have heard folks say that the Christmas Eve service is one of the most meaningful worship experiences of the year. Certainly the presence of so many of you tonight testifies to the fact that people want to be in church on the eve of Christmas Day. No doubt we are here for a variety of reasons. Some of us are weary of the consumerism of Christmas and we want our children to understand that Christmas is more about giving than receiving. Others of us are here to remember Christmases long ago when its magic tingled our senses and quickened our heartbeats. Many of us are here because Christmas is not something to be celebrated alone. We need each other. We need the church in times of joy as well as sorrow. Whatever the reasons, we gather tonight to celebrate the birth of Christ in our midst. My hope for us all is that we walk out of these doors with more than a warm, fuzzy Christmas glow. My prayer is that God would stir something deep within our hearts, something so deep that our lives will somehow be different, that we might tap into the flow of the life-altering power of God's Spirit. Christmas is a time for the giving of gifts, or is it presents? Is a gift the same as a present? What are inside the brightly colored packages under your Christmas tree…gifts or presents? To help us understand the difference between a gift and a present I will tell you a story. This story took place many centuries ago in old Ireland. There was a blind poet who traveled from town to town singing his songs of verse and begging his scant livelihood. One Christmas Eve he found himself in a village in the north country. It had been a bad week with few gifts of charity. There were only a few coins in the bottom of his ragged cloth cap. The streets, which were filled earlier with shoppers, were now deserted. The poet stood outside the door of the village pub, hoping against hope for a kind gift or two. Suddenly the pub door crashed open and tumbling out came a crowd of drunken young rowdies. The poet was knocked into the street, his cap and coins scattering over the cobblestones. He crawled on his hands and knees to search for the coins. But they had all fallen between the cracks in the stone. Meanwhile the young rowdies stood there laughing at the poet. At first he tried to ignore them, but then he became angry. He stood up and raised his arms to heaven and pronounced a curse on the village. A CHRISTMAS CURSE UPON THIS VILLAGE BE, UPON THIS GREEN VALLEY AND COUNTRYSIDE…AND MAY A HUNK OF THE SOUL OF ANY WHO DARES A GIFT TO GIVE, BE STONE COLD BY EVEN TIDE!" The poet’s cry rang out so loudly that everyone in the village heard his words. Knowing the power of a poet’s curse, the heart of every man, woman, and child was filled with fear. Immediately, they all hid the gifts under their trees. And from that day on, no one gave a gift for fear of losing such a hunk of their soul. The village gift shop went bankrupt and had to close its doors. Every year at Christmas the villagers had Christmas trees, but no gifts were ever placed beneath them. But as the years went by, the people found it difficult not to give something, some token, at times such as weddings and birthdays. After much thought and discussion they invented the "present." The "present" was very different from the "gift." In giving a present, the people didn’t give part of themselves. They simply presented an object: a ring, a pair of boots, a clock. But of course, a present lacked the richness of a gift, so they came up with the idea of paper wrapping and bows. To make up for what was lacking inside the present, they decorated the outside. One Saturday morning, about a hundred years later, a wandering minstrel rode into the village on a brightly colored wagon with his traveling magic show. The minstrel knew nothing of the curse or the village’s long history of never giving gifts. He delighted the crowd of villagers with his magic, juggling, and singing. When he finished his show he noticed a young lady who clapped the loudest and the longest. He was deeply touched by her appreciation and so he leaned over the kissed her on the cheek. Then he said, "Here, I give you a gift." Taking a golden chain from around his neck, he kissed it tenderly, and placed it around her neck. The poor girl turned pale and everyone in the crowd ran to their homes. Mothers hid their children while fathers locked their doors and shutters in fear. The young girl attempted to return the golden chain and, weeping as she did, told the minstrel of the poet’s ancient curse. Holding her hand gently, and speaking in such a clear voice that he could be heard by everyone in the village, the minstrel said: "In every error there is truth; and in every curse there is blessing. Your ancient poet did speak the truth. Indeed, each time you give a gift you do lose a part of your soul. But that’s not a curse; it’s part of the mystery of giving a gift. Aware of that mystery, each time you give a gift you should slowly kiss it on the top. Then a small magical door opens in the gift so that part of your soul can slip inside. Every gift contains a hollow, hidden compartment that allows the gift to be a carrier of the real gift…a part of your soul." The minstrel continued, "And whenever you receive a gift, you must also observe the proper rituals. First, you must gently press the gift to your lips. As you do inhale the real gift that rides within it…a part of the soul of the giver. Then you must rejoice in the gift itself. To know this is to know that in the giving of gifts there must always be a gift exchange, or else there will be an imbalance in the soul of the gift-giver." "Indeed, fair lady, part of my soul has been lost to you in my giving of the golden chain. If I kept giving and giving gifts without receiving any in return, I would soon be out of soul and dead as a rose in winter. The exchange does not require a gift-object; for even gratitude, if it be real and loving, is a gift. Hugs and kisses, thank you notes, and prayers are also made with hidden compartments. Remember…the soul of the giver is in every gift." The minstrel raised his voice, "God has gifted us with creation. Every tree, rock, and bird contains a hunk of God’s own soul. The most beautiful gift God creates is the human child. God molds each child out of clay and tenderly kisses the gift. A part of the soul of God then slips into every human person." Looking deeply into her eyes, the young minstrel continued, "Indeed, fair lady, I am less a man for having given to you. And for the moment, I am short of soul, but I’ll take that risk." At this, the girl stood on her tiptoes, kissed him warmly, and said, "Kind stranger, and singer of songs, I gift you not only with gratitude, but also with a hunk of my soul!" The two glowed with such beauty that the entire village was flooded with light. A great cry of joy arose from every cottage as doors and shutters flew open. Young and old began dancing in the streets, for the poet’s curse was broken. And at every Christmas in that village to this day, beneath every tree, there are gifts. It was in the village of Bethlehem a long time ago that God, our Creator, gave us a gift. So tonight we are invited to gently press this gift to our lips and our hearts, and inhale the real gift that is within the Christ child…. a hunk of the soul of God. |
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12.24.02 - Present or Gift? (Story of the Poet-Beggar’s Curse)
