Christmas Is About Care-Givers

(For almost three decades, Father Skipper celebrated Christmas Eve Mass for a community of family and friends gathered in his parents’ home. Rather than to give a “sermon,” it was his custom to offer an original short story What follows is the introduction and one of those stories. Please accept it as a small gift during this Christmas season.)

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From the beginning, please let me point out that this Christmas story is not about any one "little person."  Rather, he is a composite of many...

It has been a year since we last gathered here.  A year in which I have been especially moved by the role and person of the care giver.  From the "Jewish mother" nurse who has taken such special care of the dying and who will work an "extra" tonight so that Christian wives and mothers can be at home with their families to friends who have not enabled addicts and alcoholics but made it possible for them to recover.  From the nun who constantly listens to the language of teenagers that would send others to the cloister and the parents of small children who correct without destroying developing personalities to the parents and family of one priest who simply encourage and tolerate so that so many of you might be here this evening.  

I was reminded by last Sunday's Gospel that the Incarnation, the mystery of the Word of God becoming flesh and sharing our humanity, was possible only because Mary dared to say to the Angel, "Behold the servant of the Lord.  Be it done unto me according to your word.”  

This is dedicated to all those care giving servants.

Andrew, hereinafter known as…. (Isn't that a great legal term? I only use it because his father is a hotshot attorney.) Andrew, hereinafter known as “The Little Person," was confused.

In fact, this was probably the first time The Little Person had ever been confused.

And confused for any little person is a very strange feeling.  For The Little Person it was - well - confusing.

He knew that Christmas was coming:  "Ho-Ho" and all that.  He had helped "Pop-Pop" string lights at his grandparents' home and had declared confidently that his own home was "the most beautiful in the whole wide world."  Andrew sortta understood that life followed a well-established order - Thanksgiving, Ho-Ho and Christmas, Daddy's then Mommy's birthdays, and finally his own, which is, he could say when asked, “in March,” though he still wasn't exactly certain when - even what - March is.

It was this "Christmas thing" that was so confusing.

He had been told with almost unrelenting frequency that Christmas was "Baby Jesus' birthday."  And he knew that must be right because every time someone new would stop-by to see the Christmas decorations and he would respond to his parents' question “What is Christmas?” and he responded “Baby Jesus’ birthday,” everyone would smile and tell him how good or how smart or even how good and smart he was.

But for The Little Person birthdays were supposed to be observed with pool parties and cakes with icing and coconut chips.  And there was no sign of any of these. 

There was lots of Christmas, though.  The whole house looked different - a decorated tree and a big plastic Santa Claus stuffed with rolled-up newspapers. That had been his job – scrunching up newspapers and helping Pop-Pop push them into every nook and cranny of Santa Claus’ chest and arms and legs. There had been cooking, baking and gift wrapping, although it was readily apparent that none of this was actually for the Baby Jesus.  And it was supposed to be His birthday.  

And there were Christmas cribs - at his own and his grandparents' homes.  He had been alternately allowed to watch the careful placement of each piece - even put some of the cows and sheep in their places - and told, "Don't touch, Honey" each time he went back to observe his own handiwork.  There were big cribs, too, in front yards and at churches.  Tonight his own church was supposed to have a crib with live animals and people in costumes. And a real baby.

It was a time of much anticipation.  Someone was always asking him, "Don't you remember last Christmas when... ?"  Of course, The Little Person would always answer "Yes" and the questioning grown-up's face would assume a confident "I-told-you-so" smile. 

In fact, the Little Person really did not remember much about last Christmas - except that he had gotten a lot of toys from Ho-Ho at Pop-Pop's house and, on arriving at his own home on Christmas afternoon, he discovered that Santa Claus had, indeed, been there too.  He could tell, not simply from the huge pile of gifts awaiting him, but from the crumbs on the once full plate of Christmas cookies and the now empty glass of milk he had so carefully remembered to leave out for Ho-Ho.

But for the moment, it was time to get ready for Church. There was, he had heard his parents say, to be a Christmas Eve children's Mass. The Little Person was already decked out - new shoes, navy blue pants, white shirt and bright red – his favorite color - tie, with a Christmas-bright red sweater. His parents were still dressing as he sat contemplating the family Christmas crib.  And this was where the confusion came.

Yes.  He knew that Christmas was the birthday of the Baby Jesus.  But, last Sunday The Little Person had paid particular attention in Church.  Even before Mass began his mother had warned, ”the birds outside are watching and will report everything to Santa Claus.”  So he had been very good.  Perhaps that is why he heard the priest explain that the real heroes of Christmas were Joseph and Mary.  The priest used words like "sacrifice" and "humility" and "simplicity" and "service" - words The Little Person did not understand but knew were important - to describe the mother and father of Jesus.  He said that, if it had not been for their doing what God wanted, there would be no Christmas because the Baby Jesus would not have been born.

The Little Person was truly confused - as only an almost-four-year-old can be confused:  Mary and Joseph are the really important people but it is Jesus' birthday and he, Andrew, was the one expecting all of the gifts.  Something wasn't right about all of this.  And, as only an almost-four-year-old can, he felt some profound moral imperative to correct this situation.  

So it was that Andrew, The Little Person, came to his decision.

When his parents descended the staircase, they found the Little Person ready to go, pillow case in hand.  They really did not think much of the additional costuming.  It had become a common practice for him to take a pillow to church for those times when he would fall asleep - especially at the adult masses.  

The ride to the church was brief - only about five minutes - and when they arrived The Little Person and his parents found a large number of families already gathered around the outside "living Christmas crib."  In the familiar setting of the church property Andrew maneuvered his way to the front.  He wanted to be certain to see everything that was happening.  

Then, just as the priest began to intone The Christmas Proclamation, the Little Person opened his pillow case and pulled out a huge little-hand-full bouquet of red, white and pink chrysanthemums - the flowers that earlier that day his father brought home for his mother and she had left uncut and unarranged in the kitchen sink.  Dropping the pillow case, he walked full-square into the manger scene - flowers in hand.  Turning to the persons of the Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph, he extended the make-shift bouquet and declared in a most confident voice:  "Here. These are for you.  I have decided that the Baby Jesus and I already get enough gifts at Christmas and somebody should give you something.  Because you are the ones who really give us Christmas."

Mary held the flowers and the Christ Child.  Saint Joseph just looked at his simple, make-shift bouquet and smiled. No one had ever given him flowers before - whether as Saint Joseph or as his real self.  And, as the Little Person's mother and father attempted to snatch him out of the manger where they were not quite sure whether he did or did not belong, the priest just threw up his hands, smiled, turned to the congregation and said, "Merry Christmas.  Peace be with you."

Merry Christmas