Christmas Eve, Year C,
December 24, 2000

By
The Rev. Ann M. Smith

Based on the First Reading: Isaiah 9:2-7

People may not agree on the real meaning of Christmas. But everyone agrees that it is a time of giving. Even people who wouldn't in any way call themselves religious become generous at Christmas time. They open up their hearts and their purse strings to help the needy and the disadvantaged. They become extravagant as they shop for family and friends. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, stores are filled with expectant shoppers looking for the 'perfect gift' for Aunt Matilda and Uncle Harry. And after Christmas the shops are just as full as all the Aunt Matildas and Uncle Harrys return their 'perfect' gifts.

We search for the perfect gift hoping that someone will really like it. But so often what we see on their faces is that look of disappointment. Even children, who truly seem to experience something of the magic of Christmas share in the holiday let down. We talk about the gift not being important. About it being the thought behind it! Yet, when we receive a gift, we somehow cannot get beyond our disappointment. I suppose it is simply a part of our human nature to look at the face value of things.

I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt as the shepherds came into the manger bearing homage to their newborn infant. How did they feel as they watched richly robed magi kneel before their child offering alabaster jars of precious myrrh, inlaid boxes heavy with the scent of frankincense, and iron-bound chests laden with gold – gifts fit for a king?

It is no mistake that Christmas stories abound which recount to us tales of gifts given and accepted in love. They remind us of God's great gift to us and of our need to accept it. I share with you now one of my favourite stories, the classic French tale The Clown of God.

There was once a small orphan boy named Giovanni who dressed in rags, begged his bread, and slept in doorways. But he was happy, and he had an amazing talent. He could juggle. Every day he would juggle fruit and vegetables at the market. Crowds would gather to watch and then would buy from the owners of the stands. They made certain that Giovanni had plenty to eat. It was a good arrangement.

One day a circus came to town. As Giovanni watched the performers he knew that it was the life for him. He left with them that very day and became a travelling player. He would wear a costume and put on a clown's face and juggle for the crowds. He could juggle all kinds of things – clubs, rings and burning torches. But it was the way he ended his act that caught everybody's attention. It was always the same. He would toss several coloured balls into the air until it looked as if he were juggling the rainbow. "And now for the Sun in the Heavens!" he would cry. Still juggling he would pick up a shining golden ball and toss it higher and higher and faster and faster. The crowds would cheer.

The years passed. Giovanni grew old and times became hard. He could no longer juggle quickly. Sometimes, truth to tell, he even dropped one of his props. People began to laugh instead of clap. Soon he was reduced to the rags and doorway of his childhood. One cold winter night he crept inside the old church in his town and fell asleep in a corner.

It was the music in the church that woke him up. There was a grand procession with blazing candles and people singing and carrying beautiful gifts. They stopped and placed the gifts in front of a statue of Mary and her child.

When the singing was over, Giovanni moved closer. The Child in Mary's arms seemed so serious, so stern. "Oh how I wish I had something to give to you," Giovanni said. "You seem so sad even with all of these beautiful gifts. But wait – I used to make people smile." He opened his bag and began to juggle – plates and clubs and rings. Then he began to throw the coloured balls until it looked as if he were juggling the rainbow. "And finally," he cried, "the Sun in the Heavens." The gold ball flew up and around and around, higher and higher. He had never juggled so well in his life. "For you, sweet child, for you," he cried. And he fell to the ground.

One of the priests came running in with the sexton. "Why the poor old clown is dead. May his soul rest in peace," he said. Then they looked up at the statue. The child Jesus was smiling and in his hand he held the golden ball.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: "Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself." That is the message of the Clown of God. It is profoundly the message of Christmas. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting father, Prince of Peace.

God, in giving us Jesus, has given us the perfect gift. The question remains. What will we do with it? Will we smile nicely as we stand there with a package all wrapped in swaddling bands? "How nice of you God, but you really shouldn't have." And then toss it into the back of the cupboard still wrapped. Will we be too afraid to open it, wondering what we did to deserve it? Or worse still will we decide without looking that it is just some useless religious trinket. Perhaps we don't feel any need for God just now. Perhaps we know that if we do open it up we'll be obligated to the Giver for far more than we can ever hope to repay. And so it sits … and sits … until finally in desperation, loneliness and pain, we untie the ribbons and tear apart the wrappings, hoping against hope that we will find inside what we have always longed for. And so it is. The perfect gift! God among us! Emmanuel! May you know His presence this and every day!

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