A Lamb's Tale

Jim Hickman

I used this story years ago instead of a “standard” Christmas sermon.  I hope it blesses you.

The sun was beginning to peer over the mountains near Bethlehem.  Soon, its warmth would overcome the chill of the night.  Still, it was too early for breakfast.  No one wanted to stumble around in the dark.  When Nathan began to sing, they would know it was safe to begin eating.   For now, everyone was still asleep or, at least, trying to sleep. 

Jake was groaning and his legs were kicking the air.  Mostly, they were kicking the air.  Occasionally, he would kick Eli who was sleeping next to him. 

“Jake, Jake,” Eli whispered, “wake up.  You’re having a bad dream.”

Trembling, Jake muttered something about “Dogs” and Eli said, “There are no dogs.  We’re all safe.  Nathan is with us.”    Jake settled down and went back to a quiet sleep.

As sheep go, Jake was not especially brave, which is to say he was not brave at all. 

But he was the oldest sheep in the flock and was much loved by all the other sheep, particularly by his friends Eli, Zeb, Faith, and Hope.  They all understood why his eyes grew wide and his knees began to shake when he heard the distant sound of dogs barking. 

They would remind him that he was not alone and that they had a good shepherd, Nathan, who would protect them.  Of course, Jake knew this but he could remember when Nathan was not so good a shepherd.

Jake had been born into a very special flock.  He was part of the flock of sheep that provided sacrifices for the temple in Jerusalem, which was only four miles from Bethlehem.  There were many sheep on the hills of Judea but only a few perfect enough to be offered in worship to God.  It was a great honor to be among those taken to the temple.  Of course, Jake didn’t really know what that meant but he knew it must mean he was very special.

While Jake was still a lamb, a new shepherd began to help take care of the flock.  His name was Nathan and he was the young nephew of the chief shepherd.  He had finally reached the age when he was expected to help with the sheep.  Nathan’s father had his own flock and Nathan’s older brother helped watch them.  Nathan’s uncle, who cared for the temple sheep, had no sons so Nathan’s father sent him to help his uncle.

Nathan didn’t want to help with his uncle’s sheep, or anyone’s sheep for that matter.  His other friends were still young enough to stay in Bethlehem and play during the day.  They didn’t have to sit on the rocky hillside and watch sheep eat grass.  They didn’t have to listen to the old men tell stories of Israel’s glory days before the Romans came.  Of course, none of them could remember what life was like before the Romans but they just knew it had to be better.  It was boring. 

Then, one day, Nathan’s uncle twisted his ankle while he was looking for a lamb that had strayed.  He needed to stay home and rest for a couple days.    So, he told Nathan he would have to work alone for those two days.  The first day went by slowly.  Not a single sheep strayed.  Nothing happened to break the monotony.  The next day started out just the same.   

About mid-morning, Nathan heard his name being called.  He looked down the hill toward a nearby stream and saw his friends.  They had come out from Bethlehem to see him.  He was so happy.  They asked how he liked being a shepherd.  He told them his uncle was very strict, which they believed.  He told them he and his uncle had had chased several bands of thieves, which they did not believe.  Then someone suggested they play a game of “David and Goliath.”  In this game, each boy tried to see how far he could hurl a stone with his sling.  Nathan was always very good at this game so he quickly agreed it was a good idea.

After playing several games, they began to wade in the stream to find more stones.  Nathan completely forgot about the sheep.

Jake saw Nathan wander away but didn’t worry.  He was young and knew nothing of the dangers sheep could face.  He just continued to munch away at the sweet grass.  After a long while, he heard the other sheep begin to bleat loudly.  They were all running toward him and before he could move they had bowled him over, leaving him by himself.  As he got back onto his feet, he looked up to see a pack of wild dogs bearing down on him. 

Almost instinctively, Jake knew he couldn’t outrun them so he looked for a place to hide.  Several rocks were piled up next to a large boulder, forming a kind of shelter.  Just ahead of the dogs, Jake squeezed between two of the rocks out of harms’ way. 

One of the dogs pushed his head into the opening trying to reach Jake.  He couldn’t reach the little lamb but Jake could feel his hot breath each time the dog’s jaws snapped.  Then one of the rocks moved and the dog got closer.  Jake had no place to run so he closed his eyes and waited.  The dog snapped at him once, twice, three times, missing each time.  Then Jake felt a fiery hot pain in his right ear.  The dog had bitten Jake’s ear.  Jake waited to be bitten again but, instead, he heard the dog yelp.  Then the dogs were gone.

Nathan had finally heard the commotion and came running.  He used his sling to chase the dogs away.  Hearing Nathan call him, Jake stumbled out of hiding.  His face and side were streaked with blood from his torn ear.  Nathan didn’t know what to do.

Meanwhile, Nathan’s friends had hurried to the pasture where Nathan’s father and brother kept their sheep.  They told them what had happened and Nathan’s father rushed to his younger son.

To his credit, Nathan admitted that he had allowed his friends to distract him and that he had left the sheep alone.  “You’ll have to tell your uncle what happened,” his father told him, “but right now we have to look after this little one.”

They bathed Jake’s ear and put some tar on the cut to stop the bleeding.  By then, it was time to lead the sheep back to the uncle’s house where the sheep would spend the night in the barn. 

Nathan’s uncle was angry and said he would never let him help again.   He could not be trusted.  Ashamed, Nathan went outside to wait while his father talked with his brother-in-law.  When Nathan’s father came out of the house, he was carrying Jake.

He handed the still trembling lamb to Nathan and said, “He’s yours to look after now.  Your uncle can’t use him.  Only perfect lambs may be used in the temple and his torn ear means he is useless as a sacrifice.  I’ve bought him for our flock.  Every time you see this sheep with the torn ear, you’re going to remember that you must never leave the sheep alone.  Do you understand that now?”

“Yes, Father,” Nathan said, as he took Jake and held him close.

Jake had remained close to Nathan ever since.  And Nathan had become a good shepherd.  He would never leave his sheep alone.  Despite what his uncle said, he could be trusted.

But, still, Jake was afraid.  Always afraid.  As the years passed, each time he heard a dog bark, even in the distance, he began to tremble and tried to get closer to Nathan. 

And, he had heard dogs bark often in the past few days.  For some reason, many strangers were traveling to Bethlehem.

“Whatcha think is happening,” Zeb asked.  Zeb was a young sheep who as sheep go, wasn’t very bright.  Which is to say he wasn’t very bright at all.

Eli said, “What do you think is happening Zeb?”  Eli, who was older than many sheep in the flock but not as old as Jake, liked to help look after the younger sheep.  He liked to help them learn.

Zeb answered, “Well, I think someone changed the road sign.  All those people going to Bethlehem are lost.  Why else would so many people go to Bethlehem?  Bethlehem’s just not that important.”

“Zeb!  What do you mean Bethlehem’s not important,” cried Faith, a very thoughtful young ewe.  “Bethlehem is the ‘city of David,’ the city where David the king grew up.  Why David may have tended sheep on this very hill when he was a boy.”

“Oh,” said Zeb, “but why are so many coming to Bethlehem right now?  I could be wrong, but I think David was born before I was.”

“Zeb,” Eli snapped, “It’s not nice to be sarcas….  Never mind, you’re not being sarcastic.  I’m not sure why so many are coming to Bethlehem but maybe Hope knows.  She often hears things.”

So, the four of them—Jake, Eli, Zeb, and Faith—looked around for Hope.  Finally, they saw her several yards away, her snowy coat glistening in the morning sun.

“I think I did hear something,” she said after they had explained their mission.  “I overheard some of the shepherds talking to Nathan.  They said the Romans were collecting taxes again and wanted everyone to return to their hometowns to pay them.  These people have all come from Bethlehem.”

“So, that’s all there is to it, then,” said Jake.  “Nothing more important than taxes.  We should’ve guessed.”

“I don’t know,” Hope said, “I have a feeling something very important is going to happen in Bethlehem very soon.”

“You know,” added Faith, “I overheard Nathan and his father talking about something they heard in the synagogue.  They said the prophet Micah promised the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.”

“The Messiah?  Who’s the Messiah,” asked Jake.

“Jake, don’t you ever listen to Nathan when he sings those beautiful psalms,” asked Faith.

“I listen for dogs,” Jake said simply.

Eli took a deep breath and said, “Jake, have you ever noticed the world is not what it ought to be?  Why would a good God make a world where there is cruelty, death, and pain?”

Jake said, “I don’t know.  It seems like God would make a perfect world but this world sure isn’t perfect.”

“Well, Jake, God did make a perfect world,” Eli continued, “but people messed it up—for all of us.”

“I thought something had happened,” said Zeb.

“Shhh, Zeb,” said Hope, “let Eli talk.”

“No, that’s okay.  Like Zeb, most of us know something has happened.  It happened a long time ago, way back when things were as they were meant to be.  Then, the first man and woman disobeyed God.  The world changed after that.”

Jake asked, “Aren’t there still some good people?”

“Oh, there are people you would rather have as your shepherds than others,” Eli answered, “but no one is what God wants them to be.  One of the old writers said it in a way all of us should understand.  He said, ‘We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.  We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.’  Because we’ve all gone our own way instead of God’s way, the whole world is a mess.”

“Sounds hopeless,” Jake said.  “But don’t some say this is just the way the world is and that there is no God?”

 “If there’s no God, where does the grass come from, the water, the stars we see at night, the trees that give us shade,” Zeb blurted out.

“Zeb,  those are really good questions.  Most of us look around and can’t believe all this just happened,” Eli said.  “Jake, it would be hopeless if humans had to fix the problem themselves.  They don’t.  God promised to send someone to fix it.  This someone is the Messiah.  He’s been described in many ways but since I don’t read I can only say what I’ve heard the shepherds talk about.”

“Tell us,” Hope and Faith said together.

“They said he would be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace.  They even said he would be the Lion of the Tribe of Judah.”

“Lion,” gasped Jake, “that sounds pretty scary.”

“Maybe,” Eli said, “but one writer also said he would be like ‘Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered.’  You know, like the lambs we see taken to the temple.”

“You mean he would be a perfect lamb,” Jake said.

“Right, a perfect lamb,” Eli said.

“But not just a lamb,” said Faith, “some of the songs Nathan sings describe him in other ways.  I like the one that begins, ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’”

“I like songs,” said Zeb, “I want to learn to play the drum that Nathan’s little brother Andrew  brings with him so I can sing.”

“The drum?  Why the drum,” asked Faith.

“It would be easier than the harp,” Zeb answered.  The others continued talking as Zeb wandered away. 

Jake asked, “So, this Messiah is going to be both a Lamb and a Shepherd?”

“That’s right,” said Eli, “because people need a shepherd to lead them back to God.”

“Why do they need a Lamb,” asked Hope.

“Well,” Eli said, “people offer lambs at the temple so their sins may be forgiven.  Maybe, that’s what the old writer meant when he said, God’s ‘plan was that the Messiah give himself as an offering for sin so that he’d see life come from it.’  I think that means the Messiah is going to give people back the life they lost when they disobeyed God.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from over the hill where the shepherds’ tent was pitched.  A moment later Zeb came over the hill.    He had a drum around his neck like a collar.  His head had broken through both sides.

“Zeb,” cried Hope, “what did you do?”

“I was trying to play Andrew’s drum,” Zeb said, sheepishly.

“Oh, Zeb,” his four friends said together.

Later that night, as the sheep lay under the starry sky, Jake whispered, “Eli, are you awake?  Eli, are you awake?”

“Yes, but only because someone asked me if I was awake,” his friend answered.

Jake said, “I’m sorry but I have a question.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” Eli said, “what’s your question?”

“Well, you know I was going to be a lamb offered at the temple,” Jake said, “then… well you know what happened.”

“Sure, I know,” said Eli.

“Well, if there are always plenty of perfect lambs, why does the Messiah have to be a Perfect Lamb?  Aren’t the others enough,” Jake asked.

“I’m not sure, Jake,” Eli said, “but I’ve thought about it.  What if those lambs—lambs like you were going to be—weren’t really perfect enough?  Maybe that’s why there are so many of them.”

“What do you mean,” Jake said.

Eli paused a moment and then said, “What if the Messiah is going to be the Truly Perfect Lamb, the final lamb, so there will never have to be another sacrifice.  What if the Messiah is going to take the sins of everyone on himself, so everyone can be forgiven?”

Deeply puzzled, Jake asked, “Do you think that’s even possible?”

“It is if God says it’s possible,” Eli answered, “And the old writer said the Messiah would carry the sins of everyone.  Everyone, Jake, everyone.  That sounds like a Truly Perfect Lamb to me.”

At that moment, a light showed down on the hill, a light brighter than the brightest day.  In the sky was a strange creature, both beautiful and terrifying.  Jake was afraid, but so were all the sheep.  Even the shepherds were afraid.  The creature began to speak.

"Don't be afraid!

"I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people.   The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!   And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger."

Then many other creatures appeared in the sky alongside the first.  These creatures said

"Glory to God in highest heaven,
  and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased."

Then they were gone.

The shepherds all began talking at once.  Nathan’s father said, “We have to go to Bethlehem to see this baby they were talking about.”  So, they started out toward the city with Nathan and Andrew walking behind. 

Andrew said, “I’d play my drum for the baby but someone broke it.”

As Zeb looked at the ground, Nathan said, “I’m sorry about your drum but whoever heard of playing a drum for a baby? You’d scare him.”

As the shepherds disappeared over the hill, Jake said, “I can’t believe it.  They left us. ”

“It will be okay, Jake,” said Faith.

“Right,” said Hope, “I think those were angels.”

“I’ve heard of angels,” said Zeb, “I don’t know what they are but I’ve heard of them.”

“Angels are God’s special messengers,” explained Eli.  “God sends them to let people know when something special is happening.”

“I just knew something special was about to happen,” Hope said.

“If something special is happening, I want to see it,” Jake said calmly.

“What do you mean,” Eli asked.

“I mean I want to go to Bethlehem, too.  That’s what I meant when I said they left us.  We should be going with them.   I want to see what this is all about.  I want to see this Messiah,” Jake told them.

“But we can’t,” said Faith.

“No, we can’t,” added Hope, “we’re just sheep.”

“I’m going,” Jake said firmly.

“And, and, I’m going with him,” Zeb said.

Eli looked at Faith and Hope.  All three gently nodded and then Eli said, “We’re all going.”

The friends set out toward Bethlehem, crossing the hills toward the lights of the little town.

Once they got there, they had no idea where they should go.  So they hid in the shadows to talk about what they should do.  Faith said, “The angel said the baby would be lying in a manger.  Aren’t mangers in barns?”

“Yeah,” Zeb said, “but a barn is a funny place for a baby.”

“It is,” said Eli, “but that’s what the angel said.  Now we just have to decide what barn. “

Just then, Jake who was very tired from their journey said, “Listen.  Is that Nathan’s voice?  It’s coming from just down the street.”

They wandered a short distance down the narrow street until they came to an inn.  Behind the building, they saw light coming from a small barn and could hear Nathan’s voice more clearly.   He was telling someone about the angels who had appeared to the shepherds.

The five friends crept closer, staying in the shadows beyond the circle of light from the barn so they wouldn’t be seen.  However, they soon realized they weren’t alone.  A donkey, a cow, a chicken stood in the shadows with them.  All were looking at the scene before them.

A very young woman lay on the hay next to a manger where a newborn baby was quietly sleeping.  Standing over them, as if to protect them, was a man who looked lovingly at both of them.  Nathan, Andrew, their father, and the other shepherds were sitting on the ground before the manger.  Nathan had finished his story and the shepherds were looking at the baby with awe and wonder.

Zeb crept closer to see better.  Two doves sat on the ground next to him, unafraid of the youngster.  Zeb occasionally glanced back at his friends to make sure they were still there.

Other animals joined them in the shadows.  Jake could see the ears of another donkey as it looked around the corner of the Inn.  But Jake paid little attention to the other animals.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off this special family.

At one point, Zeb looked back, his eyes grew large, and he whispered, “Guys, guys.”

“Shush,” said Eli, “you’ll wake the baby.”

Zeb blinked a couple times and dutifully turned back around.

After a while, the moonlight threatened to flood the little courtyard.

 “We have to go,” Eli said.

“I hate to leave such a beautiful baby,” said Faith.

“Me, too,” added Hope.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Jake said simply.

“We all want to stay, but we have to get back before the shepherds see us,” Eli said firmly.

“That is truly a beautiful baby,” said a deep voice none of them recognized.

Jake realized the voice had come from whatever animal had quietly sat down next to him.  He turned to the stranger and saw the largest dog he had ever seen.

Faith, Eli, and Hope held their breath.  Zeb whispered, “I tried to tell you.”

Jake looked at the dog and said, “I’m Jake.  I’m a sheep.”

“I thought as much,” said the dog, “but I think we had better get back to the street before any of us are seen.”

So, the five sheep and the very large dog went back to the street where they stood for a moment. 

“I have to be going,” the dog said, “my master is a Roman soldier.  He brought me from Egypt—my ancestors hunted lions there.  I haven’t been here long but long enough to know that no one likes Romans…or their dogs.”

“We have to go also,” said Eli and then he added, “Jake we have to hurry.  Will that be okay?”

Zeb whispered to the dog, “Jake is a little older.  The trip was hard for him.”

The dog announced, “Then, I have an idea.”

Most people were asleep in the little town of Bethlehem that night.  Most of those who weren’t were looking at a tiny baby born in a barn.  But, if others chanced to peer out their windows, they might have witnessed another unusual sight.  They might have seen four sheep and a very large dog briskly walking together toward the hill country.  And, riding on the back of that very large dog, they would have seen another sheep.  A very calm, serene sheep.

With the dog’s help, the five friends arrived back at their pasture before the shepherds returned.  The dog quickly bid them farewell and began loping back to Bethlehem.  He ran with such speed and strength that none of those watching doubted that his ancestors could have hunted lions.

Though they had slept very little, the sheep were not ready to settle down.  So, Eli called them around and asked, “What do you think everything we saw tonight means?”

Faith answered, “I think it means God keeps his promises.”

Hope added, “I think things will never be the same and I don’t say that just because Jake rode on the back of a dog.  I mean everything will be different.”

“I felt love was all around,” said Zeb, “love for everyone.  And, now don’t laugh, but I also thought that maybe the day will come when dogs will help take care of sheep.”

Faith and Hope giggled.  Zeb just grinned and shrugged.

“Zeb, I don’t know where you get some of your ideas,” Eli chuckled and then asked, “What do you think, Jake?  What do you think about what we saw?”

Jake smiled as a gentle breeze lifted his torn ear, “Tonight, I think I saw a Truly Perfect Lamb.”

Home For Christmas

John 6:38

         

            [Very often, during the Advent season, I preached more than once on a Christmas theme.  The miracle of Christmas, the Incarnation, should inspire us to think and to worship.]

For the past few years I’ve been paying a lot more attention to the “secular” Christmas songs which are so popular this time of year.

Lots of them are just plain fun.  Their lively and easy to sing. 

Take “Jingle Bells,” for example.  The only people who might object to it would be the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, complaining about that one horse having to pull such a load.

Some of these secular Christmas songs appeal to the imagination, like “Frosty the Snowman” or “Rudolph.”  They’re fun, even if “Rudolph” does seem to promote a kind of conditional love.  Let’s face it, if there hadn’t been that foggy night, he still wouldn’t be playing any reindeer games.  You can’t help but wonder:  If Santa gets radar, what happens to Rudolph?

By the way, have you heard the newer version of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”.  In it, the snowman built by the wandering couple is imagined, not as Parson Brown, but as a “Circus Clown.”  I suppose that in this politically correct age not even snowmen can be too closely associated with a particular religion. 

Please, don’t misunderstand.  I’m not objecting to these songs.  I don’t even mind the songs about Santa.  Sadly, some of our Christian brothers and sisters have made such a clatter about Santa that it’s no wonder some folks outside the church think Christians are just silly.  Still, I was listening to a familiar Santa song the other day and as I heard about how Santa “sees you when you’re sleeping” and “knows when you’re awake,” it struck me that Santa sounds a lot like a stalker!

What I have noticed is that a lot of the more “serious” secular Christmas songs are just plain melancholy.  There’s a note of sadness and loneliness in a lot of those songs.  Whether you’re talking about Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” or Bing’s “White Christmas” you’re hearing the lament of people who aren’t where they want to be.  And where they want to be is often somewhere called “Home.”

Have you every listened to “No Place Like Home for the Holidays?”  I’d heard it lots of times but I really listened to it for the first time recently.  Remember how the singer speaks of meeting a man from Tennessee who was “headed for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie” and observes that “from Atlantic to Pacific…the traffic is terrific.”  The mention of so many American’s being separated from their families made me wonder about when the song was written.  You see, it used to be true that several generations of one family would live close together.  When the song first became a big hit for Perry Como in 1954 that was no longer true.   The Depression and the War made it necessary for younger families to move away from home.

When our youth were in Delbarton a few years ago, I met a man who had worked much of his life in Columbus.  He talked about how every Friday he would drive down 23 to West Virginia to be home for the weekend.  That yearning for the security of home is at the heart of lots of our Christmas songs.

This Christmas is the first that David and Kelly are spending in their new home;  yet, they are also, for the first time, away from home at Christmas.  They’ll be fine--others have faced the same experience but I can’t help but think that those songs have a special meaning for them--maybe one they’ve never thought about before.

Remember, too, that after the devastating hurricanes of this past Fall, many people were left homeless, literally.  The government, churches, and charitable institutions, along with kind-hearted individuals, rallied to help provide homes for these displaced people.  I’m pleased that our church is generously giving to try to help some student families from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.  Home for these hurricane victims will be very different this Christmas than last.  When some of these families hear Louis Armstrong’s Christmas in New Orleans, they’ll be as touched at those sailors in the south Pacific hearing White Christmas for the first time.

Of course, this is not an essay on the sociology of Christmas songs.  But what I want to impress upon you is the fact that there’s an underlying theme of home in the Biblical account of Christmas as well.  Just consider:

The Bible story tells of how the Son of God left his home in heaven to dwell as a man among us.  It’s hard to find the language to describe how he left the praise-filled halls of heaven to live in among people like you and me.

Theologians call it the mystery of the Incarnation.  It speaks of the miracle of God taking on humanity so he might reveal himself to us, so he might redeem us.  As Athanasius put it, “The Son of God became a man so men might become sons of God.”

Let me share this story I came across recently.

… missionary and college president George Murray of Columbia International University, Columbia, South Carolina, wrote of the many holiday seasons he had spent overseas. He and his wife were missionaries in southern Europe for thirteen years. Not long after their arrival in Italy as rookie missionaries, the holidays approached and they were faced with their first Christmas away from home and family. They experienced genuine homesickness. They longed for familiar sights and sounds and smells—like pumpkin pie and cranberries, which were unknown commodities in the Mediterranean basin where they now lived. They missed their family gatherings. They missed their childhood traditions. They badly wanted to go home for Christmas.

            Then one day as George was meditating on the meaning of Christmas, it hit him:  Christmas isn’t about going home.  It’s all about leaving home.  That’s what Jesus did.  He left…his heavenly to come to this sin-filled world.  He was obeying his heavenly Father.  He was representing God to this world.

As a child Jesus enjoyed a home here--even though its stability was temporarily shattered by a hurried flight to the safety of Egypt while he was just a toddler.

But once his earthly ministry began, any semblance of a home life was lost.  On one occasion he told his followers,  "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."

Even in death his “home” became a borrowed tomb.

Why did he endure this kind of homelessness?  On the night before his crucifixion he gave a hint. “There are many rooms in my Father's home, and I am going to prepare a place for you.”   He had left home to invite us home.

So when you hear those melancholy Christmas songs about people missing home, open your hearts to others.  But above all, when those song make you feel wistful and lonely, remember Jesus’ word, “I’m getting a room ready for you.”  Of course, Jesus was speaking of a future home, a home made possible because he chose to leave his home to live among us.

As a nation, we rightly moved to provide homes for those displaced by Hurricane Katrina.  As we  move into December, I want us to be thinking about a home for Christ.

To begin with, we need to make sure Jesus has a home in our hearts.

“Inviting Jesus into our hearts,”  that’s a phrase we often use with children.  We like to be just a little more sophisticated with adults, but the imagery is still interesting.  It means to make Christ the center of our lives.   It involves more than a passing acknowledgment of our admiration for him, an admiration which might or  might not exceed that we have for other key figures in history.

In fact, if we only see him as just another historical figure, we will have missed the point.  Back in the seventeenth century, poet and writer Angelus Silesius said:

Though Christ a thousand times

   In Bethlehem be born,

If He’s not born in thee

   Thy soul is still forlorn.

We’re talking about a commitment to him at the deepest level of our being.  We rest our hope and shape our lives on the belief that he is who he claimed to be and has done what he claimed to have done.

Making sure Jesus has a home in our hearts is important because, as someone once said, God has no grandchildren. 

Each of us has to open the door of our hearts to let Jesus in.  Each of us must come to that place of commitment.  For some of us, that may take place in a highly charged moment which we can remember with clarity;  we can remember what was happening just a surely as we can remember what was happening around us when we heard of the Kennedy assassination or the World Trade towers falling.  We can look back on the calendar to the day when we threw open the door of our hearts and said, “Come on in, Jesus.”

Others of us just look around one day and discover Jesus there in our hearts, and, perhaps, we're not  even able to remember a time when he wasn’t there.  Some homes are so nurturing that trusting Christ is just natural.  It’s rare, but it happens.

I think it’s more likely, today, for men and women to take their time in welcoming Jesus into their hearts.  They talk to others who’ve invited him in to find out what kind of “guest” he is.  Then, they come to that point when they open the door, without removing the chain, and ask Jesus a few questions of their own.  And, finally, they open that door to let him in.  I understand these people.  I appreciate them.  I’ve found the often make the most committed Christians.

What’s most important is that we each invite Jesus to make a home in hearts.

But, of course, we need to make sure Jesus has a home in our church.

The Old Testament prophet Ezekiel tells of how God’s glory departed from the beautiful temple of Solomon.  Without the presence of God, that temple--one of the most beautiful buildings in the ancient world--became just another building.  (Ezek. 9-10)

A church which isn’t a home for Jesus, isn’t really a church.  The repeated warning to the churches of Asia Minor in the opening chapters of the Revelation was that they might lose their identity as churches.

 A church where Jesus is at home will be a worshipful church.

One of the great tragedies of modern Christianity is the fact that we Christians so often quarrel over the form of worship and lose sight of the essence of worship:  Honoring God for the great things he has done.  The Magi, though rank pagans, seemed to understand that God was doing something special in that Child born in Bethlehem;  in response, they worshipped.

We need to make sure that our church strives to engage believers of all ages, backgrounds, tastes, and personalities in worshipping God.

A church where Jesus is at home will be a welcoming church.

We’ve become so familiar with the Christmas story, whether through the reading of the Bible or the singing of carols, that we miss some of the scandalous aspects of the story.

God graciously sent a special invitation to outsiders to come celebrate the arrival of Jesus.  The Wise Men were not Jews, not believers in God, yet God showed his care for them by leading them to Bethlehem where they could see the Child born to be King of the Jews.

Of course, that was a little later;  on the very night of Jesus’ birth. angels invited a bunch of shepherds to see the child.  I can imagine many a mother washing dad’s robe so she wouldn’t be disgraced when her son played a shepherd in the Christmas pageant.  I can’t imagine her saying, “You’re playing a shepherd, better throw this robe out in the barnyard for a while so it will smell right for the pageant.”

The shepherds smelled.  They were on the lowest rung of the social ladder.  Yet, they received an angelic invitation to the manger.

A church where Jesus is at home will welcome those who don’t look like us.  It will welcome those who have accents (and not just the posh ones), tattoos, piercing, right-wing wacko notions, left-wing weirdo notions.  The church which is a home for Jesus will love the people Jesus loves.

A church where Jesus is at home will be a winning church.

A few weeks ago, Pat and I met an English Christian.  We didn’t meet him in England.  We met him after we got back home.  In fact, he told us he had recommitted himself to Christ after coming to the States. 

We told him about our recent visit and he commented on the state of the church in his homeland.  He spoke of all the beautiful church which are virtually empty on Sundays and how  Christianity is now so weak in a nation that once sent missionaries to every corner of the world.  He seemed genuinely troubled.

As he talked about the empty churches, I recalled a story I heard years ago. 

It seems a group from America was touring one of those beautiful churches in the English countryside.  The guide pointed out the furnishings in the sanctuary, commented on some of the famous worshippers who had sat in the pews, and praised the artist who had designed the stained glass windows.  After a while, the guide asked for questions.  Some of the group asked about the artworks in the church and the organ;  but then a woman in the group shocked everyone by asking, “Has anybody been saved here lately?”

She rightly understood that a church ought to be a place where sinners find salvation.

We sometimes complain about all the materialism evident this time of year, saying that it robs Christmas of its real meaning.  Yet, if our church claims to be a home for Jesus and we don’t offer the gift of salvation to our neighbors, our families, and others, aren’t we missing the meaning of Christmas?

Conclusion

Several times during the past few weeks I’ve heard references to the so-called “war on Christmas.”  It’s a references to what appears to be a concerted effort to expunge the spiritual and religious elements of the Christmas story.  Those who believe in such a war point to the banning of Nativity Scenes from courthouse lawns, stores telling their employees they may say, “Happy Holidays” but not “Merry Christmas” to customers, and other attempts to minimize the Biblical elements of the holiday. 

The truth is, there is a war.  But it wasn’t started by the secularists.  It was started by a tiny baby who left home to invade enemy territory two thousand years ago.

He’s been recruiting soldiers for this war ever since, soldiers who love this home enough to endure hardship and misunderstanding to proclaim his message of deliverance to their neighbors, soldiers who know they have a better home elsewhere.