Luke 2:1-14
In my mother’s house there is a crèche – a nativity scene - it is not as beautiful as the one we have here in church this evening. But when I was a child I thought it was wonderful. All the figures were made out of rubber and glued down in their appropriate places under the wooden stable – but as the crèche began to age, the glue dried up and the shepherds and wise men would fall over, and the Joseph wouldn’t stand straight in his place so my mother taped them down with scotch tape. My sister and I used to stick play horses under the stable, we also put a troll doll or two inside to make the baby Jesus laugh. We thought of it as a sort of doll house. One year we put a cereal bowl filled with water next to the stable with carefully folded Kleenex – and we would untape the figures and let them take a little swim in their pool before taping them back down.
I realize that the reason I think of that crèche so often is that it was one of the few Christmas objects that was there every year, since we never had snow, and rarely weather as cold as it has been lately, it was the crèche that signaled to me one thing. The presents would soon start appearing under the tree.
But what I really wanted to share with you tonight is the story of another native Californian the actor Richard Crenna who wrote: when I was growing up, a typical sunny Christmas morning was spent quietly having breakfast with my parents in a local restaurant. Resting on the table would be the gift my folks had just presented me after the waitress took our order. Of course I was happy, but it wasn’t like racing downstairs in your own house in the morning to find a present under the tree.
We always ate out because we lived in the Stephens, a hotel in downtown Los Angeles. The 72 room residential hotel was owned by my parents. It was during the depression, and Mother managed it to supplement Dad’s income as a Pharmacist. Growing up in the city had its benefits. I loved riding streetcars, took my First Communion at nearby Precious Blood church, and attended a local school with all kinds of kids from all kinds of backgrounds. But Christmas in a hotel always had a downside for me. I never had a real family Christmas.
Friends told me of houses fragrant with roasting turkey and of relatives gathering around the tree in the living room. Since Mom, Dad, and I lived in only two rooms, our tree always went up in the hotel lobby. So I never had anything to brag about. With me it was always, here comes Christmas again, and I’ve got to go down to all those sad-eyed people in the lobby. For the Stephens was full of unfortunates who spent Christmas alone.
There were gamblers, con men, bookies, and former jockeys. Others were right out of Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Like the Most-Tattooed Man, who was our night clerk. His real name was Ted Rockwell, and his body was covered with tattoos of his name in every language, as well as in Chinese, morse code, and signal flags. Then there was the World’s Greatest Thief, of whom it was said, had walked out the front door of Abercrombie and Fitch in New York City with a canoe, and then went back the next day to steal the paddles. But he had already served his time.
In my young mind I discounted these people as has beens and losers. There was the germ man who had a phobia about bacteria and always wore a face mask. When meeting him on the stairs, I’d take great delight in sneezing as loudly as I could and as many times as possible. He’d bolt madly for his room, and Mother would scold me for my unkind behavior.
Actually, it was watching this strange assortment of people, I believe, that started me on my acting career. One day while playing football at Virgil Junior High in Los Angeles, our drama teacher came out and said, "Boys they’re auditioning for a new radio program at station KFI. I want you all to try out. It will be a good experience. The audition was for a program called "Boy Scout Jamboree." It was a comedy about a troop of nine scouts who did everything wrong. I ended staying on the program for a number of years. Then another actor and I were asked to go to New York City to audition in January, 1942. I was 16 and I was thrilled to be going all the way across the country, even though I knew only one of us would get the part.
But I wasn’t expecting what happened that Christmas Eve. Mother and Dad ushered me into the pine-scented lobby, where I saw all the residents of the hotel gathered around the tree. The hand-cranked Victrola was screeching out Christmas carols. It was a surprise Christmas celebration and going-away party for me. I was stunned. Each person had a gift FOR ME. The World’s Greatest Thief, his sky-blue eyes shining, gestured to the floor. There sat an expensive set of matched leather luggage.
When you get to New York, Dick, he said, you’ve go to look successful. I glanced at Mom apprehensively. But she smiled and pointed to the zippered canvas covers with my name stitched on them. He had actually purchased this luggage for me.
Even the drunks I had relentlessly mimicked offered me their congratulations. I remembered my priest saying that if you "bless those who curse you...you shall be children of the Most High" I hadn’t actually cursed any of these people, but I had certainly made fun of them. And now they were paying me back with kindness and encouragement. Sad-eyed people in the lobby? Well, here I was, misty-eyed at their loving support. It was now clear; the men and women I had once written off as has-beens and weirdoes were instead Children of the Most High God. For the first time I began to see that people are equal. And I understood Mother’s compassion for people you love for what they are, not for what you wish them to be. As I got on the train to New York a man said to me how was your holiday. I said, it was my best Christmas ever, I spent it with...my family.
Crenna’s story illustrates what the nativity scene is here to say. That God has become human, born of a woman and in the midst of the world the way it really is, God has joined us as we really are. Christmas makes an announcement. It says that God is here with us and we do not need to be afraid.
Is it Christmas in Baghdad? Is the night silent and holy for political refugees and soldiers? Is it Christmas for those living with AIDS or those who are victims of domestic abuse. Is it Christmas for the children whose parents are drug addicted, and those for whom a room in a hotel or even a stable is a distant dream? Is it Christmas? Absolutely, and for the rest of us Christmas comes primarily as we are in solidarity with the least among us.
It is Christmas for us because we realize that Christ has entered our dark and lonely places. It is Christmas because we know that in the selfish, bitter, empty places of our hearts, change is born and love is bursting through. This child will love us and hold us like no other. This is God, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the one at whose feet all nations fall. And this God loves you and me no matter what we’ve done, no matter where we’ve been. On this holy night we find a wonder full place to rest in this great, holy love.
There is nothing you can do that will keep God out, not even if there is no room, not even all those things you cannot forgive yourself for, nothing will keep out the King of Kings. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ[a] the Lord. Amen.