Dear Friends in Christ, grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Amen.

My Norwegian grandparents were part of a stoic, pious, unemotional generation. Laughter and humor were frivolous- except for Christmas Eve, which they considered to be the holiest night of the year.  These poor souls were the rare closeted happy people in their generation who felt guilty for not feeling guilty enough.  True, they found joy in things that we might find questionable today.  They prided themselves on eating lutefisk and lefse to honor their Norwegian forefathers.  Somewhere along the way, they had been convinced that this whitefish from Norway, which they purchased dried and hard as a wooden plank, then soaked in lye was directly descended from the two fish and five loaves that Jesus used for the feeding of 5000 on the Sea of Galilee. They were so proud, of this traditional Norwegian peasant food, that at church lutefisk dinners, they would refuse to eat the accompanying Swedish meatballs, even if it was included in the price. Yes, it was the piece of cod which passes all understanding, and it was their sacred duty to honor their heritage.  Faith too was a serious matter. They didn’t go to church on Christmas Eve because it was convenient.  Because it wasn’t.  Imagine, riding in a horse drawn sleigh buried in heavy blankets to arrive in a church with little heat.  No, they went because it was Christmas. And when St. Luke’s Christmas gospel of a babe born in Bethlehem had been read and the pipe organ in the balcony sounded and the congregation sang in full voice, in Norwegian, “I am so glad each Christmas Eve,.” they knew that the miracle of Christmas had come again. The story of Jesus’ birth gave them something to make them glad that carried them through another year.

It was perhaps the first Christmas at my home that that I would come to remember.  It wasn’t a great distance to travel, but for a small child on Christmas Eve, it seemed like an eternity.  When at last we drove up the long driveway we were greeted by a row of five blue lights gleaming brightly through the frost covered windows.  My grandma met us at the door, “O neimen, are you here?” And she laughed.  To enter into their home, was to enter into a feast for the senses.  In the corner was the freshly cut balsam Christmas tree sparkling with glass bulbs, garlands and Christmas lights.  A little plastic church on the dining room table played, “Silent Night, Holy Night.” The steam from the meatballs flavored with all spice, and boiled potatoes filled the air.  Unfortunately, the time honored stench of boiled lutefisk in cheese cloth, overwhelmed everything sweet and lovely.

When the Christmas dinner was eaten and the last plate set back on its shelf, we gathered around the Christmas tree.  My grandparents sat in their overstuffed thrones and watched as my oldest cousin parceled out all the presents.  One by one, around the circle we opened our presents.  Each gift seemed more wonderful.  As it drew closer to my turn, I was bursting with anticipation and eagerly tore open my present.  What was it?  Oh, I don’t remember exactly.  I think it was a little three-legged milking stool.  Whatever it was I knew didn’t like it, and I began to cry.  My cousins laughed.  The more I cried the harder they laughed.  Finally, I ran out of the room, up the stairs, and buried myself in a mound of winter jackets stacked on a bed in a darkened upstairs bedroom.

I had just about fallen asleep, when I heard the light switch flicked behind me.  I turned around to see my grandmother.  “Arden, are you asleep?”  “Not anymore, grandma?”  She slowly walked into the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed, “Arden, I don’t think you liked your Christmas present, did you?”  Simply mentioning the three-legged milk stool, made me start crying all over again.  She took me into her arms, “That’s alright, cry now, ”  she said, and then she began to sing,

Thy little ones, dear Lord are we, And come thy lowly bed to see.

Enlighten every soul and mind, that we the way to thee may find.

“Arden,” she said, “There are going to be many Christmas presents that will disappoint you.  But there is one present that will not.” “And what is that, Grandma?” I questioned.  “For to you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Lord.”  And with the innocence that only a child can muster, I asked, “And Grandma, what is a Savior?” Well, at that moment, my grandmother, with her 8^th grade education, must have known that I was destined to become a preacher, because 60 plus years later, I still remember that night, the disappointment and the joy I felt, and the good news of Jesus’ birth that she longed to share.

I imagine that we have all experienced disappointing gifts in our lives.  Or perhaps for you, it wasn’t a gift but disappointing news. A medical report that was less than positive, a phone call from a friend facing an unfortunate transition in life, or maybe it was a death of a loved one that has clouded your future.  Or perhaps like my grandparents, you feel guilty when the world around you is collapsing.  And you wonder: How can a baby born in Bethlehem bring joy to your life?

No doubt the shepherds on the hillside in Bethlehem were filled with those same doubts. They had waited for 700 years for the prophet’s word to be to be fulfilled that a Savior would come and rescue them from their enemies. They believed that a light would shine in the darkness and the savior would deliver them from the warring nations that had darkened their land. They were waiting for a mighty savior who would restore their lost dreams and fortunes. So how could a baby born in Bethlehem and lying in a manager bring such great hope to change their lives they wondered? But it did. Surprisingly, when they arrived in Bethlehem at the manger with Mary and Joseph, they didn’t feel bewildered, nor did they flee the manger disappointed. There was something in the face of that new born baby wrapped in swaddling clothes that they could not forget.

My friends, why did our Savior Jesus come to us first as a baby in Bethlehem?  If for you God is still a stranger, I think God wants your first impression of him to be of someone who does not judge.  Babies do not judge, nor are they scary.  Like any baby, all the infant Jesus wants of you is to be loved, and so he comes to earth and presents himself in the most humble form.

Why did our Savior Jesus come to us as a baby in Bethlehem? Perhaps, because babies are irresistible. Being in the presence of a baby brings out the best in us. Just notice how when a baby is in the room, even stoic, unemotional Norwegians soften up. God the Father wants your initial impression of his only begotten Son to be one that overcomes all your resistance, your defenses, and all your impenetrability.

Why did our Savior Jesus come to us a baby? Because he wants us to know that he understands our vulnerabilities.  One of life’s greatest challenges is dealing with our own weakness, limitation, frailty, and fragility. We wrestle with our own inability and want, so Jesus comes to us as baby precisely to identify with us in this experience. And who is more vulnerable than a baby?

A week ago, I attended a Christmas concert at the Jones Harrison Home hosted by several new members at Lake of the Isles. One of the highlights of the program was a poem entitled Mary’s Christmas written by Charlotte Gronseth.  The words beautifully capture the love and wonder, irresistibility and vulnerability of God entering our human story as a baby – all to save us.

The birthing is over.  And the pain.

The babe securely swathed lies sleeping.

And Joseph. Now the sinking back

Onto fresh straw and the pondering.

What has happened here tonight?

This tiny hand, fingers curling

Tightly round my thumb,

Was this the hand that placed the stars in heaven, and set each one aflame?

This mouth that puckers, smiles

At the warm, moist breath of the curious ass,

Did it in the beginning breathe life into the clay?

Infant of my body, angels praised you.

And the shepherds, strangely shy and reverent,

Hoarsely whispering their excitement so as not to frighten,

Lingered and adored.  So must I.

Strange… I cannot deny an apprehension tugs.

Yes, I am too weary for such riddles now.  It is late.

The rooster soon will crow. I, too, must sleep.

My friends, there are going to be many Christmas presents in life that will disappoint you.  But there is one present that will not.  “For to you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Lord.”  The wonder of Christmas, you see, is that God loves you so much that he has chosen to abandon the majesty of heaven in the most humble and subtle of ways.  The Savior rests as a baby in a manger for you and for your salvation.  Yes, the promise of this Christmas is that God has place himself tenderly into your hands, in order that you might hold him a little tighter, and a little longer, so that he can whisper into your heart, “Be not afraid.”  That is the good news this child brings.

I wish I still had that old milk stool that I was given by my grandparents one Christmas long ago.  No, I didn’t like it then.  But when I was last in Russia, I went out and bought two little red stools for my own grandchildren.  My grandmother understood the gift of a Savior and she wanted me to be able to sit close to her, so that could tell the story of Jesus’ birth on Christmas Eve over and over again.  She knew that it would make me glad.  Merry Christmas.

May the peace of Christ which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  Amen.