Micah 5: 2-5a; Galatians 4: 4-7

I love the Christmas story from Paul. He doesn’t get as much coverage at this time of year, as do Matthew, Luke, and John. They get the lion’s share of reading and telling the story of our Savior. I hope you grasped the wonderful economy of words used by Paul. Christ was born at the right time: when everything was in place for God to reveal Himself. He was born in the right manner: born of a virgin woman in a culture that valued law and order, both religious and civil. And He was born in the right place: Bethlehem Ephrathah, the more complete name of Bethlehem. And certainly, He was born for the right purpose: to redeem us from trying to live the perfect life, from trying to reach God on our own and in our own power... Impossible!

Born under the Law of Moses, He kept the Law, and most important, He fulfilled the Law - He died for us and our sins! The great symbol we have for this is the cross. We make it from gold and silver and polished brass. We forget that it was meant as a cruel instrument of torture and slow but certain death. But His death means good news to us!

Paul told us of our victory in Christ. These are concepts. Sometimes, especially at this time of year, we do better with stories. We need a good story! Our imaginations are caught by pictures painted by the pen of composer or poet. Our hopes and dreams and faith become stronger. Stories like the ones on TV, The Little Drummer Boy, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, try to capture the amazing moment that God came to be with us.

One story has captured me. It is mythical, fanciful, but moves me when I read it. It has to do with the Christmas tree. How did the Christmas tree become so popular? After all, some Christians adamantly point out its pagan origins. But other Christians claim that under all the ornaments and lights there stands a shape of a cross. I guess you will have to come to your own conclusion.

Eugene Field authored the short story, "The First Christmas Tree." Could he have caught some truth in his writing? Well, we will never know if his story is true or not. But like so many others who are caught by the wonder of God daring to live with us as one of us...our imaginations are heightened. Our hopes and fears are met in the love of Jesus.

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Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the evening the wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and predicted strange things. They had lived in the forest many, many years; but never had they seen such marvelous sights as were to be seen in the sky, and upon the hills, and in the distant villages. "Pray tell us what you see," pleaded the little vine. "We who are not as tall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe them to us, that we may enjoy them with you."

"I am filled with such amazement," said one of the cedars, "that I can hardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars appear to be dancing among the clouds. Angels walk down from heaven to the earth, and enter the village or talk with the shepherds upon the hills."

The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before had happened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was a tiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a very beautiful little tree. And the vines and the ferns and mosses and other humble residents of the forest loved it dearly.

"How I should love to see the angels!" sighed the little tree. "And how I should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be very beautiful." As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watched with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not mistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest harmonies ever heard upon earth.

"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it comes."

"The angels are singing, for none but angels could make such sweet music."

"But the stars are singing, too!" said another cedar. "And the shepherds

on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorious song it is!"

The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had been born; but further than this they did not understand. The strange and glorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angels walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and the stars danced and caroled in high heaven.

It was nearly morning when the cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! The angels are coming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine and the little tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and stronger neighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy with their own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble little tree.

The angels came into the forest singing ... about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with them, until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that wonderful song. ...

The angels came in the forest to where the little tree stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with their hands, and kissed its little branches.

And sang even more sweetly than before. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child that had been born. ...All the vines and trees and the mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they understand why all these things were being done, and why this exceeding honor should be shown a little tree.

And when morning came the angels left the forest, - all but one angel, who remained behind and lingered near the little tree. "Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?"

"I stay to guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm shall come to it."

The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew, and waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen the like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree, heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to the forest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss the little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it, no harm threatened it; for the angel never slept,..the angel watched the little tree and protected it from all evil.

...So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes the beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tender foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe intent on hewing down the straight and comely thing. ... the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it grew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of the forest.

One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto the angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angel strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.

"Dear angel," cried the tree. "Can you not hear the footsteps of some one approaching? Why do you leave me?"

"Have no fear," said the angel, "for He who comes is the Master."

The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon its smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange and glorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree, and then He turned and went away. Many times after that the Master came to the forest, and when He came it was always to where the tree stood.

Many times He rested beneath the tree and enjoyed the shade...and listened to the music of the wind... Many times He slept there, and the tree watched over Him...and the angel hovered near like a faithful sentinel.

Ever and anon men came with the Master to the forest, and sat with Him in the shade of the tree, and talked with Him of matters which the tree never could understand. Only it heard that the talk was of love and charity and gentleness, and it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated by others. It heard them tell of the Master ... how He had healed the sick and raised the dead and bestowed inestimable blessings wherever He walked. ... When the Master came, the tree was happy. When the Master left, it made him sad. And the angel always hovered near.

The Master came one night alone into the forest, and His face was pale with anguish and wet with tears, and He fell upon His knees and prayed. The tree heard Him, and all the forest was still, as if it were standing in the presence of death. And when the morning came, lo! the Angel had gone.

Then there was a great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of rude voices, and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange men appeared, uttering loud oaths, cruel threats, and the tree was filled with terror. It called aloud for the angel, but the angel came not.

"Alas," cried the vine, "have they come to destroy the tree, the pride and glory of the forest?" The forest was agitated, but it was in vain. The strange men plied their axes with cruel vigor, and the tree was hewn to the ground. Its beautiful branches were cut away, cast aside, its soft, thick foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.

"They are killing me!" cried the tree. "Why is not the angel here to protect me?" But no one heard the piteous cry, - none but the other trees of the forest; and they wept, and the little vine wept, too.

Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from the forest, and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more.

But the night wind that swept down from the City of the Great King that night to ruffle the bosom of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest awhile to say that it had seen that day a cross upraised on Calvary, - the tree on which was stretched the body

of the dying Master

who was the Christ of God! *

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Heavenly Father, stir within us to ever keep the cross in our hearts as the clear reminder of Your love for us. Thank You for the greatest gift we could have - the gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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*("The First Christmas Tree," Eugene Field, The Complete Works, Vol. II, Scribners, NY, 1896)