Dan

Calabrese

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December 25, 2008

You’d Never Believe Who Showed Up for Christmas

“What’s going on here?” said the man with a Middle Eastern look that had an unmistakable Jewish character to it.

“This is our Christmas celebration,” the pastor of the mega-church explained. “I’m glad you’re here. Were you invited by one of our members?”

“In a way,” the man said. “A bunch of your members said they wanted me present. They said this was my birthday party. I’m not even sure what to think about that.”

The pastor gave him a quizzical look. He looked into the man’s eyes. Then he looked at his hands, which had scars from wounds that still looked fresh. You’d think the pastor would fall over backwards in amazement at who he was talking to, but for some reason he found himself keeping remarkably calm.

“Lord, welcome!” the pastor said. “I must say I never anticipated you showing up in quite so personal a form!”

“You did ask me to come, didn’t you?” he said.

“Indeed I did,” the pastor said. “Many of us did. In all honesty, this isn’t what I expected you to look like. I thought . . .”

“You thought I’d have fair skin and blue eyes, and long hair and a beard?” he said.

“I guess so,” the pastor said. “It’s just how I’ve always pictured you. Well, I don’t want to dwell on that. Are you hungry? We’ve got lots of punch and cookies, and a lot more people will be coming. I think some of them had to go to their work Christmas parties first. Some folks over there just arrived from theirs.”

“You do realize they’re plastered, don’t you?” he said.

“They are?” the pastor said. “No, I didn’t realize that. I hope they didn’t drive here.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But that’s sort of beside the point. This is how you celebrate my birth? Those gifts the magi brought me weren’t fifths of vodka, you know.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the pastor said. “Of course, we don’t serve any alcohol at our official church events, but people get into the spirit of the season.”

“Tell me about the spirit of the season,” he said.

“Well,” the pastor said, “it’s not all about that kind of stuff. It’s very much about giving.”

“Giving what?” he said.

“Well, certainly gifts,” the pastor said, “but also giving to the needy and to charity. A group from our church goes downtown on Christmas every year and serves food at a mission for the homeless.”

“Good,” he said. “Do you do that all the time? Or do you only do it on holidays?”

“Well,” the pastor said. “We’re working to expand our participation. At any rate, if I may speak plainly, I can’t help but feel that you’re disappointed at what you’re finding here. How can we celebrate it in a way that’s more to your liking?”

“Look,” the man said. “My proposition to mankind is simple: The wage of sin is death, but you can’t afford to pay that price, so I did it for you.”

“I know,” said the pastor. “It’s amazing that you would do that for us. Thank you so much. That’s why we celebrate you.”

“Well,” said the man, “you may call it amazing. It’s not to me. Not that it was easy, but if you know the character of God, you wouldn’t be amazed by it at all. It’s the logical fulfillment of his love for you. I didn’t ask you to throw yourself a party like this and pretend it’s for me. I ask you to live for me, plain and simple, 24/7/365, as you would say.”

“Of course,” said the pastor. “That’s what I preach every Sunday. I guess we just embrace this season because it helps remind the world of who you are.”

At that, a few more people staggered in. They gave a curious glance toward the Middle Eastern-looking fellow who was talking to the pastor. Then they shrugged and went for the cookies, except for one, who approached the pastor.

“Who’s your friend, Pastor Joe?” he said.

“You won’t believe it,” the pastor said. “It’s – ”

But when he turned to make the introduction, the Middle Eastern-looking man was gone.

“Where’d he go?” the pastor said.

“Off to the mosque?” said the church member chuckling. “Maybe they have better cookies there. Anyway, get this, pastor. Our house won best Christmas decorations on our street this year. The neon lights that flash in synchronization with the rock version of “Deck the Halls”? Kicked ass, pastor. Oh, sorry. Kicked butt.”

But the pastor just kept looking around for Jesus, and realized that in the midst of Christmas, he was nowhere to be found.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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