Last Christmas

The time has come, the Savage said, to talk of many things.
Of Christmas Trees, and times to please, of cracker jokes and kings

Christmas Eve 2005: just another number at the end of the year's date, or a reminder of the secular bard's amazed exclamation: "What a piece of work is a man!"? I'll opt for the latter. Christmas brings Christians, at least, to gaze in awe and wonder, with the mind's eye and a heart filled with love, at the piece of work which gave life to all man, lying helpless on a bed of straw.

But what of the rest? What does this ancient,beautiful,enchanting festival say about the great mass of humanity that will celebrate this next couple of days largely oblivious of events that happened twenty centuries ago, in a tiny village hitherto unknown to the rest of the world.

Perhaps, just for a moment they might pause to remember not a sentimental song which gave an answer to the office Christmas quiz, alongside all the other music of heaven which makes this season an aural treat. Maybe they might stop stuffing their face with mince pies and all the other Turkish Delights of this annual visit to epicurean paradise. They might even be prepared to give Great Aunt Agatha a peck on the cheek.

Maybe, with a little help from the media, they will remember what a fragile, tender, treasured thing is life itself. Eyes might turn from a stable in Bethlehem to a wrecked home on the shores of another place beginning with B, Banda Aceh. The "port" or "haven" where celebration was shattered with the almighty wham of a wave 363 days ago and millions of lives were shattered in a "natural" event these precious souls cannot and the world must not forget.

When the "Boxing Day Tsunami" first struck the world's airwaves, few paid much attention to its impact on a one-third world still poping the Rennies from too much rich food the day before. In our sleepy ignorance, those of us inhabiting comfortable brick-built semis were relaxing with little care for the devastation wrought on communities of men and women, and particularly children, just like ourselves. Familes that lived and loved, needed care and clothing for their bodies, occupation for their hands and emotions and thoughts for their minds.

All that was to vanish in an instant. Lives were shattered by the occurrence of events deep beneath the sight of man on this revolving glitterball we call our home. Suddenly, the dancing had to stop and humanity had to remember its own. Wallets were emptied and the richer nations of the world gave a record amount for the relief of the suffering of those caught up in the terrible suffering unfolding before our eyes. And as the world changed, in remembrance there was silence.

What connects these terrible happenings in Asia with the partying and the packaging, the rushing and the ringing, twelve months on? What brings sorry souls like you and me to our knees in worship and adoration of a tiny bundle of flesh and bones, yet with a street value of about 50 pence if seen merely as a chance collection of atoms and molecules of about as many ingredients as make up the average Christmas pudding.

It brings us back to a boy, named Emmanuel or "Jesus". It reminds us that every mistake made by man hides an opportunity, like the deceptive boxes we make up to conceal the tiny gift so carefully chosen for our loved one. It reminds us that tragedy, sorrow and grief are not the natural state of man but his fallen one. It shows us why the mixed emotions, the family rows and the misunderstood intentions even present in penguins, at least of the Pingu variety, on Christmas Eve can still bring tears to the eyes as they do to mine as I write this.

Christmas is for precious treasures too important to be hidden wrapped beneath a shimmering tree. It's for children, yes, and their wide-eyed expectation is one of the joys of this amazing time I'm looking forward to seeing in two young friends of mine later today. In the meantime there's work to be done: decorations so lately retrieved from the loft to adorn the living room, food to fill the fridge and freezer and those forgotten greetings cards to be passed on to those fondly remembered close at hand as the big day dawns closer by the minute.

Christmas is a reminder, last Christmas, and every Christmas until he comes again that God- Father, Son and Holy Spirit- is at work in our world, far busier than any one of us will be today, and far more hopeful, joyful and loving of those he made his own, by his own. Murderous hands may threaten the peace of the world, but a tiny heartbeat crowns the Prince of Peace this December night as it did when princes and potentates, shepherds and angels worshipped and adored him beyond the mists of time.

If the Victorians created our modern British celebration of Christmas, then it was an inspired Sunday school teacher of that era who, through the many experiences of adversity each year brings, was able to remind us in a hymn what it is really all about and why we NEED Christmas as much in AD 2005 as we did in AD 0. Indeed, we need it's message, coupled with its "adult" companion Easter, every day of our lives.
Let the power of a single treble voice, sounding like the needful cry of a tiny infant mentioned by the Archbishop of Westminster in his Christmas Eve Thought for the Day, fill your heart with joy this Christmas. Listen to the last verse sung by the choir triumphant, in perfect harmony,from King's college today or on the BBC website at any time this week and remember why we celebrate. Or take these words and make them your Christmas Eve aide memoire of why we do so much for just 24 hours or so of each year.

For he is our childhood's pattern,
day by day like us he grew;
he was little, weak and helpless,
tears and smiles like us he knew.
and he feeleth for our sadness,
and he shareth in our gladness.

I wish you a very Happy Christmas, and may God Bless you and those you love, now and always