What is Christmas about?

No, what is it really about?

But adults like to get presents as well. And like some of you, I’ve brought my favourite one to church today.

Here it is.

It’s a bit battered because I played with it already. I want someone to have a look at it, and figure out what it is. And we’ll come back to it in a minute.

First I want to tell you a story.

Many of you will have heard some of my stories about the monks of Lundy.

These monks lived on the windswept island of Lundy, which is in the Bristol channel. It used to be a haunt of pirates and rebels, but much later there were only a few farmers and the monks, who lived in a big stone house overlooking the sea. There weren’t very many of them – six monks at this particular time. There was the Father Abbot, who managed the farm and the books, the Father Cellarer, who was in charge of the wine, the Father Librarian, who was very clever, the Father Cantor, who did all the singing, Father Lionel who did all the cooking, and Brother Michael, who did absolutely everything else.

Now this particular Christmas I telling you about the monks had all been very busy getting ready. There aren’t any trees on Lundy Island, so Father Librarian had made a Christmas tree out of used toilet rolls – he’d saved them all year, and decorated it with sheep’s wool and shells painted gold. Father cantor had written some new antiphons and practised and practised them with his little choir of island children. Father Abbot had spent hours polishing his sermon. Father Cook had selected two specially plump chickens from the farmyard, and stuffed and dressed them. He’d made a huge pudding and buckets of creamiest ice-cream. Father Cellarer spent ages in the vault debating which wine to bring upstairs.

Brother Michael had done everything else. He’d killed the chickens and drawn then and plucked them. He painted the toilet-roll tree green. He’d decked the Refectory with holly and scrubbed the floor extra well. He polished all the cutlery and buffed up the wine-glasses. He washed and starched and ironed the extra special lace table cloth. He delivered everyone’s cards and dropped off parcels and ran errands for everyone, all over the island. He had the church decorated like an shop window on Oxford Street, and the monks’ house shining like a pin.

Then Christmas night came, and the monks sang midnight mass for the islanders, very elaborate and beautiful. Then Christmas morning came, and just like us here at St Saviour’s, the monks had another service for the islanders who couldn’t make it tot midnight. Brother Michael had to rush about for both services, putting out the books, setting the altar, swinging the incense. After he’d finished tidying up the second service, he rushed back to the house and laid the table and helped Father Cook, who was getting very red in the face in the kitchen.

But at last they all sat down to eat, and it was a splendid meal.

But Brother Michael couldn’t enjoy the meal because all the time his eyes kept straying to the Christmas tree. Under the tree there was a pile of presents, and Michael knew exactly what was there. Father Cellarer had wrapped up five bottles of his own honey mead. Father Cantor had given everyone a copy of his new CD. Father Librarian had hand-painted a book-mark for every monk. Father Abbott had splashed out and bought each monk a new prayer-book, and Father Cook had spent weeks in the kitchen secretly making chocolates for every one.

But in the big pile there were no presents from Michael There were presents for him, but none from him and he felt terrible. He hadn’t had any ideas, he didn’t have many talents, and he hadn’t had much time.

He’d spent days worrying because he hadn’t given any presents. He prayed and he worried and he kept hoping for a miracle, that God would suddenly show him what he could do for his brothers.

But there was no miracle. And here it was Christmas day, and he still hadn’t got any presents to give his brothers.

All through dinner he worried. The other monks ate and drank and pulled crackers and told silly jokes and laughed, but Michael kept on glancing at the pile of presents under the tree and worrying. He felt terrible.

After dinner the brothers all sat down in their old armchairs around the fire. They were very tired after all their exertions, and they nodded off. All except brother Michael who kept on worrying. He looked at his brothers snoring by the fire and he looked at the pile of presents under the tree, and he prayed for a miracle.

After a while, when no miracle arrived, he looked a the big mess of dishes and plates on the table and felt sorry for his brothers, who had been working so hard and were so tired.

So he carried everything into the kitchen and wiped it down, so it was perfectly clear. And his brothers slept on. So he started to wash the dishes. The brothers didn’t have a dishwasher, so he had to do them by hand. The water wasn’t very hot, so he had to boil the kettle several times to get rid of all the grease. He washed and he dried and he put away and all the time he prayed and prayed for a miracle. There was a little statue of the child Jesus in the kitchen, and Michael talked to it while he worked.

Please Lord, please give me an idea. Let me find a packet of unopened handerkerchiefs in the linen cupboard. Let a parcel fall out of a passing plane. Please Lord please!

But nothing fell out of the sky. Michael finished all the washing-up and he started to cry, because now the brothers would wake up and open the presents.

Then the miracle happened. The child Jesus spoke to him.

‘Michael, look at your hands.’

Michael looked down at his hands. They were all red and wrinkled from the washing-up.

‘Michael,’ said Jesus, ‘go in and sit by the fire with your brothers. When it’s time for the presents, show them you hands. You have given them your time, you have given them your efforts, you have given them your love. That’s my present to you, and your present to them. Tell your brothers from me. Time and trouble and love, but love is the best present of all.’

So let’s go back to my present.

Can you tell me what’s inside it?

Nothing at all.

That’s right.

And on the card there’s a verse.

It’s a bit hard to read, so I’ll tell you what it says.

And that’s what Christmas is about. It’s about presents, the best present of all – the present of love. God’s love, and our love which is a pale copy of God’s love. You can’t buy it, you can’t sell it. You can only give it away. The more you give the more love you have. Now there’s a miracle.