12/3/61

Scripture: Luke 2: 1-7; Matthew 25: 31-40.

As the United Church of Christ was coming into being, there was a feeling expressed by many that there should be some sort of statement of the faith held by the members of the United Church. Among our Congregational Churches, there have been a number of Covenant statements. We are accustomed to them, and we have asked those who join in the membership of this church to accent to such a covenant. It was felt that a statement of faith for use in the United Church of Christ should be such as could be used as a testimony; not as a “test.”

And so a representative committee went to work on the problem. It took them many months to shape their ideas into something that one of their able writers could get into the right kind of words to convey the meaning. But at length the statement was completed. It was presented to the second meeting of the General Synod at Oberlin, Ohio on July 8, 1959. There it was adopted and commended to the churches.

Its first affirmation is: “We believe in God.” About a third of the way through the statement we come upon this statement, illuminating our faith in God: “In Jesus Christ, the Man of Nazareth, our crucified and risen Lord, he (God) has come to us and shared our common lot, conquering sin and death and reconciling the world to himself.”

It is to this idea that I hope we may address our attention for a while today. We shall think a great deal, I hope, of our Savior during this Advent season. Today I want to think of Him as the man of Nazareth -- a person -- who lived the kind of life here upon this same lovely, wicked, hopeless, hopeful old world where we live.

The makers of the early creeds of the church, those statements of faith that should be taught to Christian folk entering the church, had their difficulties. There were those who were sure that Jesus was essentially, and perhaps exclusively, a spiritual Christ; not really defiled with fleshly characteristics or temptations or testing, and never really dead in the flesh. To this Gnostic heresy there were those who insisted that Jesus was a person, a man in the flesh; that he was born of a mother; that he knew pain and testing and temptation; physical hunger, the joys of friendship and the anguish of treachery.

He cast his lot with people -- people in all sorts of need --- a rich young man who needed to break through into saving happiness; a family in anguish over the death of a loved one; a woman who needed healing of body; perhaps especially with people who are accounted poor in their lack of human comforts.

Jesus the Man of Nazareth is the one who was born in a barn and was laid in a rough manger, who during his ministry had no place of his own to lay his head a night. He shared the common lot of people, especially people in any kind of need. He shared it then and he shares it now. Jesus had a way of referring to himself as the “Son of Man.” That God was his Father, he seems to have had not the slightest question. But one is struck by the realization that no less than 81 times in the 4 Gospels, is he referred to, usually by himself, as the “Son of Man.”

I, for one, take a great deal of comfort in the assurance that the gracious glimpse of God which we see in Jesus Christ came in the form of mankind -- in the Man of Nazareth who was born a helpless, hopeful babe, grew up through the hazards, the training, the effort of childhood and youth, shared the common lot of us people.

When I wonder how any mortal child, youth, man or woman, can live as God seems to expect us to live; when I despair of Jesus uncompromising saying, “Be ye therefore perfect even as your Father in heaven is perfect,” [Matthew 5: 48] and I wonder if I should not just shrug it off, it becomes an assurance to me to remember that there actually was a person who did live the kind of life that I ought to live; who was the kind of spirit I should be; in the light of whose life I have no right to settle back in satisfaction with my incomplete and comfortable and ornery self.

I suspect that you may have some of the same or similar feelings. God “hath showed thee, O man!” And he showed us best in the life of Jesus Christ, the Man of Nazareth.

Now all of this happened upon the earth some 1900 or more years ago. But it keeps on happening, doesn’t it? Whoever feeds the hungry, gives drink to the thirsty, clothes the naked, visits the sick or the prisoner, consoles the mourner, encourages the despondent, befriends the stranger, does that very service to the Son of Man, does he not? Matthew tells us that this is what Jesus said. And I think he still says it patiently and insistently today to people like you and me. Could we perhaps keep closer to this truth in spirit as we use this advent season to prepare for Christmas in 1961?

Perhaps I don’t really want to preach a sermon today. I’d rather tell a Christmas story. And I think that is what I’ll do! It is not my story, but is rather one that was told, or rather written, by Daphne Du Maurier.

Under the title, “Happy Christmas,” du Maurier tells us about the Lawrence family. This family lived in a large house just outside their town. They had room. They apparently had some money and quite a few of the things that money can buy. This family had servants, too, to help around the place.

Mr. Lawrence was a big, solid sort of man, with a round face and a smile. He motored into town every day to his office, where he had a big desk and a secretary, or maybe more than one secretary. He seemed to be making quite a bit of money.

Mrs. Lawrence was fair-haired and blue eyed. Mr. Lawrence called her “Kitten,” but she was not helpless. She had a fine figure, beautifully kept fingernails; and she played bridge with her special friends a good many afternoons.

Bob Lawrence was ten; he looked like Mr. Lawrence, only smaller. He was fond of electric trains and his father his fixed up a fine miniature railway in the first floor basement for him.

Marigold Lawrence was seven. She was like her mother only rounder. She had fifteen dolls, but she kept breaking some of them somehow.

If you met them anywhere, you would not suppose the Lawrences were much different from any other family. Maybe that was the trouble. They were just too much like most of the other folks. Life was fairly comfortable and not too hard, and so was fairly pleasant.

On Christmas Eve the Lawrence family did much the same as other families. Mr. Lawrence came home early so that he could watch the family get ready for Christmas. He smiled; he put his hands in his pockets as he walked around; he shouted “Look out” when he tripped over the dog lying among some evergreens.

Mrs. Lawrence was not at bridge club, and was threading some decorations across the room. Actually, the garden boy was putting up the tree and tying up the greens, but Mrs. Lawrence was putting frilly papers and decorations here and there so it would look artistic.

Bob Lawrence and Marigold kept running around the sofa and chars and saying, “What am I going to have tomorrow? Am I going to have a train? Am I going to have a doll?” until Mr. Lawrence got fed up and said, “If you don’t stop that row, you won’t get anything.” But the children knew, from the way he said it, that this didn’t mean much.

Just before the children’s bed time, the telephone rang. Mrs. Lawrence said, “Wouldn’t you know it!” and went to the other room to answer. When she came back, her eyes were shooting sparks. “What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Lawrence. “It’s that refugee officer for the district,” she said. “You know, I told you the place was swarming with refugees. Well, like everybody else, I had to put our names down as receivers when the thing started, never thinking, seriously, that anything would happen. Well, now it has! We’ve got to take a couple here, tonight.”

Mr. Lawrence stopped smiling. “Look here,” he said, “the refugee officer can’t do that sort of thing to people without warning. Why didn’t you tell him where to get off?” “I did,” said Mrs. Lawrence. “But all he could say was that he was very sorry; it is the same for everybody. All the houses are having to do it. He even sounded a little bit mean about it.” “They can’t do it,” said Mr. Lawrence. “I’ll call someone in authority. I’ll have that officer sacked! I’ll” ---

“O, what’s the use?” said Mrs. Lawrence. “No use getting heated over it. You forget that it’s Christmas Eve and nobody is in his office now. Anyway the creatures are on the way over here. We can’t lock the door to them.”

“What will refugees do?” clamored the children. “Will they take our things? Will they want our beds?” “Don’t be idiots,” snapped their mother, “Of course not.”

“Where shall we put them?” asked Mrs. Lawrence. “We can truthfully say that the house is full. No, the refugees can have the room over the garage. It’s fairly dry. There’s that bed with the poor springs that we took out of the house last month. Nothing wrong with it, you know. I think the servants have an oil stove they don’t use.”

“You’ve got it all figured, haven’t you, Kitten?” said Mr. Lawrence. “Well, so long as it doesn’t hurt us, I don’t care. Anyway it won’t spoil our Christmas.”

Bob and Marigold started arguing about hanging stockings. Bob thought that, being older, he should have the biggest stocking. You know how girls’ stockings are, and Marigold was making no concessions! The argument went from that to who was going to have the biggest and best presents tomorrow morning.

About the time the nurse had to come and quiet them down, Mrs. Lawrence warned through the door, “They’ve arrived.” She shrugged, as she walked past Mr. Lawrence, and made a little face. “Jews,” she said. Mr. Lawrence said something nobody heard, straightened his tie, put one an expression he considered right for refugees -- a mixture of sternness and bravado -- and went out to the garage. He climbed the rickety stairs. “Ha, good evening,” he said. “Are you fixed up all right?”

The room was rather dim except for the one electric-light bulb that needed dusting and hung in the corner away from the bed and table and stove. The two refugees stared for a moment without speaking. The woman was sitting at the table, unpacking a basket from which she took part of a loaf of bread and two cups. The man had been spreading a blanket over the bed when Mr. Lawrence spoke. Now he straightened his back and turned around.

“We are so grateful,” he said, “so very grateful.” Mr. Lawrence coughed and half-laughed. “O, that’s all right. No trouble at all,” he said. No doubt about it. They were Jews, all right. The man had the kind of nose and the color of skin one would expect on a Jew. The woman had large dark eyes with shadows under them. She looked unhealthy -- almost ill, in fact.

“Anything else you want?” asked Mr. Lawrence. The woman answered this time. “We want nothing. We are very tired.”

“Everyone was full,” said the man. “No one could take us in. It is most generous of you.”

“Not al all. Not at all” said Mr. Lawrence. “Good thing we had this place empty. You must have had a tough time where you’ve been.” They said nothing to this. “Well, if there’s nothing more I can do, I’ll say ‘good night.’ Don’t forget to turn down the stove if it smokes. If you need more food or blankets, or anything, just knock at the back door and ask the servants. Good night.”

“Good night,” they echoed; and then the woman added, “A Happy Christmas to you.” Mr. Lawrence stared. He turned up his collar as he went back to the house. It was cold.

The gong sounded for dinner as he came in. The garlands were all strung up. And it looked like it ought to look. The kids had had their supper and had gone to their rooms; though perhaps not yet to sleep in the excitement of Christmas Eve.

Much later, after dinner, as they were getting ready for bed, Mr. Lawrence poked his head round from the dressing room, a tooth brush in his hand. “Funny thing,” he said. “That woman wished me a Happy Christmas. I never knew Jews kept Christmas.” Mrs. Lawrence was patting some skin food into her round, smooth cheek. “I don’t suppose she knows what it means,” she replied. One by one the house lights went out until all was dark except for one dull bit of glow from a window over the garage

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Christmas morning came.

“Hey, look at this,” says Bob. “I’ve got an airplane as well as a new engine for my railway.” “Have I got two things from Dad as well?” asked Marigold fumbling through the litter of wrapping papers. “It’s not fair for you to have two things if I have only one doll!” “Serves you right for being greedy,” taunted Bob.

“I’ll break your old airplane,” shrieked Marigold. Just then the nurse came in, looked around the mess, and drew up a small box with Marigold’s name on it. Marigold tore off the paper and opened the box. Soon she held up a necklace glittering in her hand. “I’m a princess,” she shouted. “I’m a princess.”

“Huh, it’s not very big,” scoffed Bob.

Downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence were being served with morning tea. The electric stove was lighted; the sun streamed through the windows as curtains were drawn back. Parcels and letters were unopened, though, for both Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence were aghast at what the maid was telling them. “I just can’t believe it,” said Mr. Lawrence. “I can,” said Mrs. Lawrence. “It’s typical of the sort of thing these people do.”

“Won’t I give it to that refugee officer!” said Mr. Lawrence. “I don’t suppose he knew,” said Mrs. Lawrence. “They surely took good care not to let on that anything might happen. Well, now we can’t keep them here. There’s no one to look after the woman.”

“Well, we must phone for an ambulance and have them removed. I’m glad they were in the garage and not in the house. I thought the woman had a bad color,” said Mr. Lawrence. “She must have been tough to stand it alone.” “Oh, those sorts of people have babies easily,” said Mrs. Lawrence. “They scarcely notice it. Ann,” she called to the nurse, “Be sure that the children don’t go to the garage until the ambulance has been here.”

Then they settled down to the parcels and the letters. “Anyway it will be a good story for our guests. It’ll go down well with plum pudding and turkey.”

After breakfast and a bit of fun with the kids over their presents, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence went out to the garage to see what could be done about the refugees. When they got out there the servants were talking outside.

“What’s going on?” asked Mr. Lawrence.

“They’ve left,” said the chauffeur.

“What do mean, ‘left’?”

“The fellow went off and got hold of a taxi while we were eating,” said the chauffeur. “Must have gone to that stand at the end of the road. He said never a word to any of us.”

“When we heard the taxi,” said the cook, “we came out and saw the man and the driver carrying the woman out to the taxi. The fellow asked for the name of a hospital, and we told him there is a Jewish hospital just before you get into town. He said he was sorry to have given us all this trouble.”

“And we saw the baby,” giggled the housemaid. Then she -- didn’t say any more. “Yes,” said the cook. “A proper little Jew -- image of his father.” They all laughed and looked around a little foolishly.

“Well,” said Mr. Lawrence, “I suppose there’s nothing more we can do.” And everybody kind of melted away. There was lots to be done and it was already ten o’clock.

“We’d better have a look,” said Mr. Lawrence. So he and Mrs. Lawrence went up the rickety stairs to the room over the garage. No sign of disorder. Bed placed against the wall, with blanket folded at the foot. Stove turned out and window opened enough to let in the fresh morning air. Only one thing showed that the room had been used; on the floor beside the bed was a glass of cold water.

Mr. Lawrence didn’t say anything. Mrs. Lawrence said nothing. They went back to the house and into the drawing room. The kids were busy upstairs.

“What about your golf?” asked Mrs. Lawrence. “Weren’t you meeting the others this morning?” “I don’t feel keen about it,” he replied. “Funny,” she said, “I feel sort of flat too; not a bit Christmassy.” Through the door, they could see the table being prepared for Christmas dinner.

“I really don’t know what else we could have done,” said Mrs. Lawrence suddenly. Mr. Lawrence walked around the room, but he said nothing. “After all, they didn’t ask for anything,” said Mrs. Lawrence. “If the woman, or the baby, had been ill, the man would have said so. They must be all right. They are so tough, that race.”

Mr. Lawrence took a cigar from his pocket, and put it back.

“They’ll be much better off in the Jewish hospital -- proper nursing and everything. We couldn’t possibly have coped with it here. Besides, going off in a hurry like that, we didn’t have a chance to suggest a thing.”

Mr. Lawrence picked up a book and opened it, and shut it.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Lawrence, “I shall go and inquire how they are, and take fruit and things, perhaps some warm woollies, and ask if there is anything they want. I’d go this morning, only I have to take the children to church ..” The door opened and the children rushed in. “I’ve got my new necklace on,” said Marigold. “Bob hasn’t a single new thing to wear .... Hurry up mother, or we shall miss seeing all the people come in.”

“I hope they sing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’.” said Bob. “We learned the words at school and I won’t have to look in the book. Why was Jesus born in a stable, Dad?” “There wasn’t room for them at the inn,” said Mr. Lawrence. “Why,” said Marigold, “Were they refugees?”

Nobody answered for a moment. And then Mrs. Lawrence got up from fixing her hair before the vanity mirror. “Don’t ask such silly questions, darling,” she said.

Mr. Lawrence opened a window. The church bells could be heard from town. The frost sparkled in the sunlight. Mr. Lawrence had a queer, puzzled look on his face. “I wish,” he said, “I wish ..” But he never finished what he was going to say, because just then the Dalys and the Collinses drove in at the gate and up to the door. And the children were running all over the place, calling “Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas!”

And I guess that is all of the story.

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Dates and places delivered:

Wisconsin Rapids, December 3, 1961.

Imiola Church, December 7, 1969.

Hokuloa Church, December 7, 1969.

Waioli Hiu’ia Church, December 5, 1971.