 We stand with eyes toward the east, awaiting the rising of the star, and pray that love shall become flesh and dwell among us, and that compassion shall be born in human hearts. We celebrate the discovery of fact in the garment of legend. Let every cradle be visited by the three good kings of faith, hope, and love. Sign our chalice this evening to the words of Edward Erickson. Then Christmas is with us always, and every birth is the birth of God among us, and every child is the Christ child, and every song is the song of angels. To celebrate Christmas is to attest to the power of love to remake humankind. May we be renewed in the love which can save the world. Please rise in all the ways that we do to join in singing our congregational carol number 253, oh come all ye faithful to be seated. Glory this evening comes from the work of Ashley Bryan, a nativity poem entitled Who Built the Stable? Who built the stable where baby Jesus lay? Was it built of bricks? Was it built of hay? Was it built of wooden sticks? Was it built of sod? Was it made by human hands? Was it built by God? A child built the stable. A little shepherd boy, apprenticed as a carpenter in his father's employ. He built the wooden stable for his donny, donkey, ox, and sheep. A shelter from the weather, a home at night for sleep. He watered them at sunrise where they graze and freely roam. He called to them at sunset, follow me, and led them home. Was Jesus born in Italy, Russia, Spain, Japan? No, he was born in Bethlehem, a rich and verdant land. How did Joseph and pregnant Mary find a place to stay? When they went knock, knock, knocking and were always turned away. The little shepherd saw them. For one night he saw a star and lo, it grew in brightness approaching from afar. He looked about in wonder as there came into his sight, a poor man and a woman wandering in the night. The boy asked, can I help you? Gently, Mary spoke to him. My child will soon be born, she said. There is no room at the inn. Oh, come with me, the boy exclaimed. My stable's a warm place. My animals will welcome you. I'll sweep and clear a space. He made a bin the cradle of straw and new moan hay. And when at dawn the child was born, he in the manger lay. The boy looked in the infant's eyes and in his heart he knew the babe would be a carpenter. He'd be a shepherd too. I invite you to sing in our next congregational carol, O little town of Bethlehem, number 246. You may be seated. A reading by Edward Harris entitled, A Meditation on Rudolph. What can we say about Rudolph? He was excluded by other reindeer. They did not let him play with them. We may feel confident that they made fun of him in his red nose. It is possible that they hurt Rudolph, that he was on the outside. The other reindeer had a special relationship with Santa Claus. They were the elite, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Comet, Blitzen, Fine Names, Sturdy Names, Besteking Solidarity, Stability, Education, Training, Ability, Access to the Very Best. These reindeer were strong and fast. Rudolph was smaller and his only distinctive feature was a shiny red nose. It seemed to have a glow about it and it made the young Rudolph a figure of fun. See, Rudolph the red nose, ha, ha, I'd rather be dead than red in the nose, they'd say. Still, he may have been content to be red nose by himself. He probably muttered more than once, I don't care, let them have all of the fun, I can have fun by myself. Did Rudolph wish to be excluded? We don't know. Probably he did. For it is the deepest wish of all creatures to be long and be accepted. So, what happened? On a foggy Christmas Eve, Santa realized that he could make a difference in guiding the sleigh if Rudolph would lead them through. Rudolph's special trait was his shiny red nose. It was this nose, this trait that was needed. So, Santa goes to little Rudolph and asks him to guide the sleigh actually to lead it. He would have to be in front of the other reindeer because their mission of getting Christmas to the boys and girls of the world was so important, it became necessary to rethink past practices. When Rudolph was asked, what did he say? Well, we don't really know, it's not recorded. We know he did not say, I can't, I'm too little. He certainly didn't say, me, the others always make fun of me. He didn't say, now you ask me, I've got something else to do, it isn't fair. He didn't say spitefully, get somebody else, let dancer do it. He didn't say, I hope you crash, you and all of the others. I did not write this. So, we have the classic story of the insider excluding the newcomer and making fun of his special traits. It happens all the time in school rooms, in playing fields, in classes, in society. We say they just don't have it, and if they do, well, we got here first and we have to let them in our group, our company, but we don't necessarily have to like it. He did just that, Rudolph. He led the sleigh through, he did the job, and it was a hard job, but he did it. And then the story tells us all the reindeer loved him. What does this little story mean, this bit of dog role? What is its moral? Some possible meanings. Anybody can serve. We need everybody to be part of the team. Even the ugliest or what we label ugly in our culture, and the smallest has a special contribution to make. The mission is more important than the personalities. There are perhaps others, perhaps you can think of some. Remember them now, anytime that you hear the song. Here ends the reading. Reading for the magic of the season was a child the day after Thanksgiving was steeped in ritual. Every year, my family would travel to Chicago for the holiday festivities. Our tour was always the same. We'd tromp up and down Michigan Avenue, admiring store windows with animated mechanical dolls that served as actors for the narrated holiday story. We would wait in line for two hours to sit under the three-story tree at Marshall Fields and enjoy a formal lunch and sit on Santa's lap to discuss the finer points of our list. Then on to the burk-off for dinner. The day always held magic, mostly because of my dime-laden mittens. In the morning, my dad would give my sister and me each a handful of dimes, which I kept in my mittens so I could tinker with them as we walked in anticipation of finding another one of them. The Salvation Army Christmas buckets. Almost every corner, familiar red cans awaited. I marveled in watching my dime swirl their way to the quarter-sized slot and plunk in to rest amid the other dime-sized donations. At the time, I knew nothing about Salvation Army theology, only that they worked for the homeless and destitute. They became my symbol of generosity for the season, albeit bucket-sized. As an adult, I often felt an odd pull to ring the bell myself. One year, I gave in. I called up the lieutenant at the Salvation Army and asked enthusiastically if they were in need of any help. They were. I was given two assignments. I couldn't wait to get my hands on that little tinkly bell. The first assignment was a busy street corner with a bookstore and coffee shop on either side. I rang my ding-a-ling-y bell and ten-degree weather with Lee, stamping my feet periodically to stay warm. My smart bucket swung slightly in the breeze. It was an experience just as I had hoped. People asked me if I was warm enough. A couple bought me coffee. Many smiled and simply wished me happy holidays as they passed. I marveled at the parade of dime donors and the familiar plunk of change that followed. The second assignment was at a mall across from J.C. Penney's. Once again, I once again eager, I itched to start my ring-a-ding-ing. The lieutenant arrived to set up my buckets. My bucket, my hands reached for the bell. No bell, he explained. The mall owners have complained. No bells, only this. He handed me a sign. The sign was attached to a long dowel. On the top of the dowel, two pieces of paper were stapled together over the center of the stick. One side read ding. And the other, dong. Instead of ringing, I now had to flip a sign that read ding, dong. My little bucket instantly lost its tingling. My enthusiasm waned. I flipped in silent motion. It seemed absurd, but I went to work. People pushed past each other, admired in that Christmas hubbub that leans towards frustration and not joy. Then they'd spot me. Their faces would contort, scrunching up into laughter and that uncomfortable feeling when you're embarrassed and humored by someone at the same time. They would often throw in some dimes and say happy holidays, barely able to stifle an awkward yet justifiable smirk. I found it hard not to feel like the sign was projecting my mental status to the mall community. For four hours, I flipped. The sign, that is. Ten minutes before I was to quit, this fellow in black cowboy boots and a 10 gallon hat walked up to me and laughed. He was full out chuckles, bent over, hysterically laughing. I stood taller, flipping my sign with increased vigor. I couldn't tell where he was going with this. When he finally stood up for air, his eyes were smiling. So I hoped for no malicious intent, but I was also ready to kick him in the shins for his reaction to me and my now stupid sign. And then he said, I must say, I've never seen a sign like that before. Anybody that stands with a sign that says ding dong must be duly rewarded. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. Crisp bills lay neatly in uniform order. He ran through the fives, the tens, the 20s, and got to a row of 50s. He pulled one out of 50. He neatly folded the bill and squeezed it into the bucket designed for coin donors. Nodding, he smiled right into my eyes and muttered, well, I never. Then he continued on through the mall with laughter that hung captive in the air like lingering pipe smoke. I, on the other hand, began to turn that sign with renewed vigor. I looked at each passerby with a new attitude, whether they snickered or smiled, donated or not. I now strangely felt in awe of my ding dong sign. I was unabashedly proud that I was stupid enough to stand in a mall tenaciously flipping a sign, waiting for humor and generosity to awaken someone's hum-drum spirit, waiting for it to finally dawn on me that my gifts of generosity and time needed to lose their pretenses in order for any true generosity to occur. Waiting just to discover that this season can still thrill and surprise. Waiting for magic, only to find that red buckets held it all the time, even without the ding-a-ling. So ends the reading. In keeping with the spirit of the reading, generosity is an opportunity throughout this season for us to connect more powerfully with the underlying meaning that we would like to convey. And so tonight, we give you a particularly important opportunity to be generous. It is our tradition for the offering to go towards eviction relief here in Dane County. And so we hope that you will find within yourself that spirit of generosity to give so that people who are struggling to stay in their homes this winter are given assistance. The offering will now be given and received in such a loving and giving spirit. Our second story. In the front yard of a little house on the branches of a mighty evergreen, there lived a happy pair of cardinals, Red and Lulu, a story by Matt Tavares. Red and Lulu were happy in their tree. Their nests were always safe in its branches, its shade kept them cool on hot summer days, and its evergreen needles kept them cozy when autumn winds howled. It was the perfect place to live all year long. But their favorite time of year, by far, was winter. The family would decorate the tree with lights, and sometimes people would gather near and sing. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, thy leaves are so unchanging. Red and Lulu loved listening to the people sing about their tree. Sometimes they even sang along. One chilly morning, just as the cold months were starting again, Red went out to find some breakfast. Lulu stayed behind, tucked in the branches of their tree. And then something happened. When Red returned, he could not believe what he saw. Their tree had moved. It was on its side, strapped to the back of a big red truck. Red could hear the sweet sound of Lulu's song coming from inside the tree, and then the truck drove away. Red chirped frantically, telling Lulu to stay right where she was, telling her that he would be right there. Red flew as fast as he could for as long as he could. But the truck was just too fast. Before long, Red lost sight of the tree. Still, he kept flying, trying to catch up. Soon, he found himself in a strange place, unlike any place he had ever seen. For days, Red searched everywhere. He was tired and hungry. He wondered if he would ever see Lulu again. The snow reminded him of Lulu. He missed her very much, and he could almost hear the song they loved. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, thy leaves are so unchanging. Wait, he could hear the song they loved. Red flew toward the sound. The voices grew louder and louder, and then he turned the corner. Red chirped with glee and soared over the singing crowd. He flew right to their favorite branch. He looked around, hmm, hmm. And then Lulu, they were reunited at last. Red and Lulu, again, were happy in their tree. And they watched with pride as hundreds of thousands of people marveled at its beauty. But then, one day, the workers came and took their tree away again. This time, Red and Lulu stayed. They found a new place to make a home, in a park surrounded by trees and grass, and lots of friends. Now, every year, when the air turns cold, Red and Lulu take a special trip. And when the crowd comes to sing, they sit together, snuggled close on a snowy branch and listen. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, thy leaves are so unchanging. Sometimes they even sing along. And a hope and joy. We have come together out of the cold and the dark to fill this place with songs and stories and the warmth of people willing to share of themselves during this glorious season. As we gather, we realize that no one is ever really ready for Christmas. If we were really all prepared, if every gift we had contemplated had been obtained, if every present was beautifully bereaved, if all the goodies our friends deserve were baked and cooled and stored just so. If each and every person we love was gathered for our celebration, if we never snapped at someone we cared about nor stopped short of being all that we could be. If our minds were 100% loving and our hearts were 100% generous, we would truly be ready. And truly we would not need Christmas quite so much. So may we welcome Christmas, the most needed of seasons. May it come from the reminder that love does not depend on perfection, but on willingness to risk connection. May it enter into the unready manger of our hearts that we may feel the warmth of new life and give flesh to the promise of hope that cries to bring healing into the world. In this spirit, I invite you to prepare your candles to receive the flame, one from another, keeping the lit candle upright while the unlit candle is the one that gets turned. Welcome Christmas, welcome love, welcome hope. May all these be born in our unready hearts on this silent and holy night. Please join in singing Silent Night magic when the whole round earth turns again toward the sun. And here's a blessing, the days will be longer and brighter now, even before the winter settles in to chill us. Now is the moment of magic, when people beaten down and broken with nothing left but misery and candles and their own dear voices, kindle tiny lights and whisper secret music. And here's a blessing. The dark universe is suddenly illuminated by the lights of the menorah, suddenly ablaze with the lights of the canara and the whole world is glad and loud with winter singing. Now is the moment of magic, when an eastern star beckons the ignorant toward an unknown goal and hears a blessing. They find nothing in the end but an ordinary baby born at midnight, born in poverty and the baby's cry like bells ringing makes people wonder as they wander through their lives what human love might really look like, sound like, feel like. Now is the moment of magic and here's a blessing. We already possess all the gifts that we need. We've already received our presence, ears to hear music, eyes to behold lights, hands to hold and build true peace on earth and to hold each other tight in love. I invite you now to extinguish your candles, return them to the ushers so that we can use them at the 10 p.m. service and take your seat again for one final gift of music before we head out into the night. Good night, Merry Christmas. Peace, goodwill to all.