24 Stories of Christmas Day 5

December 5

“The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low; and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain: And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.” Isaiah 40:3-5

Day 5: Baptism

Baptism

Ornament: Dove

Scripture Reading: Matthew 3:13-17

John Baptizes Jesus by Harry Anderson

Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains

Far, far away on Judea's plains,
Shepherds of old
Heard the joyous strains:
Glory to God, Glory to God,
Glory to God in the highest:
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men;
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men!

Sweet are these strains
Of redeeming love,
Message of mercy from heaven above:
Glory to God, Glory to God,
Glory to God in the highest:
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men;
Peace on earth,

Lord, with the angels
We too would rejoice,
Help us to sing with
The heart and voice:
Glory to God, Glory to God,
Glory to God in the highest:
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men;
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men!

Hasten the time when
From every clime,
Men shall unite
In the strains sublime:
Glory to God, Glory to God,
Glory to God in the highest:
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men;
Peace on earth,
Good-will to men!

(Get the sheet music here: Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains)

Mary and Joseph Travel to Bethlehem 

The Man Who Missed Christmas

by J. Edgar Park

It was Christmas Eve; and, as usual, George Mason was the last to leave the office. He walked over to a massive safe, spun the dials, and swung the heavy door open. Making sure the door would not close behind him, he stepped inside.

A square of white cardboard was taped just above the topmost row of strongboxes. On the card, a few words were written. George Mason stared at those words, remembering...

Exactly one year ago he had entered this self-same vault. And then, behind his back, slowly, noiselessly, the ponderous door swung shut. He was trapped—entombed int eh sudden and terrifying dark.

He hurled himself at the unyielding door, his hoarse cry sounding like an explosion. Through his mind flashed all the stories he had heard of men found suffocated in time vaults. No time clock controlled this mechanism; the safe would remain locked until it was open from the outside. Tomorrow morning.

Then the realization hit him. No one would come tomorrow—tomorrow was Christmas. Once more he flung himself at the door, shouting wildly until he sank on his knees exhausted. Silence came, high-pitched, singing silence that seemed deafening. More than thirty-six hours would pass before anyone came—thirty-six in a steel box three feet wide, eight feet long, and seven feet high. Would the oxygen last? Perspiring and breathing heavily, he felt his way around the floor. Then, in the far right-hand corner, just about the floor, he found a small, circular opening. Quickly he thrust his finger into it and felt faint but unmistakable, a cool current of air.

The tension release was so sudden that he burst into tears. But at last, he sat up. Surely he would not have to stay trapped for the full thirty-six hours. Somebody would miss him. But who? He was unmarried and lived alone. The maid who cleaned his apartment was just a servant; he had always treated her as such. He had been invited to spend Christmas Eve with his brother's family, but children got on his nerves and expected presents.

A friend had asked him to go to a home for elderly people on Christmas Day and play the piano—George Mason was a good musician. But he had made some excuse or other; he had intended to sit at home, listening to some new recordings he was giving himself.

George Mason dug his nails into the palms of his hands until the pain balanced the misery in his mind. Nobody would come and let him out, nobody, nobody, nobody...

Miserably the whole of Christmas Day went by, and the succeeding night. On the morning after Christmas, the head clerk came into the office at the usual time, opened the safe, then went on into his private office.

No one saw George Mason stagger out into the corridor, run to the water cooler, and drink in great gulps of water. No one paid any attention to him as he left and took a taxi home.

Then he shaved, changed his wrinkled clothes, ate breakfast and returned to his office where him employees greeted him casually.

That day he met several acquaintances and talked to his own brother. Grimly, the truth closed in on George Mason. He had vanished from human society during the great festival of brotherhood; no one had missed him at all.

Reluctantly, George Mason began to think about the true meaning of Christmas. Was it possible that he had been blind all these years with selfishness, indifference, and pride? Was not giving, after all, the essence of Christmas because it marked the time God gave His son to the world?

All through the year that followed, with little hesitant deeds of kindness, with small unnoticed acts of unselfishness, George Mason tried to prepare himself...

Now, once more, it was Christmas Eve. Slowly he backed out of the safe and closed it. He touched its grim steel face lightly, almost affectionately, and left the office.

There he goes now in his black overcoat and hat, the same George Mason as a year ago. Or is it? He walks a few blocks, then flags a taxi, anxious not to be late. His nephews are expecting him to help them trim the tree. Afterwards, he is taking his brother and sister-in-law to a Christmas play. Why is he so happy? Why does this jostling against others, laden as he is with bundles, exhilarate and delight him?

Perhaps the card has something to do with it, the card he taped inside his office safe last New Year's Day. On the card is written, in George Mason's own hand: “To love people, to be indispensable somewhere, that is the purpose of life. That is the secret of happiness.”