A Voice In The Wilderness
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
62 Stories For Cycle B
Margaret told herself that she should feel very pleased with her Christmas preparations. The fresh, perfectly shaped balsam tree was trimmed, the outdoor lights and garlands had been tastefully strung, the house had been lavishly decked with wreaths, holly, tinsel and her ever-growing collection of quaint craft decorations. The Christmas cards had gone out early, along with invitations to all of her closest friends to attend a Christmas Eve dinner. The shopping had been completed and gifts lay beautifully wrapped and beribboned beneath the tree, awaiting the modest protestations and delighted squeals of her children and grandchildren. Everything was ready, just as she had planned it. Now she travelled restlessly to the mall, seeking some elusive, last-minute "perfect touches" and the rush that bustling pre-Christmas crowds always gave her.
It didn't seem quite fair, then, that one song from two ragged-looking street kids should ruin her holiday spirit. They stood near the entrance of the mall, looking underdressed for the weather in their denim jackets and jeans. The girl wore earmuffs, a crocheted scarf and mittens as she played her tambourine, but the boy had merely turned up his collar against the lightly falling snow as he strummed his guitar. Perhaps they expected their enthusiasm to keep them warm.
The song wasn't anything Margaret would have associated with Christmas. Instead of the gentle, quiet strains of "Silent Night," or the old-fashioned beat of "Jingle Bells," it was some rock and roll rhythm. The boy danced about, the bobbing of his head throwing his long, greasy-looking hair into his eyes. He had an earring in his nose. The girl kept time with the jangling beat of the tambourine as they sang together. The guitar case lay open at the players' feet with a sign propped inside that said, "Hoping to go home for the holidays. God bless you for your help." There were a few coins and one or two dollar bills scattered on the tattered red velvet lining, which now sported a dusting of snow. Most passersby ignored them, and the Salvation Army bellringer kept throwing them dirty looks, but they sang on, with youthful energy, that disconcerting tune:
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Didn't the mall have policies against panhandling? she wondered as she neared. Where was security? As she passed them, trying not to look them in the eye, and yet looking them over, Margaret noticed how tattered their clothing was. The girl was very obviously pregnant, her denim jacket not nearly coming closed over her large middle. The guitar player was still wearing sandals, and though he had heavy sport socks underneath, one of them had a large hole in the toe.
"Merry Christmas!" the girl said when their eyes accidentally met. Hers had teared from the cold, but she wore a joyful smile. She uttered her greeting at the end of one line in the song, then jumped right back in without missing a beat.
Margaret felt angry as she stepped inside the warm, glass-enclosed entryway. She looked at the lights, tinsel, trees and beautiful displays in the store windows she passed, but she didn't feel the joy they always brought her. Hadn't she just been counting all of her Christmas blessings? She had come here to feel good, and just the opposite had happened. Christmas seemed ruined just when everything was prepared ... .
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
The tune wouldn't leave her head, and when Margaret's eyes finally focused on the display in the window she was staring through, there was a tiny baby in a hay manger in a stable. His very young mother was looking at him in awe, and his father stood guard like a sentinel between him and the world outside the cattle stall.
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Margaret turned suddenly and hurried back toward the mall entrance. She was afraid that they had left when she neared the glass-enclosed entry without spotting the couple. But when she reached the door she could see that they had only sat down to rest. The boy had closed the guitar case and seated himself on it, and the girl was perched on his lap, strumming the guitar and singing sweetly:
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
Margaret listened until the girl had finished the song and leaned back in the boy's arms, looking cold and dejected. She stepped out into the swirl of large, graceful snowflakes, stopped before the two and held out her hand.
The young couple's eyes were wide with disbelief. There were two one-hundred dollar bills in Margaret's hand. "Everyone should get to go home for Christmas," Margaret said. "Merry Christmas."
The girl took the bills. This time the tears in her eyes were not from the cold. "Thank you. And God bless you."
"God has," Margaret replied, with tears in her own eyes. "God has."
It didn't seem quite fair, then, that one song from two ragged-looking street kids should ruin her holiday spirit. They stood near the entrance of the mall, looking underdressed for the weather in their denim jackets and jeans. The girl wore earmuffs, a crocheted scarf and mittens as she played her tambourine, but the boy had merely turned up his collar against the lightly falling snow as he strummed his guitar. Perhaps they expected their enthusiasm to keep them warm.
The song wasn't anything Margaret would have associated with Christmas. Instead of the gentle, quiet strains of "Silent Night," or the old-fashioned beat of "Jingle Bells," it was some rock and roll rhythm. The boy danced about, the bobbing of his head throwing his long, greasy-looking hair into his eyes. He had an earring in his nose. The girl kept time with the jangling beat of the tambourine as they sang together. The guitar case lay open at the players' feet with a sign propped inside that said, "Hoping to go home for the holidays. God bless you for your help." There were a few coins and one or two dollar bills scattered on the tattered red velvet lining, which now sported a dusting of snow. Most passersby ignored them, and the Salvation Army bellringer kept throwing them dirty looks, but they sang on, with youthful energy, that disconcerting tune:
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Didn't the mall have policies against panhandling? she wondered as she neared. Where was security? As she passed them, trying not to look them in the eye, and yet looking them over, Margaret noticed how tattered their clothing was. The girl was very obviously pregnant, her denim jacket not nearly coming closed over her large middle. The guitar player was still wearing sandals, and though he had heavy sport socks underneath, one of them had a large hole in the toe.
"Merry Christmas!" the girl said when their eyes accidentally met. Hers had teared from the cold, but she wore a joyful smile. She uttered her greeting at the end of one line in the song, then jumped right back in without missing a beat.
Margaret felt angry as she stepped inside the warm, glass-enclosed entryway. She looked at the lights, tinsel, trees and beautiful displays in the store windows she passed, but she didn't feel the joy they always brought her. Hadn't she just been counting all of her Christmas blessings? She had come here to feel good, and just the opposite had happened. Christmas seemed ruined just when everything was prepared ... .
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
The tune wouldn't leave her head, and when Margaret's eyes finally focused on the display in the window she was staring through, there was a tiny baby in a hay manger in a stable. His very young mother was looking at him in awe, and his father stood guard like a sentinel between him and the world outside the cattle stall.
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Pre-e-e-pare ye the way of the Lord!
Margaret turned suddenly and hurried back toward the mall entrance. She was afraid that they had left when she neared the glass-enclosed entry without spotting the couple. But when she reached the door she could see that they had only sat down to rest. The boy had closed the guitar case and seated himself on it, and the girl was perched on his lap, strumming the guitar and singing sweetly:
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
Margaret listened until the girl had finished the song and leaned back in the boy's arms, looking cold and dejected. She stepped out into the swirl of large, graceful snowflakes, stopped before the two and held out her hand.
The young couple's eyes were wide with disbelief. There were two one-hundred dollar bills in Margaret's hand. "Everyone should get to go home for Christmas," Margaret said. "Merry Christmas."
The girl took the bills. This time the tears in her eyes were not from the cold. "Thank you. And God bless you."
"God has," Margaret replied, with tears in her own eyes. "God has."
