“When Herod realized that he had been deceived by the magi, he became furious. He ordered the massacre of all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently inquired of the wise men. Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying: A voice in Rama was heard, lamentation and great mourning; Rachel bewailing her children, and would not be comforted, since they are no more.” Matthew 2:16-18
This past Friday, upon hearing of the slaughter of those precious children in Connecticut, I was drawn to this scripture passage. While it did not console me, it did offer some explanation to the common lamentation that so many of us shared. What has happened to the world? Has Evil triumphed over Christmas? Has God abandoned us?
Scripture teaches us that even when that first Christmas came and God was made flesh, Evil was still present. On the occasion that prompted a heavenly host of angels to proclaim “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom His favor rests,” the Prince of Darkness was not vanquished.
The good news of Christmas is not that tragedy, pain, deceit and horror is vanquished from our world. The good news of Christmas is that though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God’s love encompasses us completely. He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken.
Even for those grieving parents, family and friends who have lost that which they loved and treasured most, God’s love offers healing and deliverance from their sorrow. Certainly not today or this Christmas, but as you will find in reading the last Christmas story that I will share with you this advent season, Christmas will come into their lives again.
“When Christmas Came Again” – Dina Donohue
MANY PEOPLE knew that Frank Hinnant had no use for Christmas, but few understood the reasons why he had shut Christmas out of his heart.
As the head of his own multimillion dollar contracting business, Frank discouraged yuletide parties each year. He gave no Christmas bonuses. It was enough that his employees received pay increases when merited and fringe benefits more generous than any firm in town.
His wife, Adele, was of a different fabric. She loved Christmas and she longed to celebrate it fully, with all the fuss she could stir up. It was one chronic disagreement the Hinnants had. Each December they renewed the argument. Adele wanted decorations, a tree, gifts, even parties for employees – and Frank said, emphatically, “No.” Dutifully he would go along to other people’s parties, he would go to Christmas services as usual, and for Adele there would always be a string of pearls or a costly, but tasteful, pin – but beyond that, “Nonsense,” Frank would say, “Christmas is for children!”
And that is precisely the reason Frank Hinnant had locked Christmas out of his heart – children.
One morning, a brisk, December day, Frank decided to walk to work. He did this occasionally, varying his route each time. Frank was a man with a giant curiosity, fascinated by people, where they lived and how. This morning, reaching mid-town, he noticed a cluster of people standing in front of Leeson’s Department Store. They were looking at the Christmas displays, each on a different theme.
One window had a manger scene. Frank looked at the crèche: at Mary, Joseph and the shepherd in colorful costumes; the donkey, cow and sheep – all were life-size. And there was the Child.
Frank turned away.
He started to move on. As he did, a sign across the street caught his fleeting attention.
“Holy Innocents Home” – huge golden letters framed the arched doorway of an old brownstone building surrounded by a forbidding iron fence. Frank had only half noticed this building before. Even now it had a way of shrinking into the urban landscape.
“Holy Innocents…Holy Innocents…” Frank repeated the name in his mind. He stood there staring at the orphanage across the street, and yet he was seeing something else, something far beyond, a long ago morning in Sunday school. There was Miss Raymond, a skinny woman with black hair pulled into a knot, and Miss Raymond was telling the class about King Herod and all the male children under two, “…and the wicked king had had these little children slaughtered because he feared the Baby Jesus…”
“The Holy Innocents,” Frank said to himself. “That’s odd, you don’t hear about them much. Christmas is just this sentimental mush, like Adele’s joy-on-earth stuff. There’s more to Christmas than syrup. There’s misery too.”
Frank turned back to the windows of Leeson’s. He looked at the smiles on the benign faces of Mary and Joseph. But what about the parents of the infants who died? What about their faces?
And for the millionth time Frank remembered the desolation of the day that David had died.
David had been 18 months old. In the 22 years since then, Frank had not been able to bring himself to even mention his son’s name.
Frank walked on toward his office. At the corner he turned and looked back. “The Holy Innocents,” he said, almost out loud.
Impulsively he struck out on a new course. An idea had come to him. Quickly he covered the four blocks to the public library, then up the steps and in, arriving at the information desk to fairly demand one reference book after another. Librarians began to heap tomes in front of him and Miss Summerwell herself stayed by his side to render assistance.
“Holy Innocents,” reported Miss Summerwell, book in hand, finger pointing, “Their feast day is celebrated on December 28 by the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches, on December 29 by the Greek Orthodox church. They are among the early martyrs…”
The information mounted, some of it conflicting. Some sources stated that thousands of infants had been slaughtered by Herod, others reported only a few. Frank was most impressed by the historian who very carefully deduced that since only about 2,000 people were living then in Bethlehem, no more than 20 children had been killed.
“Imagine that,” he shouted to Miss Summerwell, “Only 20 children!”
Very politely Miss Summerwell asked this extraordinary man to try to keep his voice a bit lower.
When Frank left the public library that day he still did not go to his office. He headed back to Holy Innocents Home.
That evening, Frank and Adele dined alone. It was a leisurely dinner, yet Frank was ill at ease. He was searching for the right moment, the right phrase to use when he told Adele what, sooner or later, he had to tell her.
“I had an odd kind of day,” he plunged in finally. “I went to visit an orphanage.”
Adele wouldn’t have been more taken aback if Frank had said he’d flown to the Hebrides for lunch, but having lived with Frank for so long a time, she registered only the mildest curiosity.
“It’s that bastille of an orphanage across from Leeson’s,” Frank ambled on. “Really a dungeon, dear, cramped and dismal…”
Adele was fascinated. Frank was building up to something. Now he told about the walk downtown, about the crèche at Leeson’s At last he told her about his visit to the orphanage itself. “It made me realize how little I really know about kids. What strange little ugly creatures they are! When I went in they stood around looking at me like I was a movie star, not one of them saying anything. Later one of them came up to me – I’ll never forget it – this little boy came up and stood there stroking the sleeve of my coat.”
Adele was quiet. It was her eyes that urged him to continue. But Frank was embarrassed now. “You know full well what I’ve always said about Christmas,” he blustered. “Christmas is for children!”
“Yes, you’ve always said that.”
“Well, it’s about time people started doing something for them. Today I gave that place some money. They’re going to build a wing with it.”
Adele was swept away by the kindness of this man she had loved so long. She thought she knew him completely, but she was unprepared for his next announcement. “They’re going to name the wing for David.”
It was the first time in 22 years that Adele had heard Frank mention their only son’s name. It made her do something she never did when Frank was around. She wept.
Frank never told her about that moment. He never told her how, as he held her in his arms, he saw again something he had envisioned for the first time that afternoon. He saw a room full of children. There were 20 of them playing in a bright new wing at Holy Innocents. But now, suddenly, instead of 20, there were 21.
I will be taking my family to New Orleans this Friday to cheer our Ragin’ Cajun’s appearance in the New Orleans Bowl. As such this week’s inspiration comes a bit early, but still with profound wishes for each of you and your families to experience a truly …
AWE-full Christmas!