I only have one Christmas Eve story

And this is it.  Nothing more, nothing less.

On Wednesday mornings at nine o clock there is a group who get together to share their stories of misery or happiness, more often the former than the latter.  They struggle with addictions. I have become the informal “chaplain” of that group.  One of their number is a 45 year old man we shall call Steve.   Steve came from a rather unfortunate past and carried that misfortune into his present.  He had been from time to time a carpenter – he was trained as a furniture maker.  I asked him almost a year ago about a gift for Alisa, my wife – perhaps an anniversary present. I had the idea of a chest, something into which our family could place our various treasures in  the years to come.

He drew a sketch of a wooden chest, I asked him to build it for me.  He described the wood, the size, the time it would take to build and finish, and the cost.   It wasn’t quite ready for our anniversary, which was in August.  Throughout the fall Steve continued to work on it sporadically, and I from time to time would visit him in his small shop and check on the progress.   As October and November came around,  I was beginning to panic, hoping that it would be ready for Christmas.  Not having an anniversary or a Christmas present in the same year would be bad news for any husband.   In the days leading up to Christmas, I was in my new parish, thinking of all the details I needed to tidy up for the festive season.  In the back of my mind was the horrifying thought that my Christmas present to Alisa would not be ready, and that I would be in the domestic doghouse for quite some time.  Steve and I traded messages on the 22nd, and 23rd and the morning of the 24th of December.  That evening we had a wonderful Christmas Eve service at 7 pm.  AKW's sisters had come home from the States and the house of God was a full  place that night.  We all drove home, the kids were in bed, everything was perfect.

At 10:30 pm on Christmas Eve, as many were either drifting off to a happy and excited sleep, or dressing up for an extravagant midnight celebration of the birth of a King,  I went to meet a carpenter in his shop.

Steve had finished the wooden chest.  It was ready.  He told me with  pride all the details of the craftsmanship;  how to care for the wood, how to oil it so its colour would radiate, how it would  last, as he said, to give to my grandchildren.  He was proud of his work.   We sat in a small  room and I handed him a Christmas card,  and small box of chocolates, which he said he couldn’t eat because of his diabetes, which was complicated by his drinking.   We drank some coffee and chatted. There are four churches within a stone’s throw of Steve’s place.  I told him about our Christmas service, about God and Jesus, about love and prayer.   We chatted some more.   He told me that he had been to church a few times as a boy,  and he had even met some members of the clergy.  His experience of ‘church’ had not moved  him.  I did not convert Steve.

Instead we loaded the wooden chest into the back of my Jeep Cherokee, and I drove off to place it among a large pile of gifts in our living room.   I went back to the companionship of a loving wife, with two beautiful children, and a house full with anticipation of the large extended  family feast we would have the next day.  Steve went back into his shop and closed the door.

It was not the first time a carpenter
had been abandoned
by one who called himself
a disciple.

“He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Steve died several months later from the complications of his lifestyle.

Comments

[Mrs. Falstaff]

Don't be so hard on yourself, Fr. Joe. You don't know what influence your prayers and your friendship had on his heart before the end.

[Steve L.]

I am always amazed at how random occurrences have deeper meaning. We too often beat ourselves up believing we really could have done better, when it reality it was not to be. As a fire fighter and paramedic I always wonder, what if I drove faster?, what if did something different? What if? It teaches us hard lessons, usually accompanied by our tears. You are not alone feeling you have abandoned someone or something and you won't be the last. I suspect that story will find it's way into at least one sermon.

God Bless and Peace be with you

[joseph]

I'm not terribly hard on myself, but I know that Christmas eve shaped the way I now do ministry.

Christmastide blessings to all.