An old friend had the tradition of beginning the Advent season with his children building the family crèche. All would be in place, Mary and Joseph, no baby, but eventually shepherds and then 12 days after Christmas the wise men would arrive having traveled from each child's room, down the banisters, through the house in circuitous fashion to there destination.

While liturgically correct, as his kids grew older they would ask why? Not only why the story of the wise men and their late arrival but why are the 4 accounts in the Bible different? And finally, the oldest began to ask, "Why bother?” which is perhaps the best question we all should ask, “Why bother?” What value are these old stories anyway?

Bal Sheron Tov was a wise village elder, who was dying. He sent for his followers saying, "I have kept the traditions for you but when I am gone you must keep them for yourselves. Go to the place in the forest where I call upon God, light a fire, say your prayers, and God will come."

After the wise one died, the first generation did as they were told; but by the second generation, the followers began to forget how to light the fire in the way he had taught them. Still, they went to the special place, said prayers, and God came. By the third generation, the people had forgotten the place in the forest, but they remembered the prayers and God still came. And by the fourth generation, everyone had forgotten even the prayers; except for one person who recounted the story each year and God still came. (1)

Stories call to present mind ancient truths. Like the story of a small European village following World War II, All the people had been killed or put in concentration camps. But by some miracle, there was one old woman left; frightened, she hid in the forest. Long lonely nights past and she eventually found herself by a cabin. Slipping inside, as her eyes adjusted, she realized she wasn't alone. An old man, eyes filled with fear, was huddled in the corner. They were both rather odd looking. She wore men's pants, too short, a coat with a sleeve missing, and an apron around her head. His ears stuck out, his hair was but two straggly tufts. His pants looked like balloons with twigs sticking out. His belt went around him twice. The two sat, stripped of everything but their own beating hearts, as they listened for footsteps in the snow. It was a beautiful Christmas night that in normal times people would celebrate, but upon them, all the heartbreak of the world rested.

"Let me tell you a story,” said the man.

"This night we have nothing, but somewhere there are those who have much. What is enough?”

A long time ago there was a poor but beautiful young woman who married an equally poor but handsome young man. It was holiday time and each wanted to give something to show love to the other. War had ravaged their land and there was nothing left. The young man had somehow managed to keep safe his grandfathers watch which he treasured. The young woman, despite filth and lack of nutrition, had managed to keep her long beautiful golden hair, which was as bright as the sun.

The couple got by, by selling a turnip here, an apple-picked-by-the-road there. But there was nothing for gifts. One morning the girl cried softly, but then decided that tears wouldn't solve anything. So, she slipped out of the house and went to an old merchant woman. “Ah, you've come to sell your hair,” she said. They bickered over the price and then out came the rusty sheers. ...clip ...clip ....clip. The young girl collected her money and ran down the street to another vendor where she bought a chain for her husband's watch. She suddenly was filled with joy, her feet hardly touched the ground as she walked home.

Meanwhile, her husband was desperately looking for a gift. One vendor shoved a potato toward him, another a tattered scarf. Then he saw it, two perfect combs for his lady's hair. “Twelve pennies,” said the merchant. They bartered.

All the while, back in their tiny room the young wife tried to do something with her hair. “Let him think I'm still lovely," she prayed. Soon she heard footsteps. The door opened and her husband stopped in his tracks. “Do you like my hair? Please say something my love.” Torn between pain and laughter the young man began to smile. Out of his pocket came two combs. His wife's eyes filled with tears “My love,” said he, “your hair will grow.”

She smiled and then produced a watch chain at which point her husband burst into laughter. “It's wonderful,” he said, “but I will have to find a watch for it.” They laughed and hugged and promised one another a future filled with hope."

"So," said the old storyteller, "while some might say these two were silly, they were in fact like the magi who looked for the Messiah. Even though their intent was right, bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh, in truth, their gifts were useless. Yet, it is what they carried in their hearts that was of the greatest value. Like the young couple, they gave love and hope and that was enough."

With that, the old man and the old woman sat alone in quiet. Then the woman said, "I want to give you the sky.” She could see her acquaintance was moved as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I'm honored," he said. "And in return I'll give you the stars shining above us."

They sat a while longer, then she said, "I want to give you the moon." And he remained silent for the sky had nothing left. "Ah," he finely said, "in return for your kindness, I give you the story. Keep it safe, carry it with you, and share it."

The rest of the night they spoke of times past and hopes to come and then at first light, as they started their separate ways, the old woman gave him her apron to cover his head. Like the young girl, she had enough hair to keep her warm. They were both content because they both now had the stars and the moon and the sky and they needed nothing else. And the two silly old people were no longer frightened because they had hope and the story within them, which was enough.

Why do we bother? Why listen to stories about wise persons and all the rest? Good question for a time of self-made persons. A time when people become more and more convinced that they can make it on their own. A time when power rules and those with much never seem to feel secure. It's a good question for a time when violence is afoot in every street and intellect tells us we have no time for stories.

We live in a time where those without are relegated to numbers on a censes pad. There was such a time before about which Matthew tells a story. It is a story told over and over to early Christians. It is a story about a ruler and a world threatened by a little baby. It was a time when wise persons put together senseless gifts and traveled what must have seemed forever in hope of finding life's meaning. Matthew told a story; it was a gift; it was enough.

We live in a time when once in a while we find ourselves together, perhaps not all too sure why we are gathered. No longer sure of what words to say, let alone how to build a fire nor any special place to build it, if there ever was one. But together we remember the stories and in sharing them God comes and that is enough.


1) Elie Wiesel

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