Chapter 1 - What You Know About Christmas?

There is no festival on earth like Christmas, none so vital or universal, none celebrated by so many people for so many centuries in so many lands. Around the season, exulting in its meaning and demonstrating its joyfulness, great numbers of rituals and legends and customs have developed, both religious and secular. Some are as old as the pagan rituals which celebrated the sun's closer approach to the earth after the shortest and coldest days of the year. Some are as new as the singing of "White Christmas," as the lighting of a giant Christmas tree in the middle of town.

What do candles in a window mean? Where do manger scenes come from? Why do children hang up their stockings, and since when have we been kissing under the mistletoe? Sometimes we cannot be sure of the facts; sometimes we can. It makes Christmas richer if we understand what is known of its glorious history,
 
The birth of Jesus from the gospels according to St. Luke and St. Matthew
 
In the days of Herod the king of Judea, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And the angel came in unto her, and said,

Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.

And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be. And the angel said unto her,
 
Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And thou shalt conceive and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.

And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, everyone in his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem because he was of the house and lineage of David to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came unto them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them,

Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men.

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen.

Now there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born
 
King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.

When Herod the king heard these things he was troubled. He called the chief priests and the scribes together and demanded of them where Christ should be born. And they told him in Bethlehem of Judea. Then Herod sent the wise men to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.

When they had heard the king, they departed; and lo, the star which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.

And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.

And behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him. When he arose, he took the young child and his mother by night, and departed into Egypt.

Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth and slew all the children, from two years and under, that were in Bethlehem and in all the coasts thereof.

When Herod was dead, the angel of the Lord appeareth in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel: for they are dead which sought the young child's life.

And then he arose and took the young child and his mother, and came into the land of Israel, and they returned into Galilee to their own city Nazareth.

And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.
 
Is There A Santa Claus?

(This famous editorial first appeared in the New York Sun, September 21,1897)

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor:

I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon 115 West 95th Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and useable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Gold, Frankincense And Myrrh By Donald Culross Peattie

Beneath the fragrant Christmas tree lie piled the gifts in their gay wrappings. Eager hands reach for them, and the children seize their own with innocent greediness. But in this first glow of the holy morning, before we tear at the bright papers and ribbons, let us pause to remember the meaning of presents on Christmas Day. It is very ancient, as old as the gospel itself. A Christmas gift symbolizes the love that Christians bear to one another, in the name of One who loved them all.

Wise men indeed were they that first intended this, and wise men were the first Christmas givers. Only in St. Matthew's Gospel do we read about them, and he tells it in this wise:

Now when Jesus  was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.

Thus begins the second chapter of Matthew ; and later the apostle adds:

When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.

How strangely scented and melodiously ringing are those three names! All the distant East, all the splendor of kings, the mystery that lies in things faraway and long ago, come to us in those syllables. Myrrh, and frankincense, and gold! Why were they chosen? Whence did they come? And what, in actuality, are they?

They are emblems of princely generosity, costly now as in ancient times, and still surviving at many a Christian altar. The Magi brought their best to the Newborn. They must have felt that nothing poor earth could offer to the King of Heaven would be more appropriate than gold. Well may we agree with them today, for gold is one of the noble metals. No single acid can destroy it, nor will it rust away, like iron or tin. As a consequence, it is almost never found as a compound, but in free nuggets or as dust, or alloyed with such metals as mercury or silver. No one can successfully imitate or fake gold, so heavy and incorruptible is it. And it is a metal easily turned to the uses of beauty. It has been woven into fabrics at least since Biblical times (Exodus 39:2-3), for its ductility, as chemists say, is so great that a single grain of fine gold may be drawn out into a wire 1/1000 of an inch in diameter, extending for a length of about one mile. Pure, supple, almost indestructible, gold is indeed a royal metal among all the base ones.

The expert hammer of a goldbeater, whose ancient art is referred to by Homer, can beat an ounce of gold into a sheet two hundred feet square, a mere shimmering film. Ordinarily, such beaten gold is made into "books" containing twenty-five leaves apiece, each 3¾ inches square. When pure gold becomes this thin, it will transmit light almost like glass, but dimly, letting only the green rays through. With this gold the artist gilds his statue, the bookbinder stamps the title on his fine volume.

In the ancient world into which Christianity was born, gold was far rarer than now; the golden ornaments retrieved by archaeologists from graves in Troy or Crete or Egypt were royal or noble treasures exclusively. Not every wife, then, could wear a precious little band on her fourth finger. But as gold became a medium of exchange, it traveled the world. It came to Palestine from Egyptian Nubia, which we call the northern Sudan; also from the Midianites, who wandered through what is now central Jordan, south and east of the Dead Sea. Where did the Three Wise Men get it? As we are not sure where they themselves came from, we can but guess that if they truly were "kings of Orient," as the old carol calls them they may have brought their gold from the mines of Indian Mysore. In any case, it was in love and reverence that they offered to the Christ Child the most precious stuff the ancient world knew,

Since those same ancient days, also, many have believed that "incense owns a Deity nigh." No one knows who first lit incense to his God, but doubtless he who did it reasoned that, since all of us enjoy agreeable smells, God probably liked them too. So as times grew less savage and the rituals of worship more spiritualized, burning incense was substituted for the smoke of sacrificial flesh upon the altar. But that sweet reek was not common until the time of Jeremiah. After his day, it was made from an expensive and elaborate formula, containing sixteen different ingredients, with only priests allowed to concoct it. And the chief element in this holy recipe was frankincense, the second gift of the wise men to the Child.

Frankincense is a resin, from a kind of tree held so sacred of old that in southern Arabia and Ethiopia, where it grew, only a few particularly pure persons were allowed even to approach it. Legends told that the precious trees were guarded by winged serpents. All this makes the tree sound fabulous, but it does indeed exist in Nature, and botanists have named it. It belongs to the genus Boswellia, and is a member of the torchwood family. This means little to most of us, unless we happen to have seen the rare elephant trees that grow in the Gila and Imperial valleys in our own far Southwest the only members of the family in the continental United States.

To conjure up a frankincense tree, think of a tree about fifteen feet high, with a patchy bark like a sycamore's. It is as crooked as a snake and all but leafless. The few leaves are compound, like those of an ash, and they sprout at the end of the crazy twigs. The flowers and fruit vaguely resemble a cherry's, although this tree is neither sycamore nor ash nor cherry; indeed, the scaly bark and contorted limbs remind one more of some archaic reptile than of the pleasant shady comfort that we call a tree.

To obtain the precious frankincense itself, an Arab cuts a slash in the trunk, as a Vermonter cuts a maple, and then strips off a narrow piece of bark, about five inches long, below the cut. The sap slowly oozes out and is allowed to harden for about three months. At last it is collected in lumps, to be shipped from such strange places as Berbera, Aden, and Bombay. These lumps are yellow or colorless, dusty-looking, with a bitter taste. But they burn with a bright white flame, and then there arises to heaven that sweet, heavy perfume of mystery the Wise Men thought pleasing to God.

This ritual of burning frankincense had been beloved of the Old Testament worshipers long before the night of the Star and the journey of the three wondering Magi toward it in the dark. But Christians did not adopt frankincense till five whole centuries after the Nativity. It is, however, approved for use in the New Testament. Today it finds a place chiefly in the Catholic Church, whose shrines are still full of its perfume. Incense today is compounded partly of the real frankincense and partly of the resin of a very different tree, the spruce fir of northern Europe. And nowadays the source of true frankincense is not so much Arabia and Ethiopia as the island of Socotra off Africa's eastern tip a remote, mountainous, harbor less island of stones and thorny thickets, where the frankincense trees are guarded by the subjects of an Arabian sultan.

From this same distant part of the world comes the last of the gifts of the Magi, myrrh, a shrub related to frankincense, of the genus Commiphora. The sap of myrrh is extracted in the same way as that of frankincense, and it comes in small lumps of reddish-brown resin. But its symbolism is more somber. The word myrrh comes from the Hebrew mar, meaning "bitter." The ancient Egyptians used this resin in embalming, and hence its connection with solemn occasions. Was this a strange gift for an Infant King? Not for one destined to die for his people.

Such were the first of all Christmas presents, birthday presents to the little Lord of Light. They were offered in a spirit of wondering humility and love. In all that we ourselves may give, gaily in the modern manner, may there linger too some sweet savor, some hidden glint, of the greater love that gives Christmas its real meaning!

Where Does Christmas Happen? By Margaret Lee Runbeck

The house is full of it again. The streets are full of it, and shops and trees and churches all speak of it in different ways. Even strangers' faces are advertisements showing the transforming power of it. An old Montana friend of ours says, "Ever notice how much purtier people look around Christmas?" And then he goes on, "Even real mean people think about somebody else at Christmastime."

If there were nothing more to Christmas than each of us thinking about somebody else and trying to find some little object to express our affection, that would make it worth celebrating. But there is more to it. So very much more.

Christmas happens to us on three levels of experience: First, riding on the busy surface of the calendar, is the Christmas we're getting ready for right now. Next, we remember other Christmases, even more precious now than when they happened. And then, so still we may easily miss it, there is the deep private miracle that cannot be seen or shared or even made to come, for it is a divine event that can happen only in the heart.

The three levels of Christmas are like the three layers of our very selves: the physical, the mental, and the spiritual. We have the whole of Christmas, as we have the whole of ourselves, when we accept each layer, and love it, and make it rich in meaning.

The top-layer Christmas is the shimmering, exciting one, compounded of surprises and sentiment and rapturous nonsense. It has lists and recipes and timetables all twisted into it, plans scribbled, erased, and improved. We go about our daily business, and sometimes we even grumble over what a lot of work Christmas is. But underneath everything {even the grumbling and the work), we're wistful children, still believing in revised versions of Santa Claus. We know he doesn't exist, but we believe in him anyway, in one form or another. We know he's real because now we have found out that he is us, as recklessly generous as we dare to be, as flagrantly sentimental as we are.

So we believe in him, and we contract to pay his bills quite cheerfully through "January, February, June and July."

We have, in fact, two budgets the long list of people we want to remember, and the short list of money we ought not to spend more than. When we talk about making both ends meet, we mean we're trying to fit the long budget of fondness within the short budget of funds. We know it can't be done, but it's fun trying; and it takes one into a realm of economics that boldly declares that loving is worth whatever you dare to spend on it.

And while you're running about, clicking off errands like a human taximeter, you're remembering other gifts and other Christmases: the gift from an original friend that provided your first painting lesson, then widened out to become a lifelong delight; the expensive wrist watch that wasn't an engagement ring; the lovely, lumpy homemade  gifts your child creates each year. And the card your father always gave your mother, which said something like, "How could I give you anything now, when everything I have belongs to you?" and the year she rebelled and announced two weeks before Christmas, "Will, I expect a piece of jewelry this year. No more highfalutin laziness out of you." (He looked shocked, and then burst out laughing and said, "By golly, you're right! You've found me out"; and the bracelet he gave her she never took off,)

You remember hundreds of Christmas moments, and you laugh to yourself, or weep with the dearness of them. You take this Christmas on the run, and you live a score of other Christmases while you shop and wrap and bake and bedeck until the whole house and the whole heart is filled with gaiety.

And with something else. That comes to you silently, without warning, as quiet as a star rising in the sky. You know the pattern well, the babe and the star, and the bright meaning shining down through the centuries. You know that the world began counting time from the rising of that star. And yet it cannot be said that the babe and the star happened only once; they happened millions of times, and will happen millions of times again as long as the world lasts.

For that star rises across the sky of a human heart, and that babe is born in a manger that only humility can know.

There are no mass-production miracles. They come intimately to one and to another until across the tired darkness of this world there is, from within, peace on earth, good will to men. That is the miracle we famish for today. So let the star rise in you. Let the babe be born, not at the gaudy inn, but in the quiet manger of your heart. Never mind when; never mind how. Only welcome it, and let it happen.

Inasmuch By Heywood Hale Broun

Once there lived near Bethlehem a man named Simon and his wife Deborah. And Deborah dreamed a curious dream, a dream so vivid that it might better be called a vision. It was not yet daybreak, but she roused her husband and told him that an angel had come to her in the vision and had said, as she remembered it, "Tomorrow night in Bethlehem the King of the World will be born." The rest was not so vivid in Deborah's mind, but she told Simon that wise men and kings were already on their way to Bethlehem, bringing gifts for the wonder child.

"When he is born," she said, "the wise men and the kings who bring these gifts will see the stars dance in the heavens and hear the voices of angels. You and I must send presents, too, for this child will be the greatest man in all the world."

Simon objected that there was nothing of enough value in the house to take to such a child, but Deborah replied, "The King of the World will understand." Then, although it was not yet light, she got up and began to bake a cake, and Simon went beyond the town to the hills to get holly and made a wreath. Later in the day husband and wife looked over all their belongings, but the only suitable gift they could find was an old toy, a somewhat battered wooden duck that had belonged to their eldest son, who had grown up and married and gone away to live in Galilee. Simon painted the toy duck as well as he could, and Deborah told him to take it and the cake and the wreath of holly and go to Bethlehem. "It's not much," she said, "but the King will understand."

It was almost sunset when Simon started down the winding road that led to Bethlehem, Deborah watched him round the first turn and would have watched longer except that he was walking straight toward the sun and the light hurt her eyes. She went back into the house and an hour had hardly passed when she heard Simon whistling in the garden. He was walking very slowly. At the door he hesitated for almost a minute. She looked up when he came in. He was empty-handed.

"You haven't been to Bethlehem," said Deborah.

"No," said Simon.

"Then, where is the cake, and the holly wreath, and the toy duck?"

"I'm sorry," said Simon, "I couldn't help it somehow. It just happened."

"What happened?" asked Deborah sharply.

"Well," said Simon, "just after I went around the first turn in the road I found a child sitting on that big white rock, crying. He was about two or three years old, and I stopped and asked him why he was crying. He didn't answer. Then I told him not to cry like that, and I patted his head, but that didn't do any good. I hung around, trying to think up something, and I decided to put the cake down and take him up in my arms for a minute. But the cake slipped out of my hands and hit the rock, and a piece of the icing chipped off. Well, I thought, that baby in Bethlehem won't miss a little piece of icing, and I gave it to the child and he stopped crying. But when he finished he began to cry again. I just sort of squeezed another little piece of icing off, and that was all right, for a little while; but then I had to give him another piece, and things went on that way, and all of a sudden I found that there wasn't any cake left. After that he looked as if he might cry again, and I didn't have any more cake and so I showed him the duck and he said 'Ta-ta.' I just meant to lend him the duck for a minute, but he wouldn't give it up. I coaxed him a good while, but he wouldn't let go. And then a woman came out of that little house and she began to scold him for staying out so late, and I told her it was my fault and I gave her the holly wreath just so she wouldn't be mad at the child. And after that, you see, I didn't have anything to take to Bethlehem, and so I came back here."

Deborah had begun to cry before Simon finished his story, but when he had done she lifted up her head and said, "How could you do it, Simon? Those presents were meant for the King of the World, and you gave them to the first crying child you met on the road."

Then she began to cry again, and Simon didn't know what to say or do, and it grew darker in the room and the fire on the hearth faded to a few embers. And that little red glow was all there was in the room. Now, Simon could not even see Deborah across the room, but he could still hear her sobbing. But suddenly the room was flooded with light and Deborah's sobbing broke into a great gulp and she rushed to the window and looked out. The stars danced in the sky and from high above the house came the voice of angels saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Deborah dropped to her knees in a panic of joy and fear. Simon knelt beside her, but first he said, "I thought maybe that the baby in Bethlehem wouldn't mind so very much."

Christmas Without Price By Victoria Lincoln

Is there anything in the world more delightful than being able to give someone you love a thing he's wanted for a long time? Something ridiculously expensive, perhaps, or ridiculously hard to find? The construction set that Jimmy broods about; not the one almost as good, but the one that would knock a horse's eye out. The shaving mug (and why, in a world of brush-less creams and electric razors should it be your husband who loves and uses his grandfather's shaving mug and then breaks it?); the mug that you've tracked hopelessly through countless antique stores, and suddenly come upon, sitting in a junk-store window, white ironstone, un-chipped, price fifty cents.

It feels wonderful, doesn't it? But you only found that mug by an outside chance. And our expenses have such an astounding way of keeping one jump ahead of our incomes.

"But he's been so good, Dave. And he wants it so much."

"You know we can't afford it."

"I know."

Though you both probably go right ahead anyway, and I'm glad you do. Even though January bills get a peculiarly unpleasant look by the first of March. Oh, if everybody had a Fortunatus' purse, what a Christmas it would be!

Or would it? On the December twenty-sixth when all the cleaning women came to work in mink coats, would it be only snobbery that created that run on Harris tweeds?

I think not. For a gift of value is purchased at expense, whether of money or effort or taste or imagination. The little engagement ring that cost a young lover's vacation and the diamond bracelet that demonstrates a smart girl's hold on a gentleman's checkbook are both valued for something beyond themselves; and something that the possessor recognizes as hard to get.

For the delight of both giving and receiving is bound up with the fact that we are somehow, for good or ill, for motives of love or of power, giving ourselves; receiving each other. And without that delight any gift becomes as meaningless as those interoffice presents that the big executive commonly turns over to the care of his secretary.

But anyway, there never was a Fortunatus' purse. If your husband really has his heart set on that springer pup whose bloodlines go back some two hundred years, you can either pull yourself together and be sensible, or shoot the works, glory in Christmas morning, and pin your ears back for the first of March.

And still, in spite of that, you have it in your power to give everyone you love the present he wants most.

And of course you know it already, so that I would feel pompous and silly pointing it out to you, if it weren't that so much of the excitement of our great voyage of discovery through life is simply the firsthand rediscovery, the sudden leaping into life, of familiar platitudes. You know it, and I have known it, too, for a long time; but now that the year is coming on for Christmas, I suddenly discover it in a new way. And I want to share the richness with you; the joy of giving our dearest, each one of them, the present they want most.

Yes, he wants the springer pup, too, and it would be dishonest nonsense to deny it; I hope, I do hope, he will get it. But no matter how you have to decide on that score, you can still give a bounty.

For your purse is the open heart.

What do we want most, all of us? We want to be loved, not blindly or for an illusion that we have to scheme and struggle to maintain, "He'd be so nice, except . . ."

Yes, there it is, the chief lock upon our heart's purse. We have lost the disposition to be pleased. I don't mean the disposition to be a Pollyanna. The disposition to be pleased is no enemy to the honest mind. It is only a courteous direction of attention to the gifts of living which we have fallen into so ungrateful a habit of taking for granted.

What is the open heart? It is the heart that knows how to receive as well as to give. It is the heart that opens its presents from life with grateful attention, and then goes on to put its pleasure into words. That is important: into words, the actual, spoken words which are the chief human instrument by which we are truly made very members of one another.

Who could sit under the tree on Christmas morning, unwrapping her presents without a word, or letting them lie unwrapped at her feet while she talked about the bad weather and that discourteous checker at the supermarket? Who, indeed! And isn't that why Christmas morning is so loved, so anticipated?

For the children the material fact of the presents is still the big thing, yes; but for them the chief lessons of joy are yet to be learned. Don't envy them; childhood is a more narrow time than we remember. For us, the big ones, Christmas morning is wonderful because it is an island in the year when we are all paying attention to delight; an island when we are, for once, all receiving from one another with active, open, spoken affection and appreciation. Yes, for that little time out of the year, at least, everyone is giving everyone else the present he wants most; the present of attention, of admiring pleasure, of warm, outspoken love.

Does it have to be an island? Are we condemned for the rest of the year to turn our attention so promptly to the fog, this discourteous checker, the galoshes on the hall floor; and to unwrap so slowly, so grudgingly the . . . well, yes, I'm going to use a phrase that you will think is sentimental and old-fashioned . . . the day's blessings?

Watch their faces now, this Christmas morning. Don't you see what you are giving them? What a bounty if we were to go on giving it from this Christmas to the next! A bounty beyond Fortunatus' purse; for it is one that the whole world could give without ever making it common.

And it is within the purchasing power of us all.

You love them already; that is the great down payment that can't be faked. Anyone can smell out the hypocritical praise, the false warmth that comes from the desire to get something in return; and don't you let either the cynical or the pseudo-religious boys tell you otherwise. But you have the love; even on the days when you're too hurried and worried to remember it, it is there, waiting to be used. Your first down payment is made.

Only remember: this is a present that cannot be bought for cash down. Even for the saints, the great gifts of the heart are only to be had on the purchase plan, payments due daily, sometimes hourly. And the bank won't send you a reminder.

But don't be discouraged. The remembering is all that will come hard, even at first. Once remembered, the installments are easy to meet. For they take only a deliberate turn of the head, and a few words.

A turn of the head in the direction of Jimmy's smile, not Jimmy's galoshes (oh, you've got to see them, too, but afterwards, afterwards). Or at Dave's beautiful honesty, not his tactlessness. Or even little things and big are part of life's pattern at Sue's nice hat and not the way she lets her heels get run over.

And then, right in that moment of attention, speak out. Don't be afraid of embarrassing casual friends; don't take it for granted that your nearest and dearest understand without words. If your first essential down payment is made, if your perception is honest, whether it is of a grace of spirit or of a becoming dress, nobody will be put off. They'll be too warmed, and glad, and grateful, opening their present. And no love, from the lightest to the deepest, was given to us to be taken for granted. Why does a girl read and reread the closing phrases of a boy's clumsy letter? Why did David write his Psalms?

The open heart sees, and it speaks. Love isn't a duty, a call to self-immolation. Love is delight in the beloved, and in the beloved's delight. Blessed are they who receive with delight, children, for they shall give the greatest gift.

We'll forget, sometimes, at first. But we'll get better at remembering as we go on. And what a present it will be! Come to think of it, why do we wait for Christmas morning? I feel rich, don't you?

Amahl And The Night Visitors By Gian-Carlo Menotti

Cast of characters: AMAHL a lame shepherd boy

His Mother

KASPAB king bringing incense

BALTHAZAR king bringing myrrh
 
MELCHIOR king bringing gold

PAGE the kings' attendant

SHEPHERD AND SHEPHERDESS
(The curtain rises. It is night. The crystal-clear winter sky is dotted with stars, the Eastern Star flaming amongst them. Outside the cottage Amahl! is playing his shepherd's pipe. Within, the Mother calls.)

MOTHER: Amahl! Amahl! Time to go to bed.

AMAHL: Coming! (Amahl does not stir.)

MOTHER: Amahl! How long must I shout to make you obey?

AMAHL: Oh, very well. (Amahl takes up his crutch and hobbles into the house.)

MOTHER: What was keeping you outside?

AMAHL: Oh, Mother, you should go out and see! There's never been such a sky! Hanging over our roof there is a star as large as a window, and the star has a tail and it moves across the sky like a chariot on fire.
MOTHER: Oh! Amah!, when will you stop telling lies? All day long you wander about in a dream. Here we are with nothing to eat, not a stick of wood on the fire, not a drop of oil in the jug, and all you do is to worry your mother with fairy tales.

AMAHL: Mother, I'm not lying. Please do believe me. Come and see for yourself.

MOTHER: Why should I believe you? You come with a new one every day!

AMAHL: But there is a star and it has a long tail.

MOTHER: Amahl!

AMAHL: Cross my heart and hope to die.

MOTHER: Poor Amahl! Hunger has gone to your head. Unless we go begging how shall we live through tomorrow? My little son, a beggar! (She weeps.)

AMAHL: (Amahl goes to her.) Don't cry, Mother, don't worry for me. If we must go begging, a good beggar I'll be. I know sweet tunes to set people dancing. We'll walk and walk from village to town, you dressed as a gypsy and I as a clown. At noon we shall eat roast goose and sweet almonds, at night we shall sleep with the sheep and the stars. I'll play my pipes, you'll sing and you'll shout. The windows will open and people will lean out.
 
The King will ride by and hear your loud voice and throw us some gold to stop all the noise.

MOTHER: My dreamer, good night! You're wasting the light. Kiss me good night.

AMAHL: Good night. (Amahl goes to his pallet of straw at one side of the fireplace. The Mother secures the door, then lies down to sleep. The lights die from the room except for a faint glow through the window.)

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: (The Voices Of the Three Kings are heard very far away.) From far away we come and farther we must go. How far, how far, my crystal star? (Amahl listens with astonishment to the distant singing.) Frozen the incense in our frozen hands, heavy the gold. How far, how far, my crystal star?

(Leaning on his crutch, Amahl hobbles over to the window. Outside appear the Three Kings: first Melchior bearing the coffer of gold, then Balthazar bearing the chalice of myrrh, and finally Kaspar bearing the urn of incense. All are preceded by the Page, carrying a rich Oriental rug, and an elaborate jeweled box.)

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: HOW far, l·lOW far, my crystal star? (The travelers approach the door of the cottage and King Melchior knocks upon the door.)

MOTHER: Amahl! Go and see who's knocking at the door. AMAHL: (Amahl goes to the door.) Mother, Mother, Mother, come with me. Outside the door there is a King with a crown. MOTHER: What shall 1 do with this boy? If you don't learn to tell the truth, I'll have to spank you!

AMAHL: Mother, Mother, Mother. Come with me. If I tell you the truth, I know you won't believe me.

MOTHER: Try it for a change!

AMAHL: But you won't believe me.

MOTHER: I'll believe you if you tell me the truth.

AMAHL: The Kings are three and one of them is black.

MOTHER: Oh! What shall I do with this boy?
 
I'm going to the door myself and then, young man, you'll have to reckon with me! (The Mother moves to the door. As it swings open, she beholds the Three Kings. In utter amazement, she bows  to them.)

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Good evening! Good evening!

BALTHAZAR: May we rest a while in your house and warm ourselves by your fire?

MOTHER: I am a poor widow. A cold fireplace and a bed of straw are all I have to offer you. To these you are welcome.

KASPAR: Oh, thank you!

MOTHER: Come in! Come in!

(The Mother makes way for the Kings to enter first. The Page enters first. Almost immediately King Kaspar proceeds at a stately march to one side of the fireplace. Balthazar enters and proceeds to a place beside him. Melchior is the last to take his place. Amahl watches the procession with growing wonder and excitement.)

MELCHIOR: It is nice here.

MOTHER: I shall go and gather wood for the fire. (The Mother goes to the door.)

MELCHIOR: We can only stay a little while. We must not lose sight of our star.

MOTHER: Your star?

MELCHIOR: We still have a long way to go.

MOTHER: I shall be right back.

AMAHL: (The moment his mother is gone, A-mahl goes to Balthazar.) Are you a real King?

BALTHAZAR: Yes.

AMAHL: Where is your home?

BALTHAZAR: I live in a black marble palace full of black panthers and white doves. And you, little boy, what do you do?

AMAHL: I was a shepherd; I had a flock of sheep. But my mother sold them. I had a black goat who gave me warm sweet milk. But she died of old age. But Mother says that now we shall both go begging from door to door. Won't it be fun?

BALTHAZAR: It has its points.

AMAHL: (Pointing at the jeweled box) And what is this?

KASPAR: This is my box. I never travel without it. In the first drawer, I keep my magic stones. One carnelian against all evil and envy. One moonstone to make you sleep. One red coral to heal your wounds. One lapis lazuli against quartern fever. One small jasper to help you find water. One small topaz to soothe your eyes. One red ruby to protect you from lightning. In the second drawer I keep my beads. Oh, how I love to play with all kinds of beads. In the third drawer, I keep licorice black, sweet licorice. Have some. (Amahl reaches for the candy  as his mother enters, bearing a few sticks.)
MOTHER: Amahl, I told you not to be a nuisance.

AMAHL: But it isn't my fault! They kept asking me questions.

MOTHER: I want you to go and call the other shepherds. Tell them about our visitors and ask them to bring whatever they have in the house, as we have nothing to offer them. Hurry on!

AMAHL: Yes, Mother. (Amahl hurries out as fast as his crutch will carry him.)

MOTHER: (The Mother crosses to the fireplace. Suddenly she sees the coffer of gold and the rich chalices of incense and myrrh.) Oh, these beautiful things, and all that gold!

MELCHIOR: These are the gifts to the Child.

MOTHER: The child? Which child?

MELCHIOR: We don't know. But the Star will guide us to Him.

MOTHER: But perhaps I know him.

MELCHIOR: Have you seen a child the color of wheat, the color of dawn? His eyes are mild, His hands are those of a King, as King He was born. Incense, myrrh and gold we bring to His side, and the Eastern Star is our guide.

MOTHER: Yes, I know a child the color of wheat, the color of dawn. His eyes are mild, his hands are those of a King, as King he was born. But no one will bring him incense or gold, though sick and poor and hungry and cold. He's my child, my son, my darling, my own.

MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Have you seen a Child the color of earth, the color of thorn? His eyes are sad, His hands are those of the poor, as poor He was born.

MOTHER: Yes, I know a child the color of earth, the color of thorn. His eyes are sad, his hands are those of the poor, as poor he was born. He's my child, my son, my darling, my own.

MELCHIOR: The Child we seek holds the seas and the winds on His palm.
KASPAR: The Child we seek has the moon and the stars at His feet.

BALTHAZAR: Before Him the eagle is gentle, the lion is meek.
KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR ¦ Choirs of angels hover over His roof and sing Him to sleep. He's fed by a Mother who is both Virgin and Queen. Incense, myrrh and gold we bring to His side, and the Eastern Star is our guide.

MOTHER: The child I know on his palm holds my heart. The child I know at his feet has my life. He's my child, my son, my darling, my own, and his name is Amahl!

MOTHER: (The call of the shepherds falls sharp and clear on the air.) The shepherds are coming!

SHEPHERDS: All the flocks are asleep. We are going with Amahl, bringing gifts to the Kings. (The shepherds stop in the door, struck dumb by the sight of the Kings. Amahl, however, slips in to take his place beside his mother.)

SHEPHERDS: Oh, look! Oh, look!

MOTHER: Come in, come in! What are you afraid of? Show what you brought them.

SHEPHERD: (The shepherd boldly marches forward and lays his gift before the Kings, then, bowing shyly, he retreats to his place.) Olives and quinces, apples and raisins, nutmeg and myrtle, medlars and chestnuts, this is all we shepherds can offer you.

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Thank you kindly.

SHEPHERD: Citrons and lemons, musk and pomegranates, goat cheese and walnuts, figs and cucumbers, this is all we shepherds can offer you.

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Thank you kindly.

SHEPHERDS: Take them, eat them, you are welcome.

BALTHAZAR: (Balthazar rises.) Thank you, good friends. But now we must bid you good night.
 
We have little time for sleep and a long journey ahead.

SHEPHERDS : (The shepherds pass before the Kings, bowing as they depart.) Good night, my good Kings, good night and farewell. The pale stars foretell that dawn is in sight. The night winds foretell the day will be bright. (Having closed the door, Amahl and his mother bid the Kings good night. While the Mother prepares herself a pallet of sheepskins on the floor, Amahl seizes his opportunity to speak to King Kaspar.)

AMAHL: Excuse me, sir. Amongst your magic stones is there ... is there one that could cure a crippled boy? (Kaspar does not answer. Amahl goes sadly to his pallet.) Never mind. Good night . . . (The Mother and Amahl have lain down. The Kings are still sitting on the rude bench. They settle themselves to sleep leaning against each other. The Page lies at their feet, beside the rich gifts.)

MOTHER: (The Mother cannot take her eyes from the treasure guarded by the Page.) All that gold! I wonder if rich people know what to do with their gold! Do they know that a house can be kept warm all day with burning logs? All that gold! Oh, what I could do for my child with that gold! Why should it all go to a child they don't even know? They are asleep. Do I dare? If I take some they will never miss it. They won't miss it. (Slowly she creeps across the floor.) For my child . . . for my child. (As the Mother touches the gold, the Page is aroused. He seizes her arm, crying out.)

PAGE: Thief! Thief!

MELCHIOR: What is it?

PAGE: I've seen her steal some of the gold. She's a thief! Don't let her go. She's stolen the gold!

KASPAR, MELCHIOB, BALTHAZAR: Shame!

PAGE: Give it back or I'll tear it from you!

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Give it back! Give it back!

AMAHL: (Amahl awakens. When he sees his mother in the hands of the Page, he helps himself up with his crutch and awkwardly hurls himself upon the Page.) Don't you dare! Don't you dare, ugly man, hurt my mother! I'll smash in your face! I'll knock out your teeth! (Rushing to King Kaspar) Oh, Mister King, don't let him hurt my mother! My mother is good. She cannot do anything wrong. I'm the one who lies, I'm the one who steals! (At a sign from Kaspar, the Page releases the Mother. Amahl staggers toward her, sobbing.)

MELCHIOR: Oh, woman, you may keep the gold. The Child we seek doesn't need our gold. On love, on love alone, He will build His Kingdom. His pierced hand will hold no scepter. His haloed head will wear no crown. His might will not be built on your toil. Swifter than lightning He will soon walk among us. He will bring us new life and receive our death, and the keys of His city belong to the poor. (Turning to the other Kings) Let us leave, my friends.

MOTHER: (Freeing herself from Amahl's embrace, the Mother rushes after the Kings.) Oh, no, wait. Take back your gold! For such a King I've waited all my life. And if I weren't so poor I would send a gift of my own to such a child.

AMAHL: But, Mother, let me send him my crutch. Who knows, he may need one and this I made myself, (The Mother moves to stop him as he starts to raise the crutch. Amahl lifts the crutch. He takes one step toward the Kings, then realizes he has moved without the help of his crutch.)

MOTHER: But you can't, you can't!

AMAHL: I walk, Mother. I walk, Mother!

BALTHAZAR, MELCHIOR, KASPAR: He walks!

MOTHER: He walks, he walks, he walks!

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: He Walks! It is a sign from the Holy Child. We must give praise to the newborn King. We must praise Him. This is a sign from God. (Having placed the crutch in the outstretched hands of the King Kaspar, Amahl moves uncertainly. With growing confidence, Amahl begins to jump and caper about the room.) AMAHL: Look, Mother, I can dance, I can jump, I can run! (Amahl stumbles.)
 
MOTHER: (She lifts Amahl from the floor.) Please, my darling, be careful now. You must take care not to hurt yourself.

MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Oh, good woman, you must not be afraid. For he is loved by the Son of God. Oh, blessed child, may I touch you? (One by one, the Kings pass before Amahl and lay their hands upon him. Then each with his gift to the Child begins to depart.)

AMAHL: Oh, Mother, let me go with the Kings! I want to take the crutch to the Child myself.

KASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR: Yes, good Woman, let him come with us! We'll take good care of him, we'll bring him back on a camel's back.

MOTHER: Do you really want to go?
AMAHL: Yes, Mother.

MOTHER: Yes, I think you should go, and bring thanks to the Child yourself. What can you do with your crutch?

AMAHL: YOU can tie it to my back.
 
MOTHER: So, my darling, goodbye! I shall miss you very much. Wash your ears!

AMAHL: Yes, I promise.

MOTHER: Don't tell lies!

AMAHL: NO, I promise.

MOTHER: I shall miss you very much.

AMAHL: I shall miss you very much.

MELCHIOR: Are you ready?

AMAHL: Yes, I'm ready.

MELCHIOR: Let's go then.

SHEPHERDS: Come, oh, come outside. All the stars have left the sky. Oh, sweet dawn, oh, dawn of peace. (Led by the Page, the Three Kings start their stately procession out of the cottage. Amahl rushes to his mother, bidding her goodbye, then hurries to catch up with the Kings. Amahl begins to play his pipes as he goes. Outside dawn is brightening the sky. The Mother stands alone in the doorway of the cottage, waving to Amahl. The curtain falls very slowly.)

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