I thought I would start with a story that Kirk and Joni have heard before and which has been developed into the ongoing fictional saga of Chris and Christa mouse. But before it became an entertaining flight of fancy, it was a true story, a story of how one woman found strength to endure during a time of great personal despair.

It happened that this woman -- She has given me permission to tell this story, but I will call her Sara -- had a fall in her room in a retirement community where she had been taking care of herself and she had to move to the nursing care wing where nurses and nurse aids could help her. It was not known whether she would recover sufficiently to return to her room where she had some independence, though we know now that she did. But during this time she was in psychological despair. In addition to the normal deprivations of the nursing wing -having to share a room, having to be helped with dressing and walking, there was also construction going on close to Sara's room, leading to a great many interruptions, noises and, as we shall see, the occasional presence of wildlife.

One evening Sara was feeling particularly badly. She had a roommate who was confused and combative and who had to be helped with the most personal aspects of her care, and on this evening her roommate was particularly loud and unpleasant. Sara felt like she could feel no lower and started to wish that she was dead.

But then out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small movement. It was a mouse. The mouse was traveling in short scurry's as mice do across the floor first at the base of her bed and then along side the bed and then just under the curtain that separated Sara from the aids that were helping her roommate. The mouse took its time. Sara watched that mouse. She imagined what the aids would do if they knew there was a mouse just inches from their feet. She watched it explore the floor, possibly for a place to stay after being displaced by the construction or maybe searching for a crumb from Sara's breakfast. Sara watched that mouse, and for a few brief moments she forgot about her despair. And when the mouse slipped away under a piece of furniture Sara remembered how things were, but she didn't feel as bad, because for a few pleasant moments she had been taken away from the unpleasantness and had been given respite.

When Sara first confided this story to me she didn't know me very well, and was very hesitant to confess that this mouse had been very special to her. Sara revealed that she believed God had sent that mouse to take her mind off of how badly she was feeling. I agree. In this very small way, God sent Sara a mouse to comfort her in the midst of her despair just as in a cosmic way, God sent us Jesus to rescue us from life's meaninglessness and futility.

God sends us small things, things that may not seem like much, but they are things that resoundingly proclaim the reality of God's love and the hope that we can hold in our hearts and carry with us through our most difficult and demanding tasks.

It is this kind of small thing we celebrate at Christmas. At other times of the year we celebrate other aspects of Jesus ministry, death and resurrection. But at Christmastime we celebrate the arrival of a baby. A small thing that changed the world: Baby Jesus birth cry rang out, the angels sang, the shepherds were awed and the wise came many miles to be there.

In the midst of the despair of the cosmos there is hope. And in the midst of the despair and tragedy in our world, in our nation, in our congregation and in our personal lives there is also hope. It is, as we Christians know, Jesus birth that is the paradigm of hope in the midst of despair.

Jesus was born a Jew in Palestine during the time when it was a territory occupied by Roman forces and ruled by a puppet governor in the name of Rome. While some of the captive population prospered by colluding with the Romans, most of the occupants of the land were poor. They suffered tremendously from Roman methods of control, methods that included the regular use of the cross to execute both criminals and rebels, and even included Roman sanction for something as immoral and barbaric as slaughtering all the male baby's in Bethlehem of a given age.

The hopes of the people were on the coming of the Messiah, though many misunderstood the promises of the Torah, expecting a political, nationalistic messiah who would produce a temporal ethnically defined kingdom in which the Hebrew people would again have a free and independent nation.

But what God sent was a surprise. God sent a baby. A baby who would not bring successful military conquests, but the promise of everlasting peace for all of humankind. Hope in the midst of despair. God in the form of an infant. It is a simple small sign of hope. The birth cry of a baby, but the angels sang, the shepherds were awed and the wise came many miles to be there.

We have despair in our world. Each morning I read the Philadelphia Inquirer and read of this despair. When worship committee decided that this Sundays sermon should be shorter, I told them I would have to cut out many of these examples. No one objected. But you know what they are -- Bosnia, Somolia, Iraq, the many refugees, the terrible consequences of racial, ethnic and nationalistic violence. The gross inequity in the use of the worlds resources between the developed and undeveloped worlds.

And yet there are signs of hope. Small signs of hope. Many of us have visited the Crafts of the World shops west or north of the city founded by our relief agency MCC, Mennonite Central Committee. There is a story behind each of the crafts that are transiently available here. Under the temporary sponsorship of MCC, groups of skilled craftspeople develop a product. MCC buys it until they find their own network of buyers in the regular business world. Every time a product disappears from the shelves of Crafts of the World, it means another town has integrated itself into the bustling domain of world business. It is another small sign of hope.

There is despair in our world. But sometimes we hear the lingering hopeful sound of that baby's cry. The Baby Jesus cried and the angels sang, the shepherds were awed and the wise came many miles to be there.

There is also despair in our nation. The nightly news is full of despair: A house burns, a car crashes, a child is killed by a gun born by another child, another mother deserts her newborn after giving birth to return to the dance floor. There are bombings, floods, hurricanes, and earthquakes. It is scary to live in our world today. We are afraid of crime and violence in our streets. Some of us who are here this morning have been touched by this.

I was pleased to see in the paper some years ago that others agree about the high value of the practice of our faith. William Raspberry reports that "... Dennis Praeger, a Jewish talk show host, has proposed a test for those who insist that religion serves no useful public purpose." This is the test: "Imagine that you round a corner one dark night and come face to face with four or five strapping young men. Can you honestly say you wouldn't feel safer if you knew they had just left Bible study?" What a hopeful image -- dangerous young men who are not dangerous, but rather dedicated scholars of peace.

There is despair in our nation. But sometimes we hear the lingering hopeful sound of that baby's cry. Baby Jesus birth cry rang out, the angels sang, the shepherds were awed and the wise came many miles to be there.

There is despair in our congregational life here too. This year some of us were devastated by Franconia Conferences rejection of us and of the gay and lesbian brothers and sisters among us. More recently Eastern District has made moves to remove Richards credentials. Some of us have been despairing of ever getting our building in order. I am sure that there have been moments of hopelessness for the stewardship committee as money has gone out faster then it has come in.

But there are clear signs of hope, and they are here with us this morning. You are the signs of hope in the midst of our transient despair. Ramona for being willing to be counsel chair despite having the demanding task of being a new mother. Ken and Jay for faithfully having children's time once a month. Rita and Shari for keeping an eye on our building. Jim and Fern for being here in spirit while they stay away for a time to allow us to get used to their absence from leadership. All of you. As we have done before this year, look at the people around you. You are looking upon the Body of Christ. You are a sign of hope in a world of despair.

Jesus birth cry rang out to the ends of the earth and we still proclaim his glory, we are still awed, we are still drawn over miles and miles. That cry is heard today. It is a cry of hope, a declaration of God's eternal caring and love for you and I. God loved us so much that he came to a world of hopelessness and submitted to an earthly life surrounded by suffering, and ending in travail, but then he rose up, sealed our hope, and healed our despair. In Jesus life death and resurrection we have been given the paradigm, the prime example of hope on which all other hope rests.

There is another kind of despair that I want to mention this morning, and that is the personal despair many of us have felt at one time or another in our lives.

I would like to tell you about a time when a small sign of hope came to me. This is an old story that some of you have heard. In September of 1993 what we now know was multiple sclerosis presented as numbness and weakness throughout the left side of my body, symptoms that could have meant many things, most of them terminal. During the uncertain period before I got my diagnosis and learned that these symptoms could be managed, I did many things that would prepare for my death, and experienced the kind of profound despair that some of you know and others can only imagine. But after a week or so I started responding to a course of steroids and it was apparent that I was not going to die immediately. I started to re-engage my life while continuing the process of life review that such occasions engender.

I decided one morning that I was well enough to venture out to do one of my favorite things: shop for groceries. It was one of the things that I was afraid that I would never do again. I was overjoyed that I could do this simple task of living one more time.

It was a profound morning. When I saw the fresh produce, I was moved. I was ecstatic at the selection of fish and meat. I was astounded at the number of cereals available. But nothing moved me more then when I reached the frozen foods section. There I noticed the frozen lima beans. Memories flooded back. When I was a child, my mother and my grandmother often served lima beans. I've rarely had them since, but there they were. These lima beans served as a catalyst, a re-connection to my family, to my values, to my faith and to the God in whom that faith rests. I could buy these lima beans and serve them for my own supper. As these images cascaded through my mind, I battled tears of joy and gratitude in the Acme aisle. For me, that morning, God put the lima beans there to give me hope, and to connect me to those things that have meaning and purpose in my life, just like God sent the mouse to Sara, just like God gave a baby to humankind.

Sometimes in the midst of the despair some small thing happens and you know that there is a reason, that there is purpose and there is meaning. And then there are no words but only gratitude, joy and wonder. It was that moment in the universe that the Christ Child was born, and we are still singing, we are still awed and we still will go many miles to be there.

Let is pray like the shepherds in silent awed thanksgiving as the choir comes forward to sing.

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