SermonStudio

preaching the doctrine of incarnation as a story


Once upon a time, there was an old man. His name was Martin Donovan. He had been an old man for a long time. His wife, Flora, had died a few years ago, and he missed her greatly, but he had been an old man before that. He still remembered the moment he became an old man. It was just a month after his 46th birthday, the day the Marine captain came to the house to tell him and Flora that their son, Daniel, had been killed in Vietnam.

Danny was a college graduate, a young officer, filled with life and such great potential. Martin had himself served in World War II, had fought as an infantryman in Europe. He had been wounded twice. He had seen his friends killed. He understood the terrible cost of war. Even so, he was proud of his service to his country, but never so proud as when his boy, Danny, received his commission as a lieutenant.

And six months later, Danny was dead. Even now, after thirty years had passed, there were days when Martin felt he would never recover from the grief. He still felt the pang of bitter questions about why America ever got involved in any war in Vietnam. At the same time, after all these years there were also days when Martin never thought about Danny at all. That was okay, he told himself; as Flora had always said, the living have to go on living. But telling himself didn't always work. Often he would feel terribly guilty, as if he had been disloyal to his son's memory, by letting two days go by without grieving for him.

While Flora was alive, Martin seemed to be doing pretty well. But after she died, in November of '93, Martin found himself going again and again to the cemetery, standing there, looking at the graves of his wife and his son ten days in a row, after Flora's funeral. Then it became a pattern of several times a week. He still did it.

He never wept. At least, he never wept that anyone could see. Sometimes his friend, Roger Morrison, went with him. Other times Roger made it a point to walk his retriever on the path across the cemetery so that he would happen to bump into Martin there. Roger never saw his friend say anything, in all the time he stood before those two side-by-side graves -- neither to pray, nor to talk to his dead wife and son, as people often do in cemeteries, nor even to talk to himself. When he walked the dog, Roger would slow down a hundred yards away, to give Martin plenty of time to ponder or meditate or whatever was on his mind, before Roger's arrival interrupted him. As far as Roger could tell, all Martin did was stand at the foot of the two graves, staring at one headstone and then the other, with a haunted look in his eyes.

Juliana was one of those unpredictable young girls who constantly astonish you. At age thirteen, she was in the bloom of early adolescence, with eager intelligence and a bubbly energetic smile and depth of soul. Ever since she fell in love with Jesus at church camp two years ago, Juliana had become a sponge, hungry for knowledge and faith, soaking up understanding of what it means to be a disciple. There was so much right about her that it was easy to be angry at her, when she was wrong. It was sometimes easy to be angry at her, even when she was right. But Juliana was so irrepressibly cheerful it was hard to be angry at her for very long.

The Sunday before Thanksgiving, she overheard some of the ladies at church talking about Martin Donovan. "It's really a pity," they said. "I think he just sits at home most of the time. Well, he and Roger Morrison go to lunch every Tuesday. Roger says the grief and sadness in him is just so deep, but he never talks about it at all. I wish we could get Martin back to church. Of course, he wasn't all that active before, but I suppose he hasn't been here at all, since Flora's funeral."

That afternoon, Juliana told her mother what she had heard the church ladies saying about Martin Donovan, and then asked, "Why is he so sad?"

Her mother didn't answer right away. During the pause Juliana watched the shadows of emotions move across her mother's face. Then her mother said, "He has had a hard life. He misses his wife, who died a few years ago. You didn't have her for a Sunday school teacher, but you'll remember your brothers did."

Juliana nodded, all her attention focused on her mother's face. Her mother said, "And he misses his son, Danny, who died many years ago, in the Vietnam war."

Juliana read the twitch in the corner of her mother's mouth, and thought she knew what it meant. She asked, "Did you know his son?"

Juliana watched her mother smile as she nodded, "Yes. Danny was two years ahead of me in high school."

It felt a little awkward and embarrassing, but Juliana could sense an echo of deep mystery trembling in her veins. And so, greatly daring, she asked, "Were you in love with him?"

And this time her mother laughed, and said, "Oh, all of us girls were at least half in love with Danny Donovan, at one time or another. He was a handsome young man, he always had fun ideas, and he made us laugh. When he went off to college, we were all heartbroken. For a little while, anyway."

Juliana considered. She had already gleaned more information than she ever expected to get. Perhaps she should quit while she was ahead. But she decided to risk one more question, since her mother seemed to be in the right mood to answer. So Juliana asked, "Would you have married him?"

Her mother became so still. She didn't get mad, but she didn't answer, either. Juliana held her breath. Finally her mother said, "I don't know. A person never does know about things like that. Danny never asked me. If he had, I might have said, 'Yes.' As it turns out, I married someone else, and your two brothers are the result. And, as you know, that marriage didn't work out. It doesn't always work out. Then I married your father, and here we are."

Juliana thought about this story a lot, on the Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday before Thanksgiving. On Wednesday afternoon, she stopped at the grocery store on her way home from school. She bought a frozen pecan pie, took it home, and baked it. When it had cooled, Juliana walked the three blocks to Martin Donovan's house, rang the doorbell, and waited.

The old man came to the door. He looked at Juliana, and said, "What do you want?" With all her cheerfulness Juliana said, "Hi, Mr. Donovan. My name is Juliana Vernon, and I wanted to bring you a pie!"

Martin looked at her. He said, "I don't want to buy any pies today," and he started to close the door.

She said, "Please wait, Mr. Donovan. I'm not selling pies. This is for you, as a present for Thanksgiving. It's only a pie from the store, but I did bake it myself, just for you."

"Why?" he asked.

Juliana took a deep breath, and her words tumbled out in a rush as she said, "Because Jesus loves me, and I know he loves you, too, and so I baked a pie to bring to you, just because of the love of Jesus."

Martin took the pie. His voice was a little gruff, but he managed to thank her. He closed the door. He took the pie to the kitchen, and set it on the table.

Several times that evening he looked at the pie. He thought about it. He liked pecan pie, but he couldn't quite bring himself to cut into it. The pie sat on the kitchen table all night. On Thanksgiving morning, Martin put the pie in with the kitchen trash and carried the bag out to the garbage can.

He didn't know why he did that. Part of his soul was astonished that some young teenager would bring him a pie, for the love of Jesus or for any other reason. Part of his soul felt so angry that anyone would have pity on him. And part of his soul felt ashamed, for spurning her innocent gift. In the shaving mirror he told his reflection, "You've become a bitter old man."

Each year, starting sometime in November, American culture begins its annual flirtation with Christmas. It is an awkward dance. As a nation we are both confused and fascinated by Christmas. Some people say it is a religious holiday, and therefore insist that governmental organizations -- including elementary school music programs and city hall lawn displays -- must offer neither support nor endorsement for it. Others insist that Christmas is mostly an American wintertime holiday about Santa Claus and elves, about snow and family and children's toys, and maybe world peace; and so, since it isn't actually all that religious, then there ought to be a way to have a manger in front of city hall, and to have the children sing "Away In The Manger" for their winter choral concert -- just as part of the heritage of the event, without really saying anything terribly religious thereby.

Arguments along these lines about freedom of religion sometimes make the headlines, but perhaps the political debate is less important than the economic one, in terms of figuring out the meaning of Christmas. Altruistic retailers urge us to spend robustly at Christmas, in order to keep the national economy strong; while family members reckon with their own greediness and their desire to be a little more frugal this year than last, and their hope that if they can find and buy just the right present they will be able to bring joy to someone's heart. Meanwhile, each of us is secretly wondering whether this year that special someone might just possibly have found the way to give us The Gift that will truly bring joy to our own hearts.

Amidst all this personal and political and economic and cultural confusion, we encounter a wide variety of Christmas stories. It is an interesting feature of contemporary American life that by and large these are no longer stories we tell; they have mostly become movies that we watch. Only a few of these Christmas stories contain any moments at all that are recognizably Christian.

A number of films seem to want to tell yet another tale about Santa Claus. When this happens, the narrative has usually been shifted so thoroughly that it is difficult to discover any similarity to the original legend of Niklaus, fourth-century Bishop of Myra, who gave gifts to people in need, and did so with such anonymity that no one has ever been able to tell for sure whether it was indeed Niklaus or somebody else who brought the present that met that need. The original legends about Niklaus, rather than tales about the North Pole guy who brings you toys if you have been good all year long, these are what we should be telling to our children.


Exercise 10-1

Niklaus (280?-351), bishop of Myra, a small city on what is now the south coast of Turkey, may have been in attendance at the Council of Nicaea (325). Very little actual information is known about his life, but the legends about Saint Niklaus become the background for the generous giver who became known in different countries as Saint Nicholas and Santa Klaus / Santa Claus.

The most famous incident is one in which it came to Niklaus' attention that an impoverished family with three daughters was going to be forced to sell the girls into slavery. (To a brothel owner, actually. You can skip over that part if you don't wish to explain it to the youngest children, but it is part of the story that teens and adults should probably get to find out about.) On successive nights, it is said, Niklaus tossed a small sack of coins through the open window of this family's hut; this provided the dowry to allow each of the girls to marry, thus enabling them to live normal lives. The "it is said" part is important -- no one saw him do it -- thus even though people figured out that it was (probably) Niklaus, no one has ever known for sure exactly where these gifts came from.

Select one of the following, and do it as an oral exercise:


1.
Tell the story of Niklaus of Myra as a children's sermon, focusing on this idea -- we never really know for sure if a present comes from Santa Claus, because when Saint Niklaus gave gifts no one saw him do it; but whenever we give gifts and no one knows for sure where they came from, we follow the pattern that Saint Niklaus set for us.

2.
Tell the story of a mother telling her children the story of Niklaus of Myra, as she explains to them that "other families remember the story of Saint Niklaus in different ways, but in our family we remember his generosity this way." Include these ideas: Santa Claus does not bring gifts to us, because we are not poor -- we give gifts to each other, because we can express our love for each other this way. We follow the example of Santa Claus by giving anonymous gifts to help change the lives of people who have no other source of help.



Not all the stories that come to us during the weeks leading up to Christmas focus directly on Santa Claus. Others present us with characters with some peripheral relationship to Santa Claus -- elves and reindeer, for example -- or on characters created for the sake of telling Christmas stories that don't have anything to do with Jesus -- snowmen, scrooges, and grinches. (The slogan for these storytellers appears to be "Keep Christ out of Christmas.")

What does it mean that there should be such a variety of stories being told? A cynic might propose that it is all about money. The moviemakers believe they can turn a profit by cranking out yet another feel-good sentimental Christmas movie, and what do you know? It pays off for them, yet again.

Yet if it is indeed about money, let me suggest that it is not quite all about money. The reason moviemakers can turn a profit creating new Christmas tales is this: American culture has never lost its deep yearning to hear at Christmas a story, a story that will move people's hearts. What they get is usually only a shadow of what they long for, but the moviemaking marketers have indeed correctly discerned that there is a story that needs to be told at Christmas.

It falls to you, preacher, to find a way to tell stories at Christmas that touch that yearning, and thereby put people in touch with the Christmas story, with all its depth, complexity, and resolution.


Exercise 10-2

Consider the following scripture readings: Luke 1:5-25, 57-80; Galatians 4:4-5; Isaiah 9:2-7; Matthew 1:18-2:23; Luke 1:26-56, 2:1-20. Be sure (as always) to take the time to read the text out loud. Read it with a different voice each time. For example, read it as a nervous middle-schooler making an oral report in class, or as a bored department manager giving an orientation lecture to trainees that would rather not be there, or as an oily politician pretending to be sincere, or as a young soldier sharing an important family story with his comrades before a battle in which they will all probably die, or as a frail great-grandmother recounting ancient wisdom to her great-grandchildren. As always, notice how your tone of voice affects the meaning of the words.

Then choose one of the following:


1.
Read Luke 1:5-25, 57-80 two or three more times. Now tell the story of Zechariah, in your own words. You need to include some details about Elizabeth, but focus on Zechariah's feelings. How does he like his role in temple worship? What is his prayer life like? What does he feel when he encounters the angel? Tell us Zechariah's story, in a way that will let us see his faith and his frustration, and also see why he answered the way he did, both to Gabriel and also to those who objected that the baby should not be named John.

2.
Read Luke 1:5-25, 57-80 two or three more times. Now tell the story of Elizabeth, in your own words. You need to include some details about Zechariah, but focus on Elizabeth's feelings. How does she feel about being childless? What are her emotions when Zechariah comes home from temple duty unable to speak? Tell us Elizabeth's story in a way that will let us see her faith and her frustration, and also see how her heart responds when she begins to suspect that she might just possibly be pregnant, and also how she felt when the relatives were objecting to the name she gave the baby.

3.
Read Galatians 4:4-5 two or three more times. Notice the following ideas: the fullness of time, God sending his Son, the birth of the Son and God's purpose of redeeming those who stand condemned under the law. Now tell the story of the incarnation from the perspective of the triune God. Include God's perspective on several of the following: Abraham, Moses, the judges, David, Hosea, Jeremiah, Ezekiel. Focus on God's longing to redeem these lost sinners, leading to God sending the Son, born of woman, to redeem.

4.
Read Isaiah 9:2-7 two or three more times. Notice the following ideas: light for those whose way is shrouded in darkness, joy and freedom at the joyous conclusion of a bloody battle, the birth of a Son who personifies four names (Mighty God is one of those names; Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, and Wonderful Counselor are the other three names), the purpose for which this Son is born of establishing peace and righteousness forever, the passion of the Lord, qannah, to make this come true. Now tell the story of the incarnation of the Son who is born to us, and of what the passionate love of the mighty God would accomplish thereby for those whose life is again and again in conflict and darkness -- tell it from the perspective of Isaiah, who has been granted just a glimpse of this story by the Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor.

5.
Read Matthew 1:18--2:23 two or three more times. Now tell the story of Joseph, in your own words. You need to include some details about Mary, but focus on Joseph's role. Notice that a great deal of "the Christmas story as we know it" does not get told here. There are no shepherds, there is no choir of angels, no trip to Bethlehem, no inn, no manger. The main character is Joseph -- a righteous man who dreams dreams, discerns that these dreams are messages from God, and takes action in response. Consider how Joseph's understanding of his own identity may have been shaped as he grew up by listening to the story of the patriarch Joseph, also an interpreter of dreams. Notice that you can tell the Christmas story focused in on just one character; that's what Matthew has done.

6.
Read Luke 1:26-56, 2:1-20 two or three more times. Now tell the story of Mary, in your own words. You need to include some details about Joseph, but focus on Mary's role. Notice that a great deal of "the Christmas story as we know it" does not get told here. There are no wise men, there is no hubbub in Jerusalem nor a jealous King Herod, there is no anxiety on the part of Joseph about his already-pregnant fiancée. The main character is Mary, a devout teenage servant of the Lord who sings hymns that magnify the Lord, ponders events in the quietness of her heart, and accepts a calling to bear what most of us would consider to be an intolerable burden. Tell the story of Mary. Notice, again, that you can tell the Christmas story focused in on just one character; that's what Luke has done.



On Wednesday afternoon, the week after Thanksgiving, Martin Donovan heard his doorbell ring again. When he opened it, there stood that same girl, saying, "Hi, Mr. Donovan! It's me, Juliana Vernon again. This time I brought you an apple pie." There was so much enthusiasm in her smile as she held it out to him that he just had to take it. She said, "I hope you like it, but I've got a big test to study for, so I have to run." And she scurried down the sidewalk and around the corner.

Martin stood there in the doorway, astonished. His arm trembled. He closed the door, leaned against the inside of the door, and looked at the top of the pie. Juliana had carved a picture in the top crust, for the steam vents -- a few stark lines to form a stable, a curved line suggesting a hillside in the background, and a bright star shining in the night sky overhead.

In a sudden rage, he hurled the pie down the hall, where it crashed against the kitchen doorpost. He was immediately ashamed. He stared at the mess. Why had he done that? He got a bucket and brush and mop, and cleaned up the ruined pie from the wall and floor. And listened to his conscience mocking him: "Bitter old man. Bitter old man. Bitter old man."

In order for Good Friday and Easter to have their full impact on our lives, the doctrine of the cross and resurrection needs to become interwoven into our understanding of who we are. An understanding of the doctrine of the incarnation functions the same way with regard to Christmas. The gospel of John therefore begins by offering a theological explanation for why Jesus came to this world. The great prologue tells of the Word of God, present with God, indeed being God, taking on genuine human flesh; he is the true light who comes to give light to all the world (John 1:1-18). He comes to give light and life and grace and truth to each one of us. That's what the opening verses of John's gospel tell us.

It also tells us, despite the astonishing quality of these gifts, it is not automatic that they will be received.

This insight will not come as completely new information for most of us. As it turns out, many people in this world have intuitively gleaned an awareness of these two points that the gospel teaches: 1) there are great gifts, and yet 2) the gifts might not get received.

There's more to it than just this intuitive awareness, though. In order to be complete, the insight needs to make a theological connection -- the theological connection that recognizes that it is not simply that there are great gifts, but that these gifts come from a giver; namely, these gifts are presented by God Almighty, offered in deep compassion and in earnest longing for the redemption of all people. It also needs to make an existential connection -- the existential connection that recognizes it is not simply that some random gifts out there might not get received, but these gifts which have been offered to me -- by God -- might not get received because I might fail to recognize or accept them.

This intuitive awareness -- that there are great gifts, and that they might not get received -- quite often has not yet been explored theologically or existentially. Indeed, it may not yet have been fully articulated. I am sure, preacher, that you have experienced this on many occasions -- sometimes intuitive appreciations remain in a holding pattern at the pre-articulate level for quite some time. That is, you really do have these insights, even though you have never put into words. When the day comes that you do express it for yourself for the very first time, you feel the sense of newness as you put this into your own words, and you also feel the reality that you are saying something that you have known within your soul for a long time.

It falls to preachers, each year when the month of December rolls around, to proclaim the gospel of the birth of the Savior to the various people who show up in the sanctuary. It is a mixed crowd, isn't it? Among them there will be some individuals who do not attend worship too often. They are officially members of the church, but generally they show up only on Easter Sunday and perhaps on one or two of the Sundays leading up to Christmas day. Some others will be present, because of ongoing family affiliation; for many years they have not lived in town -- and for many years they have not lived as part of a community of faith -- but sometimes they come back to visit their grandmothers; and when they do, the whole family comes to church on Christmas Sunday or Christmas Eve. At the same time there are those who worship faithfully several dozen Sundays a year. They are dedicated members, they are hard workers, and they find themselves needing to hear again that the coming of Jesus is good news, and not simply more work they have to do so that other people can have a good time at Christmas.

As I have suggested earlier, it is no easy task to offer a teaching sermon to the typical American congregation on an ordinary Sunday because


* as a society we have taught ourselves to have a very limited attention span for information presented in lecture form; and because

* most Christians have such low expectations for themselves regarding their own ongoing learning of scripture's content and doctrine, and so year by year they do not know their Bibles any better; and because

* the preacher therefore does not have very many "Bible building blocks" that can be used to form a quick sketch of the shared biblical heritage of the congregation; and because

* even within a congregation where the range of Bible students could be classed as absolute beginners, beginners, and advanced beginners -- no midrange or advanced students to worry about -- that still spans a wide enough spectrum of knowledge and understanding that most any moment in the teaching will be boring to some people and over the heads of others.


If this is true on an average Sunday morning, the problem is not less with the significantly more-diverse congregation on the Sunday before Christmas, or on Christmas Eve itself. Yet this is the moment to teach the doctrine of the incarnation. These people who long to hear the story of Christmas deserve to experience this: The Word of God, who took on our human existence and came to live among us long ago, still comes to encounter us in our human existence today, and will live among us and within us. A great gift, which might not get received.

Yet if they have somehow not quite connected with this gift previously, it still remains possible for them to receive it now.

Martin Donovan sat in his living room, the Wednesday after he had thrown the pie down the hall. He wondered if his doorbell would ring once again with that girl who had brought him those two pies -- "for the love of Jesus." But the doorbell did not ring. Nor did it ring the next day. Martin told himself that he was glad the girl had given up. He did his best not to notice that he also felt -- a little disappointed.

And then Juliana showed up late Friday afternoon, with a pumpkin pie.

"Why do you keep bringing me these damn pies?" he said, harshly, hating himself for his harshness.

His voice was intimidating, but Juliana refused to let herself be scared away. "There are two reasons, Mr. Donovan. The first I told you before: Because the love of Jesus just makes me want to do stuff like this. And the second is, because if things had been different, you might have been my grandfather."

Martin stood riveted in silence, his eyes glaring. Juliana pretended not to notice, as she said, "Of course I know how it works. If your son had married my mother, none of the children they might have had would ever have been me. I would never have been born. Or my brothers either. And yet it could have happened that way. So I'm kind of like the granddaughter you could have had."

It took Martin three tries before he could make words come out. Even so, his voice sounded like a croak as he asked, "Who is your mother?"

"Cassie Vernon."

Martin closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he asked, "Back in high school her name was Cassie MacNamara, wasn't it?"

Juliana nodded. They stood there, looking at each other in silence. Then she said, "Umm, Mr. Donovan, there is a third reason; I want to invite you to come sit with me and my family at church on Christmas Eve. Please."

He said, "Oh, child, you don't understand. You can't invite me to church." And then, hating himself, Martin went on, "You don't even know I threw away the two pies you brought me before."

Juliana lifted up her pumpkin pie, and said, "Maybe you'll like this one better." And she handed it over with such earnestness that he just had to take it -- then she turned and fled for home.

The doctrine of the incarnation teaches us of this astonishing way that grace is offered to us, along with the recognition that we need to find the way to receive this grace. People need to understand this doctrine; yet you will not need to provide all that much doctrinal information in order for them to get it. (Naturally enough, there will be some individuals who want to explore the meaning of the incarnation in much more depth, but that's what Sunday school classes and topical studies are for.)

In this chapter I have provided just a few short paragraphs of theological and existential reflection (the recognition that the gifts of grace come from God, and need to be recognized and received by each individual). Yet didn't you already get just about everything you needed about that, just from the story of Juliana and Martin Donovan? For most of us gathered on Christmas Eve, we may just need to hear a few words to help us know that the light of the world can bring light to our lives once more; someone who can tell us, as Juliana put it, "Jesus loves me, and I know he loves you too, and so I baked a pie to bring to you, just because of the love of Jesus."

Late in the afternoon, the last day of school before Christmas, Juliana showed up at Martin's door with a peach pie. She handed it to him. They looked at each other. Neither spoke. Then she asked, "Will you come to Christmas Eve service, Mr. Donovan, and sit with me and my family?"

He summoned up all his courage, and said, "Juliana, I don't know."

The fourth pew seemed to have become the Vernon family pew; it was where Juliana's family always sat. On Christmas Eve, her older brother and his wife and their new baby, Lisa, sat on the aisle, so they could escape to the nursery if the baby started to cry. Next to them sat her brother, Richard, home from college. Then Juliana's father, holding hands with her mother, the two of them glancing at each other from time to time as if sharing some wonderful secret only they knew. Juliana sat beside her mother. On the outside end of the pew sat Roger Morrison and his wife. And in between Roger and Juliana, Martin Donovan was there. He did not sing any of the hymns. He did not seem to be able to say anything at all. He was simply there, part of the family, sharing in the grace of Christmas Eve.


Exercise 10-3

Create your own Christmas story, a parable of the incarnation.

First, select a text from Exercise 10-2, or another of your choosing. What is the moment in this portion of the story of the incarnation that particularly speaks to you? Why is that?

Second, decide on a central character -- perhaps one of the following or one of your own creation.


1. Eddie, a 51-year-old house painter, who had been married for 23 years when his wife divorced him. He always thought he was okay as a husband and father. He knew he was not the most romantic or the most perceptive fellow ever to come along, but he thought of himself as a regular guy who worked hard to be a good provider. One day his wife said "something was missing." She said "the magic was gone," whatever that meant. He still works hard; he'll paint your house outside or in, and month-by-month he sends alimony checks to his ex-wife. In the meantime, she seems to have convinced his son and daughter that the divorce was his choice and his fault. He figures there's always enough blame to go around, and there's no point in making bad matters worse by trying to convince the kids it was really all her fault.

2. Tom or Marilyn, a couple in their sixties. (Choose Tom or Marilyn -- not both.) They are hosting the Christmas day festivities for their three children and their families. They have covered the living room and the den with stacks and stacks of Christmas presents. But, is it enough? Have they bought enough that everyone will be happy? They each have memories of being very happy on Christmas morning. They each have memories of being disappointed. On balance, they have more memories of being disappointed. They have been disappointed by each other quite a few times and they carry a certain weight of guilt for that, although they would be reluctant to admit to that. Perhaps part of the question in their minds is, "If we have enough presents, if we make everyone happy this year, will that make up for some of those years when I didn't do a good enough job at making him or her happy?"

3. Cheryl, a 37-year-old single mother of two teenage boys. (Fill in these necessary details: Is Cheryl divorced, widowed, never-married? Where does she work? Does she like her job? What are the boys' names and ages?) As Christmas draws near, Cheryl feels pressured by her own weariness, and by her desire to make Christmas "happy" for her sons, and by her recognition that she doesn't really have the money to spend a lot on Christmas, and by the awareness that she needs to buy them clothes and school supplies instead of game equipment.


Third, consider what your character will do, and why. Will Tom decide to drive to the mall, to do just a little more last-minute shopping? Will Cheryl try to find an additional part-time job, so that she has a little more money to spend on her boys? What conflicts will your character encounter -- conflicts with other people, with exterior circumstances, or within their own souls?

Fourth, discover just how it is, in the course of your character's story, that they encounter the kind of grace suggested in your Bible passage.

Fifth, tell that story.