A Christmas Crime
Experiencing Grace at Christmas
A confession.
Last week I committed a Christmas crime.
It was a busy day and I was rushing from meeting to appointment, phone call to meeting. By mid afternoon I was getting hungry and pulled into the local petrol station, fully intending to buy a sandwich. This, however, changed the moment I walked through the doors and the smell of a cornish pasty wafted from the hot food counter. My head said, “grab a healthy sandwich.” My heart said “you’re joking.” My heart won. With calorie laden pasty in my hand - and soon to be in me - I headed off to my next appointment.
Hours later my mad-dash-Tuesday ended, as I pulled onto my driveway at home, sitting for a second to catch my breath. ‘What a day that was. Good job I fuelled myself with...’ and only at that moment did something dawn on me. Although I had paid for that very delicious cornish pasty, I had forgotten to pay for the diesel I’d pumped into my car. Yes I - the local ‘man of God’ - had stolen a tank of fuel from the petrol station around the corner from my church. Genius.
My mind went into a kind of slow motion panic as I envisaged the headlines in the local paper:
Pastor Robs Petrol Station in Christmas Rush!
Getaway in a Manger!
Ding Dong Merrily on Heist!
I reversed off my driveway like the Dukes of Hazzard and sped back to the Shell Station, convinced that by now there must surely be a nationwide manhunt underway. I scurried back through the same doors where hours earlier I had fled the scene, and began my explanation.
“Hi, yes, umm, err, I’m terribly sorry,” I began, “but a few hours ago I was in here buying a pasty and, ummm…”
“It’s you!” exclaimed the assistant.
“Yes”, I mumbled, looking at the floor. “I sort of accidentally forgot to pay for the… the pasty was delicious by the way.”
The manager came out, the staff chuckled, a customer made a joke, I was relieved. The manager couldn’t have been nicer and was very appreciative that I had actually come back. He punched the keys of his till like some mad accountant processing the national budget, and finally announced that I could now pay for my fuel, which I humbly and apologetically did.
No damage was done. We shook hands and I headed home, relieved that I wouldn’t have to preach my Christmas Day message from prison after all. I reflected on the little dastardly drama that had unfolded. It was nice that the manager let me pay what I owed. It was a kind of grace I suppose. But - and I hope you take this in the right way - it wasn’t very Christmassy. Nice, yes, but not at all like Christmas. After all, he had let me pay what I owed. He had let me put things right. I had repaired the damage. And that is kind and good and proper, but it doesn’t come close to the great news of the Christmas narrative.
For my story to get even close to the Christmas story, the owner of the petrol station would have been clear about the debt I owed - no fudging the bill. But he then would have cancelled it at his own expense, absorbing both the crime and the cost. You might think that’s ridiculous and nobody would ever do that, but it’s exactly what God did.
Over all the years you’ve sung carols and attended church services, have you really paid attention to what Christmas is about? Have you let the transformative wonder of the good news in? Christmas is about the birth of a Saviour. One who comes to put right what we got wrong. God incarnate, rescuing and redeeming those who cannot rescue and redeem themselves.
Jesus became one of us, he dwelled among us. He taught us the ways of his kingdom. He showed us what God is actually like. Then, of his own volition, he laid down his life. He suffered and died on a cross, bearing our griefs and our sorrows. He absorbed into himself our guilt and shame. He carried the darkness of our sin, shouldered the burden, took the sting of death, bore the cost himself. And he gave us the grace-filled gift of forgiveness.
I pray that this Christmas, the overwhelming beauty of Christ and his coming captures your heart in a fresh way. It was Edward Caswell who wrote these fine lines of See Amid the Winter’s Snow:
Lo within a manger lies he who built the starry skies. (That line alone is worth pondering with your morning coffee).
And then this:
Sacred infant O divine, what a tender love was thine, thus to come from highest bliss down to such a world as this.
The tender love that took Jesus from Heaven’s glory to Bethlehem, was the tender love he holds in his heart for you and me. A world ‘such as this’ needs that tender love so desperately. We need it so desperately. As you navigate the festivities this year, will you let that tender love into your soul in a fresh way? I pray we each do. Only that kind of love can move our world away from the narcissistic violence and greed we see displayed so often around us, to the radical forgiveness and grace we see displayed on the cross.
You will be pleased to know I am quitting my life of crime. I am, from this day on, a new man who will no longer threaten the global giant, Shell.
Warmest Season’s Greetings,
Steve x
I’ve really enjoyed journeying through advent with the poetry of George Herbert via this book - Wounded I sing.
Wounded I Sing - from advent to Christmas with George Herbert. Richard Harries
A bit belated, but still very funny and well-told!
Be assured if a prison loomed , I would have brought you a REAL Cornish pasty , one that peeps over both edges of the plate 😉