His mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year.

There are stories that come to us in scripture and we hear and read them a hundred times over and never give them another thought, and then, one day, we hear or read them and they explode in our souls and we find things in them that we never found before.

A few months ago I was preparing for a sermon on the birth of Samuel and his dedication to God’s service and I read a little further in the story, beyond where the lesson ended - a good idea for each of you to follow by the way, when you read scripture read a little before and a little after, it gives you a context to the passage that can help you sort out what God is saying – but I read further and I came across this verse which described what happened to Samuel after his birth, while he was living with Eli the High Priest and before he heard the voice of God calling to him in the night.

His mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year.

And I thought, “what a lovely story, and how lucky we are that Hannah told someone about it.”

For I am sure that she did. Hannah must have told someone who recorded it, it is the kind of story that mothers tell, the kind of story that mothers remember, the kind of story that is so vulnerably intimate that only a mothers memory and love could have handled it without crushing it, or without editing it out of the story.

It is so much like the story of Jesus as a 12 year old, being left behind when the family headed back home to Nazareth and in Luke’s words His mother treasured all these things in her heart.

This is just a side-trip, no extra charge, but I have always believed that Luke either knew Mary personally or knew someone who knew her well, because his gospel is full of these details, obviously the whole manger thing, but throughout there are insights into what God was like as a human, as a child.

Mary’s heart runs through Luke’s gospel and we are the richer for it.

The song the choir sang last Sunday night – Mary, Did You Know? – could have been written by Luke himself with the intertwining of the holy and the human:

Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you knew?

That the child that you delivered will soon deliver you?

And I mention all of this today, because in all of the wonder and power of this Christmas season, in the midst of all of the hopes and dreams and sorrows and defeats that seem all the greater or more painful, the essential Biblical stories, the templates of how God acts to bring change and healing to the world aren’t about big crowds and spectacular events, they are found in the intimate relationships of individuals.

Mothers who treasure things in their hearts, mothers who make new little coats each year.

Each year at Christmas we need to remember that these people of the Bible were people.

They loved.

They laughed.

They cried.

They ate together.

They argued.

They forgave.

They confessed and accepted forgiveness.

They shared wisdom and affection and food and clothes and cash.

They were people who said and did remarkably holy and sensitive and sacred things to each other.

They were people who said and did remarkably stupid and hurtful and cruel things to each other.

They were people like us, people who have traveled together with family members and old friends, people who are being joined by new travelers and old ones from whom we had wandered.

I looked around a lot last Sunday night.

I looked at the faces and I thought of the stories and I hurt for those who I knew were hurting.

But I also looked around and I was filled with joy for those whose joy was obvious, I heard of a birth, I smiled at the children – so many of whom are the children of children who used to be here. I watched Dave Fergesen torn between trying to pay attention to the music and his singing while his heart kept his eyes focused on his grandson Luke.

I thought of Mary and of Hannah, of the treasures of the heart and the gift of a little coat each year.

Now, as I think I mention each May, I’m not a mother, but I had one and I’m married to one and I know without those two and their memories, without their stories that have been handed down, I would not have the appreciation for God’s sacred presence in the remarkably common events of my life.

My daughter-in-law Stacey is in the process of doing an extensive family tree and she was full of questions the other day as she took detailed notes and Debi pulled out some old pictures and she was better than I at identifying assorted relatives in black and white photos. She knew because my mother had told her.

And I realized, again, that God never stops using each of us to shape the future into which he is leading us. The family stories – and shortbread recipes – that my grandmothers told to my mother and my mother told to Debi and she has told to Emily and Stacey will enrich their lives, for they are the stories of how we came to be who we are, the stories of people touching people, and loving people, the stories of little coats made each year, little gifts given, the Christmas stories that we need to hear and tell and treasure and ponder.

I hope that each of you has had the time and opportunity that I have had this past week, to look around in wonder and joy, to look back with awe and to look ahead with confidence.

I hope that in this time together, and in these waning hours of 2006, as we unite ourselves through the sacramental mystery with Christ and with each other and with Christians around the world and with God’s people who surround him in heaven through bread and wine and prayer and song, I hope that you will join me in giving thanks for all those who have tenderly treasured the memories and the love that God has given and that you will join me in recommitting ourselves to passing the memories and love along so that those who follow us will be able to build upon what we have done and do so much more with and for God.

And in the traditions of your family, whatever they are, from singing about partridges in pear trees to making a little coat each year, you can celebrate the ways in which God has revealed himself, not only to you but to, and through, those whom you love.

His mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year.