All I want for Christmas is… JOY
Second Sunday of Advent, December 9, 2007
Rev. David Tinney
Text: Isaiah 9:2-7
Theme:  In these dark times we can recover our joy, in fact have it multiplied, when we turn our 
attention from receiving to giving. 

    There is this cute Charlie Brown comic strip where Lucy asks, "Why do you think we're put on 
earth, Charlie Brown?" Charlie replies, "To make others happy." Lucy says, "I don't think I'm making 
anyone very happy .... Of course, nobody's making me very happy either." Then in the final panel, Lucy 
screams at the top of her lungs ... "SOME BODY IS NOT DOING HIS JOB!”
    What brings you joy?  Where does your joy come from?  Are you like Lucy waiting for someone up 
there to do his or her job and bring you more joy?
    This is a season of great joy – that is if you believe the songs we sing and read the Christmas cards 
we send.  “Joy to the world the Lord is come,” “Good Christian friends rejoice,” “Rejoice, rejoice, 
Emmanuel,” “O Come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,” and “Joyful all ye nations rise, join the 
triumph of the skies” don’t you just want to stand in the middle of Belle Square and proclaim your joy 
for all to hear?  But you know and I know that in the middle of what is supposed to be the season of 
joy there is a great deal of stress, anxiety, and even despair.  There are those who dread this season 
because they know that it will bring back painful memories of loved ones who are gone, or strained 
conversations and visits by family members who are at war with each other, or that it when the tree is 
taken down and the stockings stored away the bills will come.
    I heard a cute but sad story about a woman doing her last-minute Christmas shopping at a 
crowded mall. She was tired of fighting the crowds. She was tired of standing in lines. She was tired of 
fighting her way down long aisles looking for a gift that had sold out days before. Her arms were full of 
bulky packages when an elevator door opened. It was full. The occupants of the elevator grudgingly 
tightened ranks to allow a small space for her and her load.
    As the doors closed, she blurted out, "Whoever is responsible for this whole Christmas thing 
ought to be arrested, strung up, and shot!"  A few others nodded their heads or grunted in 
agreement. Then, from somewhere in the back of the elevator, came a single voice that said: “Don't 
worry. They already crucified him.”
    In this season where we are told to rejoice, rejoice, where are you finding your joy?  
    I chose the text for today because it is one of my favorite Advent texts and because it is a text 
about hope and joy in the middle of darkness.  Isaiah, one of the great prophets of the Southern 
Kingdom of Judah, delivers a message of hope to a dispirited nation.  Assyrian troops have already 
sacked and destroyed Israel to the north and have invaded portions of his country and they are in the 
middle of dark times.  They indeed are a people walking in darkness, living in a land of deeper 
darkness, and to them a great light will shine.  This light will come in the form of a baby who will bring 
justice, righteousness, and peace.  
    Some say the baby was Hezekiah, one of the obedient kings of Judah.  But that was not who 
Isaiah was talking about.  He was foretelling the coming of Christ – the true child who would fulfill all 
the descriptions of Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace.  He was 
the one who would multiply the joy of a nation struggling in darkness.  He is the one today that can do 
the same for each of us.  
    Where is the joy in your life being multiplied?  Where do you turn to move out of the darkness?  
What great light is shining for you?
    Psychologists worry that Christmas is a time when we try to correct the mistakes of the past year, 
or make up for the times we were not there for our children by buying more, or we get seduced into 
the belief that we “deserve” more things because we worked so hard all year.  In other words we 
indulge in shopping therapy and it feels good for a while.  But then reality hits.  The kids don’t 
appreciate the gifts and want more.  We feel guilty about all the things we bought and didn’t really 
need.  And we end up working longer and harder next year because the debts.  It is a downward spiral 
and the first fatality is JOY.  
    I was talking with someone this past week about Christmas and he started telling me about the 
frustration he feels every year.  As I listened I remembered a time when I felt just like him and how I 
just wanted to unplug the Christmas machine and find the joy that I missed so much.  Then I told him a 
story about one action that has forever changed Christmas for me and my family and allowed me to 
rejoice again in the season.  It is a story that I told most of you a few years ago, but there are so many 
new people since then and it is such an important story that it bears repeating every few years.  
    In my final year of preaching in East Wenatchee I was frustrated by what I had allowed Christmas 
to become in my life.  I was preaching one thing and doing another.  I was as deeply embedded in the 
theology of consumption as everyone else around me.  That year I read a true story about a man 
named Mike who disliked Christmas because of many of the reasons that I have already expressed.  
His wife understood this and decided to do something different one year and so she bypassed the 
usual shirts, ties, and underwear and bought him a wrestling team.  
    Here is how it happened. Their son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level 
at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team 
sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly African American.  These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so 
ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp 
contrast to her boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.  
    As the match began, the woman was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without 
headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team 
obviously could not afford. Well, their ended up walloping them. They took every weight class.  And as 
each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind 
of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.  
    Mike, seated beside his wife, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he 
said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”
     Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and 
lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, his wife went to a local sporting 
goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously 
to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, she placed a white envelope on the tree, the note inside 
telling Mike what she had done. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in 
succeeding years. For each Christmas, she followed the tradition--one year sending a group of 
mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers 
whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.  
    The envelope became the highlight of their Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on 
Christmas morning and their children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed 
anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.  As the children grew, 
the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't 
end there.  
    You see, Mike died two years ago to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, his wife was still so 
wrapped in grief that she barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found her placing an envelope on 
the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.  Each of their children, unbeknownst to the 
others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will 
expand even further with their grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation 
watching as their fathers take down the envelope.  
    The gift contained in that envelope every year has become the essence of Christmas. Each year it 
brought the kingdom one step closer and transformed the chaos and confusion of the world of 
darkness.  When I read the story last year I thought it was a wonderful story to preach and so I 
preached it just like I am doing today.  Well my wife listened well and she decided to do the same thing 
for me.  On Christmas I was the proud recipient of a white envelope sitting in the branches of our tree.  
It was the only present that I received that day but it was by far the best.  
    That first year Ronnie was my Christmas present.  He was a boy at a local school known for serving 
impoverished families.  He had no boots, gloves, hat, and his jacket had a zipper that didn’t work.  The 
family could not afford to get him new winter clothes.  Carol heard about him through a friend and got 
all his measurements and arranged a time to deliver the clothes.  
    On Friday of the week before Christmas Carol went to deliver the presents to Ronnie.  There 
were other teachers and counselors who had heard about the gift and they came to watch.  Ronnie 
was confused by the attention and by this strange visitor who said, “You are my husband’s Christmas 
present this year.”  
    Carol says that he reached into a big red shopping bag and pulled out the new coat and threw it 
down, then pulled out the hat and threw it down, then pulled out the mittens and threw them down, 
but when he opened the boots his eyes lit up and he quickly took off his shoes and tried them on.  
They didn’t fit.  No matter how hard he tried they would not go on.  So Carol told him that if he could 
part with them for a few hours then she would take them back and exchange them for a larger pair.  It 
would be a struggle to do it quickly because she had to go back to work but she would try to find a 
way.  At that point a para-teacher standing nearby volunteered to use her lunch break to make the 
exchange.  Later when she was unable to find the right boots she even enlisted her mother who was 
recovering from surgery to go out and get those boots.
    After the gift was opened Ronnie went out into the hallway and took his old jacket off the hook 
and exclaimed, "I don't need this anymore."  Then he took his old boots and did the same thing.  One 
of his teachers came out of the classroom with a permanent marker and wrote his name and phone 
number in the coat to proclaim it as Ronnie's jacket.
    When I heard the story from Carol tears streamed down my face.  Ronnie was the best Christmas 
present ever I thought at the time.  But I was wrong.  That was eight years ago and every year there is 
another white envelope waiting for me in the tree.  Every year Carol takes what she would have spent 
on me and finds someone or some group that needs a little love and blesses them.  Then she shares 
the story and every year I am reduced to a puddle of tears.
    The year I shared the story here she sponsored a baseball team in Nicaragua.  Many of you 
remember because you helped make the story great.  She had been talking with the local FedEx 
delivery man who said he was quitting his job to start a mission in Nicaragua.  He described the kids 
who were there and the joy they had in playing baseball but they had no equipment and uniforms.  
Carol gave some money for equipment but when I shared the story so many of you wanted to join in 
the gift that we filled the narthex with new and used equipment and then found a way to ship nearly a 
cargo-tainer back to Nicaragua.  
    One year she worked with Amy Brewin and found a disadvantaged kid in her class to help with 
clothing and supplies.  Another year she was standing in line at the local Safeway and saw a woman 
who was mentally challenged and was buying food for her group home.  Her cart was full and when 
she got to the cashier she said she only had $45 to pay for all of the groceries.  The cart was 
overflowing and there was no way $45 would cover it.  Carol was on her way out the door when she 
turned around and whispered to the cashier that she would pay for the entire cart and it would be my 
Christmas present.   Joy and surprise.  
    Every year the stories continue.  Every year the spirit of Christmas returns.  Four years ago there 
were two white envelopes in the tree.  My son wanted in on the giving.  Last year there was another.  
My daughter who was in New York City found a young boy in the Bronx who was destitute and she 
bought him a new jacket, boots, and gloves.  
    Every year the stories continue and so do my tears – but they are tears of joy.  
    Let’s be honest.  How many of you remember what presents you got last year for Christmas?  
How many remember two years ago or eight years ago?  I don’t remember ties, shirts, or underwear.  
I don’t need most of the things that used to be under the tree.  But I remember my white envelopes 
because they still bring me joy.  
    
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