I will not wish you all a Merry Christmas. For some
of you, this Christmas is already full of joy, of diamonds and champagne and
promise, of Christmasses to come, of new traditions waiting to be birthed. For
others here, this Christmas is as bitter and unpalatable as the baked camembert
Jo served up tonight. Though even such full-bodied notes as these, having
recoiled, may come to be appreciated by the mature palate. An after-taste, a
counterpoint to sweetness.
Instead, my wish is this. That, with the babe, this
Jesus, wrapped tight in strips of cloth, and hidden in the manger, you may find
whatever grace you need this night. Whatever you need.
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