I had a dream the other night. Whether it was the result of too much shopping, the crush of Christmas crowds, the addressing of too many cards, hearing too many carols sung badly; or perhaps too much decorating, the holiday baking, too much punch or just the general rush of the season being thrust upon me too quickly - whatever the reason, it was one of those odd, disturbing dreams you sometimes get when the tides of life seem to be sweeping over you, and like a drowning man, you reach for whatever bit of flotsam that is within your grasp - even if it turns out to be only a good strong piece of denial. And I suppose that is what happened to me because, as I fell, exhausted into my bed, I dreamt that there was no Christmas - that it all had never happened.

No Christmas! One by one, in my mind, all the relics of the season began to drift away, scattered like bits of paper by the winter wind: the elevator music, the overflowing malls, Santa Claus and television specials, Christmas cards; then also the Christmas carols, the tree and decorations, and the giving and receiving of gifts followed. Until Christmas became a day like any other - for Christ had not been born.

The scene was not really so disturbing. It seemed at first a relief from the madness of our celebrations. Content, my mind wandered back even further, over the pages of history to a little town full of people, to a stable full of animals, where nothing much happened that night. Shepherds grazed their flocks in a field outside of Bethlehem, undisturbed by angel's songs, the cool night air softly blowing and the silence broken only occasionally by a crude joke, or the braying of sheep. In the crowded little town, some folks gathered at the inn, while others visited their families and, perhaps, somewhere a child was given birth by a young woman - her first - unaccompanied by any celebration, unnoticed by all but the doting father. Life went on as usual - no star shone that night, no Magi came to visit - for Christ had not been born.

Then my dream took another turn, this time forward, peeling off centuries of war and famine, through the rise and fall of many empires; and every place that was touched by that event was removed from sight, until faith itself vanished, and there was only superstition and darkness. There was no heavenly Father, no one to think higher thought for them; there was no manger on earth, no Son to show them their Father's love - for Christ had not been born.

Petty moralism thrived, however, as it always does where love has failed, where life seems to have no meaning of itself. As if by multiplying rules, people could hope to make some sense of things, imposing some kind of human order on a chaotic, orderless creation. Yet where there is no ultimate truth, one man's rule is as good as another; so as humankind rose from superstition, it was only to sink into anarchy and madness. And the darkness of the human soul became impenetrable, without hope. Love was without purpose - all they knew was their desires. There was no kindness, only the rule of the jungle, the strong feeding off the weak.

Then that day, too, passed. Anger gave way to acceptance, and acceptance to despair. And humankind, unable to deny the truth of a Fatherless world, unable to find a reason, a purpose for living - simply gave up. There was no more love, no more laughter. They sat in darkness, a great, huddled mass - and lacking any reason to go on - they died. And all the universe collapsed into deep silence - for Christ had not been born.

I awoke with that dreary thought and, with that darkness still laying heavy on my heart, I wandered into my son's room. As I looked at him, I wondered what the future held in store for him. What would happen if people forget the message of Christmas - when it finally descends into nothing more than a bacchanalia, devoid of any meaning at all? What will life be like if he forget Christmas?

As I stood in the doorway, I also wondered about his dreams and visions. And I thought about his faith - the faith of a child. Two thousand years ago, a child, not so much unlike this one, was born in a stable. Few knew about that birth, attended only be a few shepherds and his parents. Few cared. No one, except the shepherds outside of town, heard the angel's song. But it really did not, and does not, matter who remembers. What matters is that it happened, and because it did happen, faith will always receive him. Those who have the heart of a child will understand, and Christmas, for them, will always be as fresh as newly fallen snow.

Christ is born! And he has been born also into our hearts. He has come to show us the way back to our Father, back to the love that bore him, back to our eternal home. there is hope, there is a purpose, there is a destiny for our life, held in the hands of our eternal Father. For Christ is born - our Savior, our Redeemer and Lord. And faith will always receive this, and because of this our future is bright. That is the gift of Christmas, and our every day gift.

Christ is born! God has sent Him to us, to live among us, to die for us, to be raised for us, to show us God's love, to help us see into His Father's own heart, so that we might know that He holds us, and will hold us eternally.

Christ is born! And tonight faith comprehends this, and faith can hold Him and worship Him tonight - this child in the manger. So let us come and worship Him. Let us rejoice with the shepherds and wise men; let us hold Him with Mary and Joseph, let us bear Him in our own hearts, and experience the wonder of His love.

Christ is born! It is Christmas - a night of miracles, when the faith of children can be born even into the hearts of grownups. Even so, Lord Jesus, come!