Our daughter loved to have bedtime stories when she was small. She had her favorites, which we read over and over again, to the point of boredom for me. Just to amuse myself, I would sometimes skip a section, or change a detail. "Dad! That’s not how it goes. Read it right." And so I had to go back to the printed text.

The sameness of the story was important for her, as was the constant repetition. My boredom with the stories was no reason to mess with something that gave her comfort—which was the main reason for the bedtime story.

We have gathered tonight to do something of the same thing—to hear a story that many of us have heard every Christmas since our childhood, to sing familiar carols, and to light a candle for the Christ child.

It is a very familiar story. But it is also a story that people never tire of hearing. The story line is simple: Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem, the child is born and laid in a manger, the angel proclaims the birth to the shepherds, who then go to see the baby.

Think how many thousands (millions, even!) of depictions have there been of this story, in song, in picture, in drama, in poetry, in essays, in retold stories. Some of it has been great art, some, well, not so great. But every one reminds us of the story of the birth of Jesus. Hearing the story, singing the songs, viewing the art—all these give us the comfort of knowing that God fulfills his promises, especially the great promise of a Saviour for all humankind.

Families have stories that we tell and re-tell. These are the ones that form us as families. "Do you remember when…?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as family is strengthened and deepened.

The Christian family says, "Do you remember when Jesus was born?" We remember—reminding ourselves of the story—and our identity as the family of God is strengthened and deepened.

The Christmas story is one that people love and revere, and hearing it does help to strengthen our faith and build up the family of God. But let us never forget that it is the story of a birth. It is a beginning, not an end in itself.

Perhaps there were other families caught up in the registration ordered by the emperor, families with their own stories of difficult travels. Perhaps other babies were born on the road. We know nothing of them, but we remember this family because this baby came to die on a cross, and to rise again. We remember this baby’s birth because of his death.

We come to Christmas observances to celebrate a birth, and that is indeed right and proper, and a joyous thing. But let us leave this place tonight in knowledge that the story—for the baby, and for each of us—has really only just begun.

Tonight from this place, like the shepherds we will return to the place we came from. But because of this night and because of what has here been proclaimed, by God’s grace that place will be transformed. Having encountered the Incarnate Word of God in the child of Bethlehem, having welcomed him into our hearts and into our homes, may we become more faithful in worship, more dedicated in prayer, and more generous in our lives.

We have heard the story again. Our hearts have been stirred again by the fulfillment of God’s promises. May we go from this place with our words and deeds proclaiming to a darkened world the love of our God who gave us his Son, so that we might believe and have eternal life.

May it be so.