Once upon a time, there was a man who looked upon Christmas as a lot of humbug. He wasn’t a scrooge. He was a kind and decent person, generous to his family, upright in all his dealings with other men. But he didn’t believe all that stuff about incarnation which churches proclaim at Christmas. And he was too honest to declare that he did.
“I am truly sorrry to distress you,” he told his wife, who was a faithful churchgoer. “But I simply cannot understand this claim that God became man. It doesn’t make any sense to me.” On Christmas Eve, his wife and children went to church for the midnight service. He declined to accompany them. “I’d feel like a hypcrite,” he explained. “I’d must rather stay at home. But I’ll wait up for you.”
Shortly after his family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window and watched the flurries getting heavier and heavier. “If we must have Christmas,” he thought, “It’s nice to have a white one.” He went back to his chair by the fireside and began to read his newspaper. A few minutes later, he was startled by a thudding sound. It was quickly followed by another, then another. He thought that someone must be throwing snowballs at his livingroom window.
When he went to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They’d had been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter had tried to fly through his window.
“I can’t let these poor creatures lie there and freeze,” he thought. “But how can I help them?” Then he remembered the barn where the children’s pony was stabled. It would provide a warm shelter. He put on his coat and galoshes and tramped through the deepending snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on a light. But the birds didn’t come in. “Food will bring them in,” he thought. So he hurried back to the house for bread crumbs, which he sprinkled on the snow to make a trail into the barn.
To his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around helplessly in the snow. He tried shoeing them in the barn by walking around and waving his arms. They scattered in every direction–except into the warm, lighted barn. “They find me a strange and terrifying creature,” he said to himself. “And I can’t seem to think of any way to let them know they can trust me. If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps I could lead them to safety…”
Just at that moment, the church bells began to ring. He stood silently for a while, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. Then he sank to his knees in the snow. “Now I do understand,” he whispered. “Now I know why you had to do it.”