I hope you’re bundled up this Saturday morning because another cold snap has blown in.

But that’s the way it should be. It’s Christmas Eve, as I write. Snow is supposed to be

on the roofs by noon.

I waited as long as I could before starting our talk, hoping the snow would hurry

up and come. I write better in the snow. The kids are waiting, too, just they’re waiting for something different. If I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that Santa and snow don’t get in too big of a hurry.

As we wait, we’ll begin our visit. You know what it’s about. We’ve talked about this great narrative the exact same week for a dozen years now. If you’re new to town or are a third-grader and have just learned to read, you’re a special guest this year as we look at the story of a little baby boy born in a barn in Bethlehem a long, long time ago.

Isn’t it amazing how the world pauses together at this time! We’re too busy to stop, I guess. But at least we pause.

Even the man who doesn’t say a lot of prayers through the year, or the man who has made a big mess out of his life - even he cannot help himself from pausing. Something must compel him to look around and take in all these sights and sounds - and, while he’s at it, take a glimpse inside, too.

Not that we should only do this once a year. Still, it’s good - just for a moment if nothing more - to remember what matters most, and to remember how we should feel and how we should be the other 363 days of the year.

There’s hope in that. That gives that man who has traveled too far down some bumpy road hope that he can cut across the pasture and get back on the pavement before sundown.

That hope is because of today’s story, the 2000-year-old story of a young baby boy who was born of a virgin in a little town, both looked over by a star.

Oh, I know, we make it too fancy and commercial and all. But that’s us. Our lives are Broadway plays where the actors stream across the stage like shooting stars.

But this story convicts us even of that as we pause. Maybe that’s why we like to hear it. We never tire of the story of the King of kings, born in a barn because the Holiday Inn of the day had no vacancies. The scene never grows old: the baby was born in a splintery manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, unnoticed.

Well, not unnoticed completely.

Not far away were some shepherds watching their flocks. Suddenly a light shone around them, and an angel appeared, then a thousand more. Those poor, simple men were scared nearly to death, until the singing started. Ah, they had never heard anything like that. The world had never heard anything like that. Still hasn’t.

The song said it all. It was the world’s greatest message: “Glory to God, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

Since that evening when the words of that song filled the chilly Bethlehem air - harmonized by a thousand angelic voices - the world has never been the same.

Because of it and the Gift it ushered into the world, you will do something special this year.

So will I.

So will the world.

We’ll all do it because of that barnyard scene of long ago.

Together … we’ll pause.