This story came to my attention recently and I was moved to tears and gladness when I read it. Some of you may remember it in the RD's in l954.
It happened to a pastor who was very
young.
His church was very old. Once, long ago, it had flourished. Famous men
had preached from its pulpit, prayed before its altar. Rich and poor
alike
worshipped there and kept it beautiful.
Now the good days had passed from the section
of town where it stood. But the pastor and his young wife believed in
their
run-down church. They felt that with paint, hammer and faith they could
get it in shape. Together they went to work.
But in late December a severe storm whipped
through the river valley, and the worst blow fell on the little
church--a
huge chunk of rain--soaked plaster fell off the inside wall just behind
the altar. Sorrowfully, the pastor and his wife swept away the
mess,
but they couldn't hide the ragged hole.
The pastor looked at it and had to remind
himself quickly, "Thy will be done!" But his wife wept,
"Christmas
is only two days away!"
That afternoon the dispirited couple attended
the auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer
opened
a box and shook out a handsome gold-and-ivory lace tablecloth. It
was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long. But it, too,
dated
from a long-vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a
thing?
There were a few half-hearted bids. Then the pastor was seized with
what
he thought was a great idea. He bid it in for $6.50.
He carried the cloth back to the church and
tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the
hole! And the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering
handwork
cast a fine holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great
triumph.
Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon.
Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve,
as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in
the
cold at the bus stop.
"The bus won't be here for 40 minutes!" he
called, and invited her into the church to get warm.
She told him that she had come from the city that morning to
be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the
wealthy
families in town, but she had been turned down. She was a war refugee,
and her English was imperfect.
The woman saw down in a pew, chafed her hands
and rested. After a while she dropped her head and prayed. She
looked
up as the pastor began to adjust the great ivory-and-gold lace cloth
across
the hole. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the
chancel. She looked at the tablecloth. The pastor smiled and started to
tell her about the storm damage, but she didn't seem to listen. She
took
a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers.
"It is mine!" she said. "It is my
banquet
cloth!" She lifted the corner and showed the surprised
pastor
there were initials Monogrammed on it. "My husband had the cloth
made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another
like
it."
For the next few minutes the woman and the
pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was
Viennese,
that she and her husband had opposed the Nazis and had decided to leave
the country. They planned that he would join her as soon as he
could
arrange to ship their household goods across the border.
She never saw him again. Later she heard that
he had died in a concentration camp.
"I have always felt that it was my fault--to leave without him,"
she said. "Perhaps these years of wandering have been my
punishment!"
The pastor tried to comfort her and urged
her to take the cloth with her. She refused. Then she went away.
As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve,
it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. It had
been
skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight.
After the service, the pastor stood in the
doorway; many people told him that the church looked beautiful.
One
gentle-faced, middle-aged man--he was the local clock-and-watch
repairman--looked
rather puzzled.
"It is strange," he said in his soft
accent.
"Many years ago my wife--God rest her--and I owned such a cloth.
In our home in Vienna, my wife put it on the table--here he
smiled--only
when the bishop came to dinner!"
The pastor suddenly became very excited.
He told the jeweler about the woman who had been in the church earlier
in the day.
The startled jeweler clutched the pastor's
arm. "Can it be? Does she live?"
Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed
her. Then in the pastor's car, they started for the city. And as
Christian
Day was born, this man and his wife--who had been separated through so
many saddened Yuleties--were reunited.
To all who heard this story, the joyful
purpose
of the storm that knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now
quick
clear. Of course, people said it was a miracle, and I
think you will agree it was the season for it."
By Howard C. Schade, reprinted in Focus on the Family, Dec. 1999