By request, the following is an original poem written by Pastor John Odom and delivered as the Christmas Eve sermon at the 7 p.m. service, December 24, 2011. Enjoy!
The Christmas Shrew
A Christmas Tale for All Ages
Written and Preached by John Odom
Starmount Presbyterian Church
Greensboro, NC
December 24, 2011
My name is Qatan[1], I’m the first Christmas shrew,
And in case you don’t know me, I’ll say, “How do you do?”
What? You’re confused? You don’t know what I be?
I’m the smallest of mammals almost too tiny to see.
I’m the size of a thumb, I’m small but I’m tuff,
I ravenously eat all kinds of bugs and other yummy stuff.
What? Still confused? You don’t know of my story?
How I helped welcome to earth the Lord of all glory?
It started you see with a taxation decree,
All the world to their ancestors’ towns they did flee,
To Bethlehem Ephratha, Joseph with Mary did go,
She was heavy with child, and the going was slow.
And when they arrived, the night was half-spent.
No room in the Inn, so out to the stable they went.
The stable behind the seediest inn,
It was crude, dank and smelly and dirtier than sin.
The man and his wife in a “family way,”
The man and his wife on the cold ground did lay.
Then just before dawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.[2]
When suddenly Joseph knelt down on his knees,
And, rejoicing, could hardly believe what he sees.
The baby was there, and his heart glowed with joy,
As he clasped in his arms, the adorable boy.
“Mary, dear Mary,” Joseph said, “He is here –
The One you were promised: God’s love has drawn near.”
In the eyes of the Christ Child, I saw nothing but love,
The long-hoped for Messiah come to earth from above.
God’s love was incarnate. All who saw knew the meaning,
As light from the stars in the night sky were streaming.
God’s love is for sharing, is what Christ came to show.
For love that is given multiplies don’t you know?
God sent us his Son so that through him we might live,
God sent us his Son so that loved, we might give.
But, here’s the problem, I didn’t know what to do,
For what can you give when you’re an insignificant shrew?
What can you return to the Lord God of all,
When you’re poor and you’re humble and you’re ever so small?
“What to give, what to share, Divine Master, show me the way!”
On my knees on the floor of the stable, I did pray.
Then I heard a deep voice, I cried, “Dear God is that you?”
“Don’t be an ass,” brayed the donkey to Qatan the shrew.
“You foolish shrew, I’m not the voice of God the divine,
But I’m here to tell you: move to the back of the line.
We worthy animals all have gifts for Jesus the King,
And you’re caught empty-handed with nothing to bring.
Our gifts prove our worth, our intrinsic merit,
And once given, we can be sure, divine favor to inherit.
So, get lost, go way, scat, worthless, insignificant shrew,
It’s blatantly obvious there’s no value in you.”
Qatan turned his head as a tear welled in his eye,
then he moved out of the way to let the others go by.
The ewe, cow, and hen, and even the ass,
Qatan ceded his place to let the bigger animals pass.
As he turned away from the baby and love’s pure light,
He had a dark thought that gave him – oh, such a fright.
I’m weak, and I’m little, and I’ve nothing to take him,
When God created the shrew he must have been mistaken.
Qatan began doubting the truth that Christ came to show.
All creatures are blessed to be blessings, don’t you know?
So back to the end of the line he did mope,
With nothing to give, Jesus, he began to lose hope.
The words of the ass they rang loud in his ears,
“There’s no value in you.” It was the sum of his fears.
But Ms. Ewe pranced right up, she didn’t look back,
A gift of her wool, so no warmth Christ would lack.
The cow, she was next, a pail filled to the rim,
Fresh, steamy, raw milk, was her best gift for him.
The hen gave a cluck as she laid at his feet,
A free-range, brown egg for the Savior to eat.
Now sauntered to Jesus, the donkey, that ass,
Gift lodged in his mouth. It was some old, dry grass,
That he took and he nuzzled deep down in a manger,
So there would be a bed fit for the wee, newborn stranger.
The grass he had pulled away from the ticking,
Of a mattress, behind the inn, thrown out for the picking.
Then horror of horrors, it now was my turn,
I stood ashamed, empty-handed my cheeks starting to burn.
For what can you give to the Lord God of all,
When you’re poor and you’re humble and you’re ever so small?
Then horror of horrors for there was another
Catastrophe in the making by the hands of Christ’s mother.
Bending over to place the newborn babe in the manger,
Only the eyes of a bug-eating shrew saw the danger.
The old grass in the manger, I saw it was teeming, The blades looked to be moving, and I knew, I weren’t dreaming.
Up the side of the manger, I quickly was dashing,
I plunged into the grass, my teeth actively gnashing.
Quick as a wink, I chewed and I swallowed,
Till the grass ceased its moving, and peace is what followed.
For, at this moment, I bet you surmise,
I’d saved baby Jesus from being eaten alive,
By a host of bedbugs that had been infesting
That inn’s old mattress grass which the Ass gave for nesting.
Now, Mary, on the cleaned manger grass, Christ Jesus did lay,
As she placed him, and kissed him, this old rhyme she did say:
“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.
Wake up bright, in the morning light, to do what’s right, with all your might.”
A smile curled my lips, I knew the rhyme would come true,
Because I had eaten not just one bedbug but 742.
I snuggled next to the babe, exhaustedly called it a day.
Next to the Christ Child is where I will guardingly stay.
And the truth that Christ brings, it washed over me,
The truth of gift giving. It’s real plain to see.
A gift – it’s true worth – isn’t how big or how small,
For a gift, all that matters is that you give it your all.
Poor, insignificant, and small though I be,
I gave Christ all I had, and that gift was well – me.
This night, it’s your turn to follow Qatan, the shrew,
Give Christ your best gift – and, you guessed it, it’s you.
God sent us his Son that through him we might live,
God sent us his Son so that loved, we might give.
Now my story is over. There’s no more to tell,
Except we’re all gifts of God, born anew each Noel.
The End.