You cannot give me what I want for Christmas

If you had all the money in the world, you couldn’t get it. It’s not for sale.

It’s not on store counters. Even the most exclusive stores don’t have it on display. They can’t wrap it up in their special gift wrapping departments and send it to your home. And if they could, I’d give it right away

It would be nice if folks could do that, though. It would be nice if we could package up my Christmas dream and send it off to friends.

They could even send it to their enemies.

Yes, on second thought, it would be a good thing to send to enemies.

They would be the first ones I would send it to if I could give it as a Christmas present. It would do me as much good as it would them, but I am sure they would like it. Even the worst of them, deep down in their heart. They would like it.

What do I want for Christmas?

Peace!

Peace with oneself; peace with one’s neighbour; peace among nations. That’s what I’d like for Christmas, and all the days that followed. I’d like to be able to give it to others — and to the whole world.

That’s what I’d like for everyone, every nation.

Now you know why you can’t buy my Christmas wish. If you could, nations would have stockpiles of it. Instead they have stockpiles of goods, machines, weapons and arms that are kept in readiness to scare away or beat down any threat to the period of tension without war that we call peace, but know it isn’t really true peace.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could gift wrap a big slice of peace and air mail it to fellows like Khrushchev? Or have a red-coated Santa with flowing white beard ho-ho-ho his way into the Kremlin and deliver the delicate package?

Of course, there are a lot of places where I would send off great chunks of this precious gift before I worried about the Kremlin.

And I would gift wrap each parcel in smart Christmas wrappings that would show the personal nature of the gift, for it is so personal that it takes on shades and colours of meaning with the folks who have it, or want it.

I would send generous helpings to folks who can’t find peace with themselves or others because they don’t know where they can find it, or on what principles to base their actions to make it. I would gift wrap their share in the shiny wrappings of faith — faith in God and the dignity of a man as a child of God.

I’d send big chunks to folks who are unhappy because they can’t see anybody else or think of anyone else but themselves. And I’d wrap their extra big share in overlapping folds of charity, which as you know is nothing more than love — for God and for one another.

Then I’d look around and pick out all those who are often forgotten for so long, or those who feel that they are forgotten, that nobody cares.

I have a pretty good idea where I could find them by the dozens too — in hospitals, in homes for the aged, in homes that are all the poorer because they will not beg; in refugee camps, the prisons where walls and bars keep me cut off from other folks, and the prisons that men and women make for themselves from despair.

And I have just the wrapping for the part of peace they long for. It is the heart-warming covering of hope, with its happy promise of better things and richer rewards.

Of course, I can’t skip around the world delivering these gay packages, each one giving peace to its owner, and altogether giving peace to the world.

But I can pray that the Christ Child will give to the hearts and minds and souls of all, this things they need most, which will bring them true peace.

And that’s my prayer this Christmas, my Christmas gift to you.