The greatest story ever told

LINDSAY MAST, HOST: It’s Wednesday the 25th of December. Glad to have you along for today’s Christmas edition of The World and Everything in It. Good morning, I’m Lindsay Mast.

NICK EICHER, HOST: And I’m Nick Eicher. Up next: the greatest story ever told.

Today we set aside our usual program format to bring you a special presentation of the Nativity Story as told one of the most-recognized voices of his time.

FACENDA: Roger Staubach, an officer and a gentleman...

The late John Facenda , the voice of NFL Films from the mid-1960s until he died in 1984.

MAST: Back in 1957, Facenda narrated a retelling of the Christmas story for Manuscript Records. The script is full of Biblical allusions and it sticks closely to the Scriptural record, though like most Christmas pageants, its scene at the manger is traditional and likely inaccurate.

EICHER: Our team has edited the original recording to fit the time available, and we’ll add just a quick production note here: To make it flow a bit better for our format, we did reorder a few portions of the original recording.

Here is John Facenda’s retelling of The Nativity — a story that begins centuries before the birth of the Christ child.

JOHN FACENDA: Long before the first Christmas, the arrival of the Messiah was foretold in prophecies. Prophecies that have withstood the ravages of history and clearly indicate to us today that the birth of Christ was no accident, but part of a master plan.

The prophecies are quite explicit as to time and place and circumstance, and the words were the trumpet sounds to herald the arrival of the new king. “I shall see him, but not now. I shall behold him, but not near. A star shall rise out of Jacob and a scepter shall spring up from Israel. Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign. For behold, a virgin shall be with child and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel.

And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are  not the least among the princes of Judah. For out of thee shall come a king that shall rule my people. And his going forth is from the beginning, from the days of eternity.”

Oh yes, Christmas didn't just happen, yet it took place for all people, for all times. It is a happy story, a story of faith, a story of promise. Here is the story of Christmas, the most beautiful story that's ever been told. Its greatest beauty is, that it is true.

And so it began a long time ago that journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, three souls, Joseph, Mary, and her soon to be infant son, Jesus. And a donkey. This donkey, which must take some special place in the animal world, for the one was chosen to carry the Savior to his place of birth. A beast of burden, yes. Of low estate among all creatures yet fit to transport the King of Men. A crooked road this donkey trotted to make straight his path. The terrain was rugged and the weather harsh, and there was need for speed.

But travel in those days was a far cry from the conveniences of today. Joseph was rich in blessings, but among them was not the blessing of wealth. Fortunate was he that he could borrow the use of this tiny animal for Mary to ride. How many times must this thought have crossed his troubled mind as finally they left Plains of Esdraelon behind and moved into the shadow of Mount Tabor, into Samaria, and at last Judea.

It was late afternoon when the family reached Jerusalem. They were now only five miles from Bethlehem. Weariness however, forced their steps to where Joseph hoped would be rest and comfort.

The winter sun had long since sunk behind the hill of Calvary. A chilling wind rustles the leaves in the Garden of Gethsemane. And shadows creep along the road to Bethlehem. Joseph turns his mind to thoughts other than the pressing problem at hand. Deliberately he thinks of the pastures beside him in which Ruth long ago gleaned the wheat in the fields of Boaz. In that hollow to the right, outside the gates, brave men had died to bring David a drink of water from the wells of Bethlehem. All around him, the ground where David had played as a child, where he had tended his flocks, and where the prophet Samuel had anointed David King. Joseph's thoughts would be but for a moment with the past for the present persisted with its own concern.

Why had he not stayed in Jerusalem? It would have been easier there to find the quarters that Mary needed so sorely. Even now life held heavy inside the body of his espoused wife, he must find a place for her to rest. Bethlehem will be filled with those making the journey just like he was. What if there was no shelter to be found?

Joseph ignored that thought, but not the sight of the silhouetted families around small campfires beside the road. They too were people like themselves who had come for the census. And even now he hears the scattered sounds that tell him that they soon will be there. He halts the donkey and turns as if to speak to Mary, but instead, he smooths the shawl around her yet a little closer. He clasps her hand and she turns her eyes toward him, eyes which hold a gentle entreaty: “Hurry, Joseph. Hurry.”

A sharp wind whips at the little family as they enter the gates of Bethlehem. All around them are the signs of a busy, overcrowded town.Though it's after dark, the streets pulsate with the noise of life. Roman soldiers walk in groups, their strange ways and language mingling with the cries and the sounds of the beggars and peddlers. Big, rough looking men. Their eyes flashing with the look of men hundreds of miles from home. Night has settled firmly, and there seems to be even more confusion. The whole atmosphere has that particular urgency that marks the behavior of large crowds away from home. That by shoving more forcefully or shouting more loudly, they may gain an advantage over others.

Bethlehem this night will bring little rest to people crowded within its walls. Joseph tightens his grasp of the rein and moves closer to Mary's side as they guide themselves through the maze of people down the narrow streets. Streets that seemed strange to Joseph, yet he knew them, for his last visit was not that long ago. He did remember, for there is the courtyard that leads to the inn. His steps quicken as they pace those of the tired animal. Here they will find rest. Here, renew their strength, renew their spirits, for that which is to come. All thumbs are his efforts to tell the donkey among the other beasts that crowd the courtyard. But tenderly do the gnarled hands assure his young wife that everything will be alright now that they are at the inn.

By his side, weak and weary, is his wife. Her face and clothes are blended in one color, the gray grime of dusty roads. She has traveled much. Her mantle frames her face in pale loveliness. In the moonlight, she is silhouetted with a round tragic beauty of one who is about to bring life into the world. God has given her his greatest gifts, but now she is deprived of ordinary blessings. She who is to be remembered as blessed among women, seems forgotten.

God has willed that she be his mother. That her flesh and blood be his flesh and blood. That her body form his body. Now beneath her heart, the Son of God has shelter. She has none. Within her, he rests. She, no place to lay her head. He dwells in her. She has no dwelling place. She is the house of God. But she herself is homeless. Her name is Mary.

Worn and worried Joseph waits. At other doors he has knocked, he has seen them open, he has heard them close. The night is no longer young, and lodging must be found. This is the final inn. There are no other doors on which to rap. This is the end of the search for a room. The door opens a tiny crack. Light and warmth ooze out into the dark, cold air. The request is again made: “Please, a night's shelter, especially tonight.” The reply is quick, almost curt, “there is no room in the inn.” So past the houses and inns walk the humble pair, two lonely figures casting lonely night shadows on a lonely street.

Out of the city of David they go. Into the fields of David they come. Here, there will be none to offer them shelter. But here none will refuse them. Through the meadows, down the hollows, along the hillsides, Mary and Joseph plod their weary winding way.

Time is a tyrant. Time is intolerant. Who can delay death by two minutes? Or block of birth by one? Already the Blessed Lady feels the Lord of her life, the fruit of her womb, struggling within her in his search for birth. Then suddenly and sadly, they see what is to become the most famous nursery in the whole world. Its fame would come from him who is to be born there. In the kingdom of the blind, the one eyed a prince is. To the homeless, any roof is a shelter.

Joseph must hurry and prepare, for the hour is at hand. He cannot waste time and worries and wanderings. He cannot fret and frown with what might have been. He has to fix and furnish what has to be. A lantern is lighted. A fire started. A cleansed manger becomes a cradle. Fresh straw, a mattress. Swaddling bands, an infant’s layette. All is ready. The stars have lighted the heavenly candles. The wind whispers the secret to the grass and trees. And they bow down in awe. All nature awaits the splendid moment when its maker will enter this world through a door of flesh.

No other creature ever had so many in such reverent guardians. Angels anxiously watched this lovely pair. Heaven has eyes but for Mary and Joseph, these two, and no more. Then the marvel of man, the miracle of birth. There are no longer two. There are three. For here in the manger, here on the straw, here wrapped snugly in swaddling clothes, lies the child. The face of the man is a picture of prayer. We dress our thoughts and words, but now thoughts have outgrown their trappings. He kneels in the straw and adores. The face of the maid is a vision of bliss. Her hands reach out for her son. Her fingers gently clasp his frail flesh. Her bosom becomes his pillow. Her warm embrace, his blanket of love. Truly can it be said of this mother: “she holds heaven in her arms.”

The darkness of the night stretches out beyond the town and up into the hills above it. Here there is the calm of night with only now and then a single softened sound to break the stillness. There is no value to a moment here. Time has come and gone and will come and go again. The seasons bring their change, but the rhythm of the centuries long ago had subdued the land. All is at peace on this hillside. The evening air carries a haunting melody from a shepherd's reed, an ancient melody that lingers in echo as the player lays it aside to stir the small fire at his feet. As if by signal, another lonely shepherd merges into the fire light from the shadows around it.

They know the night, these men. Nights without number have they spent just so. As their fathers father before them. Night with its eternal waiting. Waiting for the least disturbance among their flocks, waiting for a storm to end as quickly as it arose so that the gray cluster of sheep would be one again. Waiting always for the dawn to come.

They would talk these men, talk of many things while they waited. How would they fare at ewing time? Perhaps a change of grazing ground next year. Taxes being what they were, they would just have to raise more and heavier sheep, that's all. And then occasionally, they would banter back and forth on the merits of right and wrong in the way that men live and die.

But not this night did the talk concern sheep and man's lot in this world. They were pensive. So too seem the sheep. Unusual? Yes, but that star high in the heavens, that too was most unusual. Never had one seen a star so bright, so near. So near, and getting closer and closer. What is it, man? What is it? When the angel appeared, one of the shepherds had been dozing. He rubbed his eyes as if to erase the thin traces of a dream. But they would not erase. It was an angel, or surely what an angel must be. The angel was speaking now. Each looked in wonderment. Each looked about quickly to see if the other saw the vision. One look, and they knew an angel was speaking to them.

And then the dark sky closed about them, except for that compelling star. If you had been there, you would have had no question. This was a star so bright it almost took your hand and led you to the holy place. And the shepherds, accustomed to leading sheep, were being led to the Great Shepherd, the master plan again. The All Knowing wanting the simplest of men to be the first to know. The prophecies are falling one by one. Soon the world would stand still and start again, but never be the same.

The world did stand still and started again, but it's never been the same since that moment in time when the Christian era began with his birth. If we no longer can thrill to the tale of Bethlehem, then it is we who have changed. The story of the Nativity has not. The same then, the same now. Age perhaps has cluttered up our lives with trivialities and selfishness. We perhaps are the crowded inns. Turn back we must always to the birth of that promise. The essential splendor and the real reason of the Nativity. Loveliness found in squalor, beauty discovered in ugliness. Glory without pomp. The great gift of Christmas. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.” That is the real meaning of Christmas. The real gift. He would not be complete until 33 years later, on a hilltop, five miles to the north on a spring afternoon, when the world would tremble. But it began in Bethlehem.

Now not our lips, but our hearts must speak. We must be like shepherds who come to worship. We must be like wise men who kneel to a door. Such is the story of Christmas.

Luke 2:2-12 (KJV)

1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

3 And all went to be taxed, every one to his own city.

4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

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