“Go on, I dare you.” Simon jabbed Ben in the ribs as he issued his challenge. Simon and Ben were sitting next to each other in the uncomfortable pews as the vicar droned on about Jesus. They were in that giddy, giggly uncontrollable mood only teenagers experience, often on the last day of term. They had been messing about all morning as their teachers had tidied drawers, cleared old pictures off the classroom wall and surreptitiously texted their colleagues about meeting in the pub after school.

Simon, Ben and the rest of Year Eight fooled around and talked about their plans for the Christmas holidays.
A few of them were going skiing, others were going to visit family and friends, Simon would be staying at home and Ben would be spending half the time with his mum and her new boyfriend and half the time with his dad who worked abroad and only came home because... Ben wasn’t quite sure why he came home anymore. His dad had never been around much (hence the separation from his wife and her discovery of a new boyfriend) so Ben hardly knew him.

He’d probably get a good present though. Even at his tender age Ben had learnt that lots of people try to deal with their guilt by spending money. “Are you going to do it?” Simon hissed during the general clatter as everyone settled down to chant the Lord’s Prayer. “I don’t know,” said Ben, who did know what he was going to do but enjoyed stringing Simon along. “Amen.” The prayer ended and the vicar encouraged everyone to come to church on Christmas day before announcing the last carol, Ding dong merrily on high.

Mrs Deacon, the reluctant volunteer pianist, hit a few notes which roughly equated to those in the tune of the carol and everyone began to sing with gusto. Unfortunately, the inadequate skills of Mrs Deacon, added to the interminably long ‘Gloooooooooooria’s’ in the chorus, multiplied by the giddy mood of the children, meant that the carol limped along and didn’t really glorify anyone or anything, least of all, God.

With one last barbed comment about hoping to see everyone again very soon the vicar waved his arms about a bit, said some incomprehensible words, everyone was blessed and the end of term service came to a close. “Well?” asked Simon excitedly. “Depends on whether you can distract him.” Ben said. “Ok, you’re on,” said Simon, enthusiastically. Simon reached the Vicar at the door before Ben. “Please sir,” Simon instinctively raised his hand in the air as he prepared to ask the vicar a question, “I was looking at the stained glass window where I was sitting and I was wondering who the people are in it – they all seem to have plates on their heads?”

The vicar was delighted to be asked a question and went to the window as he began to explain the use of halos’ in Christian art. Simon feigned interest. As Ben neared the church door he stopped for a few moments to admire the crib. Ben turned to leave and the deed had been done. With a sigh of relief that he had another year now before the next end of term Christmas service, the vicar headed for the door. He paused in front of the crib to say a prayer for all the children who had been at the service and began to walk away, but then slowly turned back to the crib.

Something was wrong. He looked again and saw …… baby Jesus was missing! He didn’t know quite what to do. What was he going to do now? All he wanted to do was to go home and have a cup of tea but instead he rang the head teacher of the school. The secretary did a good job at trying to put the vicar off from talking to the head teacher who was as keen as anyone to shut the school up and get to the pub, but the vicar was insistent. “Yes?” the vicar heard the exasperation in the head’s voice. “I am afraid there’s been a theft in church,” the vicar said.

Images of a safe cracked open and a trail of candle sticks and church silver leading from the church to her school flashed across the head teacher’s mind. What would OFSTED make of that? “Oh God,” exclaimed the head teacher, “what have they done now?” “I am afraid that baby Jesus is missing,” the vicar explained, “from the crib, someone has taken him.”

The head groaned, invited the vicar to come to the school and sent a message to each class saying that everyone had to assemble in the school hall in 30 minutes. The vicar began to walk to the school. He wasn’t given to flashes of inspiration but as he stepped over the puddles, empty Macdonald’s wrappers and dog mess, an idea exploded in his mind which nearly floored him.

The headteacher met him and almost frogmarched him to the school hall. The giddy mood of the day had worn off now and had been replaced by a sense of frustration and anxiety on behalf of the children. The teachers just looked beaten. “I don’t mind telling you vicar,” the head teacher said as they sat in splendid isolation on the stage, a metre and a half above the children and comically surrounded by the left over props from the school pantomime, “I am spent, I have no idea what to do about this, all I want to do is to go to the … all I want to do is to go home.” “Don’t worry,” the vicar said confidently, despite not knowing exactly what he was going to do,

“I’ll take care of it.” The head teacher didn’t have to yell to get everyone to be quiet as usual. They all just sat there in muted expectation.
“The vicar has something to say to you all.” The head sat down as the vicar stood up. “As I was leaving church this afternoon I stopped at the crib to say a prayer for you all and noticed that something was wrong.” Ben shifted uneasily in his seat. “As I stood in front of the crib I noticed that the baby Jesus was missing. Jesus has been kidnapped. I would like the person who took Jesus to stand up please.” The vicar was surprising himself as he played the part of someone who was truly angry.

“No one is leaving until the culprit owns up.” He’d never felt like Poirot before.
Silence was followed by everyone looking around at everyone else. Who stole Jesus? Simon and Ben turned to look at each other without expression. One of life’s great lessons was etching itself into their minds, never to be forgotten – actions have consequences. Very slowly Ben rose to his feet. The head also began to stand but the vicar told her to stay sitting. “Please come here,” the vicar said sternly. Ben shuffled to the end of the line and walked slowly forward and climbed the steps onto the stage. Over a thousand pairs of eyes were looking at him as he carefully stepped over a golden egg. He walked to the centre of the stage and stood in front of the vicar.

“What’s your name?” the vicar asked coldly. “Ben,” the culprit said feebly. “Well Ben, I have been a vicar for a very long time. I have never witnessed anything like this before. You are the first person in all my years of preaching who has actually done what I want. You took Jesus away with you. You didn’t leave him locked up in church, tied down by rituals, confined by creeds. Where is he?” Ben took the baby Jesus out of his pocket. “I wish everyone who comes to my church this Christmas would do what you have done, Ben, and take Jesus home with them.”

Ben was bewildered and confused. He knew he had done wrong but it felt as though he was being congratulated. “I want you to keep Jesus with you for the next few days, Ben. Take him everywhere with you. When you are happy put your hand in your pocket and touch him, when you are sad, do the same. When you are frightened or confused put your hand in your pocket and touch him, when you are just hanging out with your friends, do the same from time to time. The whole point of Christmas is that Jesus came to be with us, not just in church, but in our everyday lives, so that we can learn to love and be loved. All I want you to do, Ben, is to come to Midnight Mass, and when I bless the crib at the beginning I would like you to step forward and put the baby Jesus back in the crib.
“Hopefully by then you will have understood the real meaning of Christmas. Jesus wasn’t born in Bethlehem so that he could be a statue in churches, he was born inBethlehem so that he could be carried everywhere with you Ben, in your pocket, so that he could go everywhere with each one of us in our hearts. Go and sit down Ben, I’ll see you in church on Christmas Eve.” Ben put Jesus back in his pocket and went to sit down, still rather bewildered. Silence. “Well, I am glad we’ve sorted that out. You can all go home now, Happy Christmas.” As the children filed out, still in stunned silence, the vicar and the head teacher left the stage. “Mine’s a pint,” the vicar said as they made their way to the pub.

Fr Michael Smith is Vicar of the Cookhams.