The Night Before Christmas

I found this in the Minneapolis Star Tribune on Christmas Eve. I would have posted it then, but I was busy actually watching the game. It was in fact a very exciting, well-played game, but the end result was so predictable. Pastor Peter may not be a prophet, but he came awfully close.

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the church, Not a creature was stirring; I know, 'cause I searched:
The Packers and Vikings at 2 in the aft --
A Friday? The Yuletide? Was Tagliabue daft?

The faithful were nestled in front of their tubes,
No worship, no carols, no church for these rubes.
They believed in their Vikings and because of their meds,
Visions of Super Bowls danced in their heads.

Mom with her Norse braids and Dad his Vikes cap,
They all settled down for Matt Birk's first snap.
When what to their glazed-over eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, holding eight tiny beers.

On the field was their driver, more naughty than nice,
It was clear in a moment it must be Mike Tice.
With his pencil in place and a scheme for this game,
He whistled and shouted and called out their names;

"Now, Daunte! Now, Randy! Now, Mewelde and Mixon!
Good offense, bad defense, oh well, just go blitz 'em."
The chess match with Sherman began in the first,
But if Tice had two choices, he always chose worse.

By halftime the score was so on one side,
That the exits were filled, no more Purple Pride.
In a suite all in purple, from his toe to his head,
With a map of Los Angeles, it had to be Red.

The governor! The Legislature! There was no one to blame,
So Red gathered his family and got back on his plane.
When the third quarter started with a touchdown by Favre,
Dad started looking for a turkey to carve.

Mom said, "Why rush it? No need to be nervous,
If we hurry we'll make it, the 4 o'clock service."
So Dad sprang from his armchair, gave the family a whistle,
He was ready to trade his remote for a missal.

When back at the church there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the pulpit to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
And saw hundreds of people, some in a mad dash.

They wore face paint and jerseys, 84 and 11,
Their sole focus now was on worship and heaven.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their seats.
Chagrined and repentant they were soon off their feet.

The crowds they kept coming, some glad, others lonely,
No scalpers, but still, it was standing room only.
I tightened my cincture and welcomed the throng,
Then "Joy to the World," an exuberant song.

The lessons and carols, the Lord's sacrament,
The game now forgotten in this blessed event.
No steroids, no trash talk, no outrageous salaries,
Just a stable and shepherds. Just Joseph and Mary.

For a few too short moments there was peace on the earth,
Experiencing the glory of our dear Savior's birth.
The benediction was sounded and I dwelled in the sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Peter Geisendorfer-Lindgren is a pastor at Lord of Life Lutheran Church in Maple Grove.