There is a story about a man who visited a church. He parked his car and started toward the front entrance. Another car pulled up nearby, and the irritated driver said to him, "I always park there. You took my place!" The visitor went inside and found that Sunday School was about to begin. He found an adult class, went inside, and sat down. A class member approached him and said, "That's my seat! You took my place!" The visitor was somewhat distressed by this rude welcome, but said nothing. After Sunday School, the visitor went into the sanctuary and sat down in an empty pew. Within moments another member walked up to him and said, "That's where I always sit. You took my place!" The visitor was troubled, but said nothing. Later, as the congregation was praying for Christ to be present with them, the visitor stood, and his appearance began to change. Scars became visible on his hands and on his sandaled feet. Someone from the congregation noticed him and cried out, "What happened to you?" The visitor replied, "I took your place."

The story is told of a little boy and his father. They were walking along a road when they came across a large stone. The boy looked at the stone and thought about it a little. Then he asked his father, "Do you think if I use all my strength, I can move that rock?"

C.S. Lewis once penned some thoughts on worship, particularly in the face of liturgical innovators in Australia who seemed to think that every worship service needed to be a kind of variety show with each week being different from the week prior. Lewis had no truck with that kind of thinking. Worship, Lewis wrote, should be a bit like dancing. Once you have learned how to dance and have become good at it, you are able to immerse yourself in the dance and just do it almost without thinking about it. But if you must constantly look down at your feet, if you have to think about each movement before you actually make it, then you can't dance yet but are just learning how to dance.

If all the sleeping folks will wake up, and all the lukewarm folks will fire up, and all the disgruntled folks will sweeten up, and all the discouraged folks will cheer up, and all the depressed folks will look up, and all the estranged folks will make up, and all the gossiping folks will shut up, and all the dry bones will shake up, and all the true soldiers will stand up, and all the church members will pray up, and if the Savior of all will be lifted up . . . then we can have the greatest renewal this world has ever known.

In 1992 a lighthouse was built in Santo Domingo, capital of the Dominican Republic. This is one of the poorest areas in the world. The lighthouse was constructed to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the arrival of Christopher Columbus. 150,000 people were evicted from their homes in a shantytown to make room for it. The intensity of its light means that electricity is rationed throughout much of the city. The light that brings security for some brings discomfort for others.

This is a story of impossibilities. Consider the impossibilities Mary faced in this story: She is a virgin and pregnant - she is having a child while she is a virgin. Impossible! No way! Won't happen! Joseph has to follow through on the marriage after he discovers Mary is pregnant. Impossible! Mary must avoid being stoned to death when the neighbors hear the news. Impossible!

The greatness of Christianity lies in its being hated by the world, not in its being convincing to it.

A mother wrote to Catholic Digest saying that one day when she was heading up the stairs with a basket containing the last load of folded clothes, herding her three little ones in front of her for bedtime, her eldest child, Peggy, who was then in kindergarten, picked that moment to begin one of those questions that seem to intrigue all children at some time. "Mommy," she asked, "If it were the end of the world, and everyone was getting ready to die..." The mother stopped, shifted the basket on her hip, and said an ultra-quick prayer for wisdom to answer this question. "Yes?" The mother prodded her daughter. The little girl finished her theological inquiry: "If the end of the world came, would you have to take your library books back?" That young lady did not want any unfinished business in her life.