Christmas will come and go again this year as it has done through the lost centuries and, after a brief moment of kindness felt, they of the cold, hard world will go on killing and hating and contriving to outwit and outfight each other. Things are no better, the cynics will say, no better than they were before. The whole thing is a childish myth. We know what they think, and we know what they will say. And God knows the facts seem to give support to their ideas. But the end is not yet. The world has not seen the last of the Christ Child. That there is yet in fallen human hearts enough traces of spiritual desire to stir them to brief tribute when the chastely beautiful story of Christmas is told is sufficient answer to the cynic's charge. Men who can want to be good, if even for a day, can become good when their desire grows strong enough.
And all this is not mere theory. Thousands each year find their desire for salvation and holiness becoming too acute to bear, and turn to the One who was born in a manger to die on a cross. Then the fleeting beauty that is Christmas enters their hearts to dwell there forever. For who is it that imparts such beauty to the Christmas story? It is none other than Jesus, the Altogether Lovely.