The wind blows cold off Lake Michigan in December. The snow is more 
like ice crystals that sting as they hit your face. You breathe a sigh of relief 
as you walk down the stairs to Lower Wacker Drive and enter the “Billy 
Goat Tavern.”

The regular crowd is there as Slim Whitman yodels, “What child is this...” I 
caught Jack, the bartender’s eye, and held up three fingers. He smiled and 
nodded. I walked to the back booth and there they were, Philip  
Melanchton, author of the Augsburg Confession, and Martin Luther.

I stood, waited, and finally Martin said, “Sit down, Joe. Good to see you. 
Hope all is well with you and your family.” Jack set the three frosty mugs 
on the table. We each took one and held the mugs high as Martin said, 
“We know, ‘What child this is,’ so let us drink to Him.”

“What child is this?” said Martin in a loud voice. “Ever wonder why they 
thought, ‘What child is this?’ I’m sure the shepherds thought this was the 
Son of David, the one who was to sit on David’s throne forever. I’m sure 
they thought, they hoped, that he would rid Israel of the Romans and  
re-institute the Davidic monarchy. They saw glory in power.”

He paused to take a sip and continued, as a few more people gathered 
around the booth. “Then what did Joseph wonder? A child not of his own, 
yet charged with the responsibility to raise this child as his own. To teach 
him the lessons of life. To teach him to stand strong in your faith. To teach 
him to honor your pledges. To teach him to respect others. To teach him 
to live a life of faith in God. But he saw something else. He looked at the 
broad shoulders of the child and saw him as one who would one day carry 
the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

Martin took another sip as more of the crowd gathered around. He  
continued, “Did Mary wonder, ‘What child is this?’ Or did she know? Luke 
tells us that she pondered all this in her heart. Did she remember the 
words of Isaiah, ‘For unto us a child is born, a son is given, the  
government shall be upon his shoulders’? Did Mary think about ‘the Spirit 
of the Lord would rest upon him’ or consider that ‘you shall name him  
Immanuel, God with us.’? Did she dwell on, ‘yet we accounted him  
stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted.’?”

Then Martin looked at the crowd and asked, “What child is this? Who do 
you believe He is? Eternity depends on your answer.” The crowd was  
silent. I took the last swallow from my mug and rose. Martin patted my 
hand and said, “This Christmas Eve when they ask, ‘What child is this?’ 
make sure you tell them Joe. Make sure you tell them.”

As I walked into the night, it was not as dark nor as cold as when I came 
in. I know ‘What child this is’. I pray you know too.

Christmas Blessings  -  Curt