This month is the twentieth anniversary of my father’s passing on December 1, 1997. His death certainly changed our celebration of Christmas that year, and in some ways, it has colored every year since. Ever since his passing, Christmas has been for me a bittersweet time of year. In preparing this message, a story my mother told me in the months following my father’s death came to mind. I don’t know what you will think of this story, but I have been a pastor too long, and have heard too many stories like this, to remain a doubter. Of course, my mother missed my father terribly after spending fifty years of her life with him. Thus, a psychologist might explain away such a story as a mere quirk of grief. However, sometime in the winter following my father’s death, my mother told me that she woke up in the middle of the night and heard my father’s voice. She saw no apparition; she simply heard his voice, shouting one word: Rejoice! My father could be very loud, and this voice...