Living and working in Haiti brought me many memorable experiences. But perhaps the most enduring was when, for first and only time in my ministry, I told the story of Christmas to people who had never heard it.

It happened deep in the Haitien countryside in an old colonial town called Quartier Morin. I drove to the town down deeply rutted roads to hold an outdoor service for its people.

I had prepared a sermon I was pleased with. It would develop St John's idea that the Word became Flesh. But I was destined never to preach it.

Clueless about Christmas

When I arrived a congregation had already gathered. This largely illiterate group was learning by heart some of the songs and biblical material we were going to use later in the service. I noticed at once that there were twice as many people as I had expected. There were a few dozen people I did not recognise.

Before I launched into the service, I engaged in a question and answer session with the congregation. I was particularly anxious to find out who all these strangers were. I discovered they were migrant workers who were working in the nearby sugar fields.

They would cut cane for a few months and then disappear as abruptly as they had come. As these facts emerged so too did another. I discovered that they had not a clue about Christmas.

I knew instantly what I must do. I abandoned the finely honed sermon I had come with. Instead I told the story of Christmas as I had never had occasion to before.

Bureaucrats and politicians told people to go off and take part in a census. The heads in front of me nodded. They knew what it was to be ordered around by such officials. Mary and Joseph found no room in the inn.

What excitement that aroused in a group of people who slept in the fields and had no roof over their heads. A baby was born. Shepherds were among the first to know.

The people's story

These migrant workers were becoming uncontainable. They had slept under the stars and known the silence (and the music) of the heavens too. Kings came and offered their homage. By now there were whoops of delight.

The kings reached Jesus after the shepherds. This overturning of the normal order of things released sheer irrepressible delight. And then, the jealousy of King Herod and the slaughter of the innocents coupled with the flight into Egypt.

I heard a cry from that crowd which I can still hear now. "This is our story," it said. And others nodded and shouted their agreement. "Tell us more about a God who honours poor people like us in this way."

That day, I recognised the real brilliance of the Christmas story and its capacity to offer hope to downtrodden and marginalised people.