An agnostic stays away from church, especially on Christmas, because he just can't comprehend that Incarnation thing.  One year, as his wife and kids are off at Christmas Eve worship, a snowstorm begins.  He settles into a comfy chair by the fire. “If we must have Christmas,” thinks he, “it’s nice to have a white one.”

The man's repose is disturbed by a thudding sound, and another and another.  Some joker throwing snowballs?

No, the man concludes, as he looks out his picture window.  It's a flock of birds, desperate to find shelter.  They've flown into the glass of his window and are now lying on the ground, stunned.

If only he can get them into the barn, they'll be safe until the storm passes.

He tries opening the barn door and hanging a lantern.  No effect.

He tries laying down a trail of bread crumbs.  The birds ignore them.

He tries shooing them into the barn by running towards them, waving his arms and shouting like a crazy person. They flee every which way but through the open barn door.

“They find me a strange and terrifying creature,” the man concludes.  “I can’t think of any way to let them know they can trust me. If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps then I could lead them to safety.”

Just at that moment the church bells begin to ring. He stands in silence for a few moments, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of a Savior's birth. Then, he sinks to his knees in the snow. “Now I do understand,” he whispers in prayer. “Now I see why you had to do it.”