Is Christmas only for children? Certainly, when we look around us at cultural, secular Christmas, we might think so. Just think of all the effort that goes into providing toys for children at Christmas. We encourage our children to tell Santa Claus what they want, or write a letter to Santa, and then we search for just the “right” toys for our children, just the ones they wanted. And we also make sure that we provide toys for children in need. Every civic group, school, bank, hospital, and office has a drive for toys, to say nothing of the trees in malls with tags that direct shoppers to buy and donate toys. And that’s all good and praiseworthy: as followers of Jesus, we are always called to share with others – and not only at Christmas.
By the same token, when we think of Christmas day, what are our fondest memories? Are they the years when we ourselves were children? When he hung stockings somewhere, left out cookies for Santa, and woke up too soon on Christmas Eve, chasing our weary parents out of bed so that we could root around in our stockings and tear open brightly lit packages? Perhaps it was the year there was a shiny bicycle parked by the tree. Those of us who are older may recall the years when our own children were young, as we watched them replay the rituals of our own childhoods. Or now we watch our grandchildren express their own wonder and delight as they race to the Christmas tree to discover its offerings.
Even in our churches our celebrations seems to revolve around the children. In many churches no Advent 4 or Christmas Eve service would be complete without a Christmas pageant, that annual enactment of the Christmas story according to Luke, with the cardboard stable, baby Jesus doll, children in bathrobes, children toting fleecy sheep, and, of course, an army of sweet-faced angels. Last year, we had such a pageant, and I even preached about a Christmas pageant that went delightfully awry, but was mercifully saved by a resourceful pianist and a gracious, welcoming congregation.
So is Christmas only for children? What about us adults? Do we somehow have to recreate for ourselves that bright anticipation of Christmas morning that we work so hard to create for our own and others’ children? Do we have to believe in Santa Claus? (Of course, it’s perfectly OK to honor the memory of St. Nicholas of Myra, the ancestor of Santa Claus. Although he was a bishop in the fourth century, we can still follow his example and give generously to poor children as he did.) Do we have to take Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth literally, since we have immortalized it in pageants and Christmas carols? Do we have to take it as actual history? If so, then how do we account for the fact that gospel of Matthew gives a quite different version of Jesus’ birth, and even that Jesus’ birth is not even mentioned in the gospels of Mark and John, or in any book of the New Testament?
What happens to faith when we suspect or realize that Luke composed his version of the Christmas story for a particular community, using deliberate rhetorical strategies? What happens to faith when we remember that we celebrate Christmas on this day at least partly because the church inherited from the pagans of Rome a celebration of the return of the sun following the winter solstice? Do we turn our backs on Christmas and declare, “Bah, humbug?” Is it only for the sake of the children who are the future of the church that we go through all this? Is Christmas only for children?
My brothers and sisters, the truth is that Christmas is for adults. Its meaning is far deeper than most of us could grasp as children. Indeed, it takes a lifetime of plumbing the depths of Christmas for most of us to begin to glimpse that deeper meaning. And we are here, because we need to be reminded at least annually, if not more often of that deeper meaning. In fact, in the end it doesn’t’ really matter when and how Jesus’ birth happened – these details are ultimately unimportant. Does it matter for my ministry among you that I was born in Crown Heights Hospital in Brooklyn, New York, and that my mother’s physician was a woman?
What matters in what our Scripture stories tell us is the deeper truth that they enable us to glimpse, the deeper truth that Christians have proclaimed ever since Jesus’ followers began to gather after that first Easter. And that deeper truth is no less than this: that God became inseparably joined with human beings, that “God has a mom,” as one writer put, or that God put skin on, as another suggested, that the great, unknowable Mystery beyond all times and worlds came into our midst in the most dependent, vulnerable way possible, first as a fetus inside a woman’s body, and then as a helpless baby. And more: that God came us to us not in pomp and circumstance, not in the glare of social media like the children of British royalty, but in the poorest possible circumstances, in a stable in a poor country ruled by a foreign power that would soon destroy Jerusalem. And even more: that the unfathomable Mystery, the Source of all that was, and is, and is to come, chose to be born to an unmarried teenage mother, and that the first people to hear about the birth were surprised, working class people, who were grubby and smelly by the time they reached the birthplace. This is the truth: that God snuck into our world and took human form while no one was watching and where no one expected God to show up.
And there’s more: there’s another truth embedded in Luke’s account. God may have snuck into our world, but at least some people were aware of God’s coming. They were low-life, working class, despised folks, to be sure, but somehow they had heard the angels’ song of “good news,” somehow they had had a revelation that something had happened. Those grubby folks, who wouldn’t have even gotten close to the gate of Herod’s palace, didn’t just stand there and say, “Wow, that’s nice.” They picked themselves up, followed the angels’ bidding, took themselves to Bethlehem, joyfully praised God, and then shared with others what had happened to them.
And here’s where we come in. We’re in that story too. God continues to sneak into our world. All of us are like Mary in some sense. We’re poor, too young (or too old, as in the case of Mary’s cousin Elizabeth), not yet married, from a small town. Yet God continues to come into the world through us. Jesus continues to be born through us. And all of us are like the shepherds in some sense. We’re poor, grubby, sinful, weary, and tired – especially tired of the long nights of war and injustice. And then we catch the faint echoes of angel song. We hear a rumor of God’s presence in some unlikely place. And we go there and find God: in a quiet church, in our backyard at dawn, in the face of a child, at the altar rail, in a hospital or nursing home room, in the kitchen at Loaves and Fishes.
When we catch a glimpse of God with us, what do we do? Do we shout for joy? Do we dance and sing? Do we ponder the mystery in our hearts? Do we share it with others? Do we care more generously for those around us? Most important, do we remember that the child whose birth we celebrate this night showed and shows us the depth of God’s love for us, and that the adult he became enabled us, through his life, death, and resurrection, to share God’s love with everyone we meet?
Is Christmas for children? Of course it is. And we adults would do well to reclaim children’s spontaneous joyfulness. But Christmas is also for adults. Christmas is for all of us who need to remember, rejoice in, and celebrate God’s coming into our lives. In this darkest time of the year, in the dark times of our lives, when the darkness of the world threatens to overwhelm us, we all need to remember that God came, comes, and will continue to come into our lives. All of us need to remember that God may sneak into our lives, that God may show up when we least expect God to show up, and that God may reveal Godself to or through unlikely people. And when God does show up, all of us are called to share with others the great love that we find in God’s presence.
And because poets are often better than preachers at expressing how we experience God’s presence with us, listen to the last three stanzas of English poet John Betjeman’s poem, “Christmas:”
And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?
And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,
No love that in a family dwells,
No caroling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare —
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.
God give you a most blessed Christmas tide.
Showing posts with label Christmas Eve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Eve. Show all posts
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Thursday, December 25, 2014
The Best Christmas Ever
Children’s Sermon1
The Sunday school at St. Matthew’s had done the Christmas pageant the same way every year. It was always in the church, on the fourth Sunday in Advent. The play was put on mostly by the by the first and second-grade children. As the parents, grandparents, and older children crowded into the sanctuary, the younger children, all freshly scrubbed, gathered in the adjoining hallway.
The Christmas story unfolded in the expected way. The choir of older children sang a Bethlehem-type song, and in from the hallway, encouraged by the tense second-grade teacher, came the beaming Joseph and adorable Mary. Joseph had a striped dish-towel tied round his head with dad’s old tie, while Mary wore a blue veil that looked a lot like the material in the curtains in the first-grade teacher’s family room. Despite Joseph’s frantic waving at his mother in the back pew – and his mother’s waving back – and Mary’s veil slipping dangerously over her eyes, the expectant couple arrived safely at the stable, right between two rows of caroling children.
The innkeeper got his lines right – no fluffed lines this year – the baby Jesus was duly delivered and laid in the manger, and the shepherds made their entry complete with crooks and stuffed animals under their arms. (Well, there was one animal that did look like a lamb, but was the boy at the back carrying a monkey with red and white striped trousers? Oh well, the value of modern exegetical interpretation of scripture .…) The tableau was almost complete, Mary and Joseph right up front, shepherds watching their flock by night on Bethlehem’s plains, and the angelic carolers singing beautifully.
All was ready for the coming of the three kings. The pianist struck the appropriate chord. The singers launched into an impressive royal song. The hallway door opened, and out walked – two kings. “We three kings from Orient are,” they sang, not realizing that one had lost his way. The two kings headed straight for Bethlehem. There was no way these kings were going to miss the action. Their journey was well planned, down the side aisle, up the center aisle, and right into Bethlehem’s manger-square. They had rehearsed carefully, and they walked with style, slowly, in time to the music, and ready to present their gifts when the carol ended.
The two kings were doing fine and all was going well, until the hallway door burst open and, falling through it, came the third king – cloak flapping, present for the baby Jesus tucked under his arm, cardboard crown at a crooked angle, and LATE!
Well, this third king may have been tardy, and he clearly didn’t follow instructions, but he was still smart. Obviously there was no way he could get to Bethlehem by the time the music was finished and meet up with his two companions ready for the next scene. So he decided to take a short cut – right through the singers. Now that might have been OK if the singers had known he was coming, or if a teacher had been able to warn them, or he if hadn’t decided to run as fast as he could. But the singers weren’t ready, and the teacher didn’t move fast enough, and the king wasn’t going to walk.
So he ran. He tripped over a singer’s leg, fell, caught his shoe in the carpet, and arrived at the manger just in time to join his more sedate regal companions. But, having arrived, he couldn’t stop arriving. He continued to run, right into the stable, right up to the manger, and right into the lap of a very surprised Mary. The manger went one way, the precious gift of frankincense went another. A cardboard crown landed in Joseph’s lap, and the baby Jesus, freed from his swaddling clothes, rolled gently towards the first row of pews.
Adults ran to the rescue. The inventive pianist continued to play carols until a semblance of order was restored. Everyone sang the final carol. The star performers took their bow – to the most thunderous applause anyone could ever recall at a church Christmas pageant. And one tearful parent whispered that that year the children had given her one of the best Christmas presents she’d ever gotten!
Adult Sermon
Christmas pageants! Why do we do them? Why do we take such pleasure in seeing children – not adults like the real characters in Luke’s story but children – act out that sacred drama? And why do we set up – and bless – representations of the story in the pageants? For that matter, why are you even here tonight? Why do we leave our warm homes on a wintry evening and flock to churches?
Is it that we are certain – as if we had just heard a historical chronicle – that the gospel according to Luke depicts exactly how Jesus was born? You may indeed think so – and that’s OK. Or, you may not think so. You may question the historic details in Luke’s account – and that’s OK too. Scholars know that the supposedly historical markers that Luke embeds in his tale don’t square with other historical documents. And we know too that Luke and the other evangelists wrote their accounts from particular theological perspectives using particular rhetorical strategies. Whether it all happened exactly as they depict it, two thousand years later we will never know.
So why are we here? It’s not all a fairy story is it – although fairy stories do embody deep truths, more than we realize when we read them as children. Even so, we did not come out to hear a fairy story. We came out to hear the truth that Christians have proclaimed ever since the first hardy souls opted to join the band of Jesus’ followers that began to form after his resurrection. We came out to hear again the deep truth that the Word became flesh and became one with the human family. We came out to hear that God took the great risk of becoming human, of joining the divine life with the human body.
Could that be possible? Why would God want to take on a human body? Most of us dislike our bodies. We think we’re too fat, too thin, too short, or two tall. If we’re young, we think we’ll never be adults, and if we’re old, we mourn the passing of our youthful bodies. Worse, we know that we are mortal, finite, and fragile. And worst of all, many of us are firmly convinced that our bodies are sinful, and that flesh and spirit are at war with each other.
If nothing else, then, the Christmas story reminds us that in the tiny baby, whose birth angels announced to shepherds, the divine and the human are bound together inseparably. This holy story reminds us that our bodies are not wrong, or ugly, or sinful. How could they be, when God was pleased to join Godself to a body? This holy story reminds us that Spirit and flesh are not at war with each other, but are joined together in us as one treasured and beloved whole. How weak and needy we are, how slow we are to learn this truth. And so, God chose to be born as a beautiful child to remind us of who we truly are. For, ultimately, we too are infused with divine life. We too are part of the creation that, out of love, God blew into being, as God’s Spirit hovered over the waters of chaos. We too are part of the creation that God pronounced to be “good.” Spirit and flesh are joined together in us too. Lest we forget that truth, every reading of the gospel story and every Nativity scene provide us with compelling reminders that God and humanity are inseparably joined, not only in Jesus, but also in us – in all of us. And even more important, God is visible to us, not only in the Jesus whose birth we celebrate this night, but also in each of us – and in everyone we meet.
Now here’s a story for the adults. Frederick Buechner relates that, many years ago, he attended Christmas Eve mass at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.2 As he waited, the church filled up with a motley assortment of pilgrims. Finally, there was a sudden hush. Way off, Buechner could see the resplendently dressed Swiss Guards coming up the vast aisle. Then, slowly, slowly, the old pope, Pius XII it was then, came up the aisle. He was dressed in the plainest white cassock and skull cap. As he walked, he seemed to be scanning the crowd. Then he came up to Buechner. His large eyes, made larger by his thick lenses, peered into Buechner’s face. Then he looked into the faces of those around him, with such a charged look that Buechner was sure the pope was looking for someone in particular. “He was a man whose face seemed gray with waiting,” Buechner says, “whose eyes seemed huge and exhausted with searching for someone, some one…. I have felt that I knew whom he was looking for. I felt that everyone else who was really watching must also have known.”
Buechner goes on to remind us that, of course, the face of the one whom the old pope sought was not hidden at all. The one he was looking for “was at that moment crouched against some doorway against the night or leading home some raging Roman drunk or waiting for mass to be over so he could come in with his pail and his mop to start cleaning up that holy mess. The old pope surely knew that the one he was looking for was all around him there in Saint Peter’s. The face that he was looking for was visible, however dimly, in the faces of all of us who had come there that night … because we had come looking for the same one he was looking for….”
My friends, God and humanity are inseparably joined, in Jesus and in us. Never forget that. Let the gospel story and the crèche continue to remind you of that holy truth. As we celebrate the birth of Jesus, may we also see him in each other and in all whom we meet in this holy season.
1. Adapted from Tom Gordon, A Blessing to Follow (Glasgow: Wild Good, 2009), 33ff.
2. Adapted from Synthesis, Christmas Day, 2014, 2.
The Sunday school at St. Matthew’s had done the Christmas pageant the same way every year. It was always in the church, on the fourth Sunday in Advent. The play was put on mostly by the by the first and second-grade children. As the parents, grandparents, and older children crowded into the sanctuary, the younger children, all freshly scrubbed, gathered in the adjoining hallway.
The Christmas story unfolded in the expected way. The choir of older children sang a Bethlehem-type song, and in from the hallway, encouraged by the tense second-grade teacher, came the beaming Joseph and adorable Mary. Joseph had a striped dish-towel tied round his head with dad’s old tie, while Mary wore a blue veil that looked a lot like the material in the curtains in the first-grade teacher’s family room. Despite Joseph’s frantic waving at his mother in the back pew – and his mother’s waving back – and Mary’s veil slipping dangerously over her eyes, the expectant couple arrived safely at the stable, right between two rows of caroling children.
The innkeeper got his lines right – no fluffed lines this year – the baby Jesus was duly delivered and laid in the manger, and the shepherds made their entry complete with crooks and stuffed animals under their arms. (Well, there was one animal that did look like a lamb, but was the boy at the back carrying a monkey with red and white striped trousers? Oh well, the value of modern exegetical interpretation of scripture .…) The tableau was almost complete, Mary and Joseph right up front, shepherds watching their flock by night on Bethlehem’s plains, and the angelic carolers singing beautifully.
All was ready for the coming of the three kings. The pianist struck the appropriate chord. The singers launched into an impressive royal song. The hallway door opened, and out walked – two kings. “We three kings from Orient are,” they sang, not realizing that one had lost his way. The two kings headed straight for Bethlehem. There was no way these kings were going to miss the action. Their journey was well planned, down the side aisle, up the center aisle, and right into Bethlehem’s manger-square. They had rehearsed carefully, and they walked with style, slowly, in time to the music, and ready to present their gifts when the carol ended.
The two kings were doing fine and all was going well, until the hallway door burst open and, falling through it, came the third king – cloak flapping, present for the baby Jesus tucked under his arm, cardboard crown at a crooked angle, and LATE!
Well, this third king may have been tardy, and he clearly didn’t follow instructions, but he was still smart. Obviously there was no way he could get to Bethlehem by the time the music was finished and meet up with his two companions ready for the next scene. So he decided to take a short cut – right through the singers. Now that might have been OK if the singers had known he was coming, or if a teacher had been able to warn them, or he if hadn’t decided to run as fast as he could. But the singers weren’t ready, and the teacher didn’t move fast enough, and the king wasn’t going to walk.
So he ran. He tripped over a singer’s leg, fell, caught his shoe in the carpet, and arrived at the manger just in time to join his more sedate regal companions. But, having arrived, he couldn’t stop arriving. He continued to run, right into the stable, right up to the manger, and right into the lap of a very surprised Mary. The manger went one way, the precious gift of frankincense went another. A cardboard crown landed in Joseph’s lap, and the baby Jesus, freed from his swaddling clothes, rolled gently towards the first row of pews.
Adults ran to the rescue. The inventive pianist continued to play carols until a semblance of order was restored. Everyone sang the final carol. The star performers took their bow – to the most thunderous applause anyone could ever recall at a church Christmas pageant. And one tearful parent whispered that that year the children had given her one of the best Christmas presents she’d ever gotten!
Adult Sermon
Christmas pageants! Why do we do them? Why do we take such pleasure in seeing children – not adults like the real characters in Luke’s story but children – act out that sacred drama? And why do we set up – and bless – representations of the story in the pageants? For that matter, why are you even here tonight? Why do we leave our warm homes on a wintry evening and flock to churches?
Is it that we are certain – as if we had just heard a historical chronicle – that the gospel according to Luke depicts exactly how Jesus was born? You may indeed think so – and that’s OK. Or, you may not think so. You may question the historic details in Luke’s account – and that’s OK too. Scholars know that the supposedly historical markers that Luke embeds in his tale don’t square with other historical documents. And we know too that Luke and the other evangelists wrote their accounts from particular theological perspectives using particular rhetorical strategies. Whether it all happened exactly as they depict it, two thousand years later we will never know.
So why are we here? It’s not all a fairy story is it – although fairy stories do embody deep truths, more than we realize when we read them as children. Even so, we did not come out to hear a fairy story. We came out to hear the truth that Christians have proclaimed ever since the first hardy souls opted to join the band of Jesus’ followers that began to form after his resurrection. We came out to hear again the deep truth that the Word became flesh and became one with the human family. We came out to hear that God took the great risk of becoming human, of joining the divine life with the human body.
Could that be possible? Why would God want to take on a human body? Most of us dislike our bodies. We think we’re too fat, too thin, too short, or two tall. If we’re young, we think we’ll never be adults, and if we’re old, we mourn the passing of our youthful bodies. Worse, we know that we are mortal, finite, and fragile. And worst of all, many of us are firmly convinced that our bodies are sinful, and that flesh and spirit are at war with each other.
If nothing else, then, the Christmas story reminds us that in the tiny baby, whose birth angels announced to shepherds, the divine and the human are bound together inseparably. This holy story reminds us that our bodies are not wrong, or ugly, or sinful. How could they be, when God was pleased to join Godself to a body? This holy story reminds us that Spirit and flesh are not at war with each other, but are joined together in us as one treasured and beloved whole. How weak and needy we are, how slow we are to learn this truth. And so, God chose to be born as a beautiful child to remind us of who we truly are. For, ultimately, we too are infused with divine life. We too are part of the creation that, out of love, God blew into being, as God’s Spirit hovered over the waters of chaos. We too are part of the creation that God pronounced to be “good.” Spirit and flesh are joined together in us too. Lest we forget that truth, every reading of the gospel story and every Nativity scene provide us with compelling reminders that God and humanity are inseparably joined, not only in Jesus, but also in us – in all of us. And even more important, God is visible to us, not only in the Jesus whose birth we celebrate this night, but also in each of us – and in everyone we meet.
Now here’s a story for the adults. Frederick Buechner relates that, many years ago, he attended Christmas Eve mass at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.2 As he waited, the church filled up with a motley assortment of pilgrims. Finally, there was a sudden hush. Way off, Buechner could see the resplendently dressed Swiss Guards coming up the vast aisle. Then, slowly, slowly, the old pope, Pius XII it was then, came up the aisle. He was dressed in the plainest white cassock and skull cap. As he walked, he seemed to be scanning the crowd. Then he came up to Buechner. His large eyes, made larger by his thick lenses, peered into Buechner’s face. Then he looked into the faces of those around him, with such a charged look that Buechner was sure the pope was looking for someone in particular. “He was a man whose face seemed gray with waiting,” Buechner says, “whose eyes seemed huge and exhausted with searching for someone, some one…. I have felt that I knew whom he was looking for. I felt that everyone else who was really watching must also have known.”
Buechner goes on to remind us that, of course, the face of the one whom the old pope sought was not hidden at all. The one he was looking for “was at that moment crouched against some doorway against the night or leading home some raging Roman drunk or waiting for mass to be over so he could come in with his pail and his mop to start cleaning up that holy mess. The old pope surely knew that the one he was looking for was all around him there in Saint Peter’s. The face that he was looking for was visible, however dimly, in the faces of all of us who had come there that night … because we had come looking for the same one he was looking for….”
My friends, God and humanity are inseparably joined, in Jesus and in us. Never forget that. Let the gospel story and the crèche continue to remind you of that holy truth. As we celebrate the birth of Jesus, may we also see him in each other and in all whom we meet in this holy season.
1. Adapted from Tom Gordon, A Blessing to Follow (Glasgow: Wild Good, 2009), 33ff.
2. Adapted from Synthesis, Christmas Day, 2014, 2.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
The Time Has Come
1. Children’s Sermon
It’s time! [Holding up a large clock], well, what time is it? [Children say what time the clock says.] And what day is it? [Children say, “It’s Christmas Eve!”] Yes, it’s Christmas Eve. For twenty-four long days, we’ve been waiting for Christmas. We’ve been watching and waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes less patiently. We’ve been opening or reading our Advent calendars one day at a time. Most of the time we’ve been nice to each other – and to strangers too – but sometimes we’ve gotten tired and cranky, maybe even disappointed, worried, or angry. We’ve watched – and helped – as the house got cleaned and decorated, the Christmas tree was bought or unpacked and then decorated. Maybe someone in your house baked or bought special cookies, or cakes, or pies. Maybe you’ve been preparing for a special Christmas dinner. Maybe you have plans to visit or talk with distant relatives.
All this preparation for Christmas! And now all the preparation is finished, and the time has finally come! The presents have been bought, wrapped, and put under the tree. Now the time has finally come! Jesus is finally here! Jesus has been born and is lying in the stable with his mother and father and all the animals. Finally, after all the waiting, we can celebrate again that Jesus was born. We can celebrate again our faith that Jesus continues to come to us today, tomorrow, and all the days of our lives. We can celebrate again our faith that when Jesus comes he changes our lives. We can celebrate again that God is with us tonight and is always with us. So what are some of the things you see in this church that remind you that Jesus is always with us? [Let children mention a few things: e.g., the crèche, the cross, the Jesus window, the Bible, even the hymnals.] That’s really good. Now I have a special job for you. I’m going to talk to the adults for a bit. While I’m doing that, I want you to give these out papers and these treats to the adults. Can you do that? [Children pass out candy and invitations to “Come celebrate the birth of Jesus!”]
2. Adult sermon
The time has come! The time has come to savor again the joyous, mysterious message of Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth. The story starts in chronos, historical time: “when Quirinius was governor of Syria.” This was a time when an emperor could force all his subjects to travel in order to respond to the census-takers’ demands. Joseph and a very pregnant Mary, even travelling in caravan, would have needed at least a week to comply with this demand. This was a time when Roman rule was and continued to be oppressive and hated by all those subject to it. This was a time when one of the emperor’s puppets would order the murder of all boys under two years old in Jerusalem. This was a time of subjugation, capital punishment, war, conquest, destruction, and even natural disaster. This was a time of darkness.
Is our time any different? We too live in a time of war – unending so it seems in Afghanistan, with precious little to show for it but soldiers’ deaths and wasted taxpayer dollars. We too live in a time of climate change and natural disasters. Have we already forgotten the devastation and destruction wrought by Hurricane Sandy? We too live in a time of glaring social inequality, not only between countries, but also even within this country. The poor are still very much with us. We too live in a time of horrific violence, when innocent children and teachers can be gunned down in their classrooms. We too find ourselves stunned by the often unexpected deaths of those we love. We may feel – with justification – that we too live in a time of darkness.
Yet, in the midst of the historic darkness of Luke’s story, something happened. A birth took place, a birth that was scarcely noticed. I’m reminded of a carol we’ll sing in our Lessons and Carols service o Sunday. It’s one of my favorites, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It was written in the nineteenth century by Episcopal bishop Philips Brooks. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given,” the carol says of Jesus’ birth. It wasn’t that Mary didn’t shout with the pain of her labor, that the midwife didn’t offer comforting words, that Jesus didn’t cry when he was finally born, or that the animals didn’t low and moo with all the commotion in the stable. Rather, in that corner of conquered Judea, Jesus’ birth didn’t make any “noise.” It went virtually unnoticed. Jesus was just another child born to poor parents in a backwater village of the empire. No one important knew about it. No royal birth announcements were sent out.
And yet here is the good news: this birth changed the world forever. Into a dark world came a burst of light, as angels made an astounding announcement – not to Augustus or any other powerful person, but to poor, ragged, dirty, despised shepherds. The angels announced to the shepherds that in the old, dark world this birth had set in motion a new kind of time, Kairos, God’s time. The angels announced that in a stable in Bethlehem God had entered history today, that a savior, a messiah, God’s anointed one, had been born. And although the birth was as yet unnoticed, the angels’ announcement of it was nonetheless a proclamation of good news for all people, an assurance that the old dark time had come to an end, and that God’s good time had begun. And what of those poor, ragged shepherds? Naturally, at first they were afraid. But once they understood what the angels were telling them, they leapt up to see this child for themselves. And when they saw him, they were full of joy, singing out their praise of God.
This is the good news that we too are invited to share. This birth, this change from historic time to God’s time is good news for us too. Because of this birth, we too can hear the angel of the Lord say, “Do not be afraid.” Because of this birth, we too can let go of our fears. Because of the one who was born this day, we too can be joyful. We too can trust that darkness does not have the last word. We too can trust that war, destruction, subjugation, violence, natural disaster, and untimely death have been overcome and transformed by the one born this day. We too can have faith that God continues to come to us, transforming and changing us, as we live into the joyful reality of this birth in our own lives. We too can wait with hope for the final realization of the time ushered in with Jesus’ birth, God’s time, a time when all people will live in peace, freedom, abundance, and justice under Jesus’ most gracious reign.
This then is the holy mystery we have all come to celebrate tonight: that time itself was forever changed that holy night, that that silent birth forever transforms us, and that as Jesus’ disciples we already live our lives on a new and different plane. Because of that holy birth, we too can “sing to the Lord a new song.” We too can sing with all our hearts, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”
It’s time! [Holding up a large clock], well, what time is it? [Children say what time the clock says.] And what day is it? [Children say, “It’s Christmas Eve!”] Yes, it’s Christmas Eve. For twenty-four long days, we’ve been waiting for Christmas. We’ve been watching and waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes less patiently. We’ve been opening or reading our Advent calendars one day at a time. Most of the time we’ve been nice to each other – and to strangers too – but sometimes we’ve gotten tired and cranky, maybe even disappointed, worried, or angry. We’ve watched – and helped – as the house got cleaned and decorated, the Christmas tree was bought or unpacked and then decorated. Maybe someone in your house baked or bought special cookies, or cakes, or pies. Maybe you’ve been preparing for a special Christmas dinner. Maybe you have plans to visit or talk with distant relatives.
All this preparation for Christmas! And now all the preparation is finished, and the time has finally come! The presents have been bought, wrapped, and put under the tree. Now the time has finally come! Jesus is finally here! Jesus has been born and is lying in the stable with his mother and father and all the animals. Finally, after all the waiting, we can celebrate again that Jesus was born. We can celebrate again our faith that Jesus continues to come to us today, tomorrow, and all the days of our lives. We can celebrate again our faith that when Jesus comes he changes our lives. We can celebrate again that God is with us tonight and is always with us. So what are some of the things you see in this church that remind you that Jesus is always with us? [Let children mention a few things: e.g., the crèche, the cross, the Jesus window, the Bible, even the hymnals.] That’s really good. Now I have a special job for you. I’m going to talk to the adults for a bit. While I’m doing that, I want you to give these out papers and these treats to the adults. Can you do that? [Children pass out candy and invitations to “Come celebrate the birth of Jesus!”]
2. Adult sermon
The time has come! The time has come to savor again the joyous, mysterious message of Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth. The story starts in chronos, historical time: “when Quirinius was governor of Syria.” This was a time when an emperor could force all his subjects to travel in order to respond to the census-takers’ demands. Joseph and a very pregnant Mary, even travelling in caravan, would have needed at least a week to comply with this demand. This was a time when Roman rule was and continued to be oppressive and hated by all those subject to it. This was a time when one of the emperor’s puppets would order the murder of all boys under two years old in Jerusalem. This was a time of subjugation, capital punishment, war, conquest, destruction, and even natural disaster. This was a time of darkness.
Is our time any different? We too live in a time of war – unending so it seems in Afghanistan, with precious little to show for it but soldiers’ deaths and wasted taxpayer dollars. We too live in a time of climate change and natural disasters. Have we already forgotten the devastation and destruction wrought by Hurricane Sandy? We too live in a time of glaring social inequality, not only between countries, but also even within this country. The poor are still very much with us. We too live in a time of horrific violence, when innocent children and teachers can be gunned down in their classrooms. We too find ourselves stunned by the often unexpected deaths of those we love. We may feel – with justification – that we too live in a time of darkness.
Yet, in the midst of the historic darkness of Luke’s story, something happened. A birth took place, a birth that was scarcely noticed. I’m reminded of a carol we’ll sing in our Lessons and Carols service o Sunday. It’s one of my favorites, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It was written in the nineteenth century by Episcopal bishop Philips Brooks. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given,” the carol says of Jesus’ birth. It wasn’t that Mary didn’t shout with the pain of her labor, that the midwife didn’t offer comforting words, that Jesus didn’t cry when he was finally born, or that the animals didn’t low and moo with all the commotion in the stable. Rather, in that corner of conquered Judea, Jesus’ birth didn’t make any “noise.” It went virtually unnoticed. Jesus was just another child born to poor parents in a backwater village of the empire. No one important knew about it. No royal birth announcements were sent out.
And yet here is the good news: this birth changed the world forever. Into a dark world came a burst of light, as angels made an astounding announcement – not to Augustus or any other powerful person, but to poor, ragged, dirty, despised shepherds. The angels announced to the shepherds that in the old, dark world this birth had set in motion a new kind of time, Kairos, God’s time. The angels announced that in a stable in Bethlehem God had entered history today, that a savior, a messiah, God’s anointed one, had been born. And although the birth was as yet unnoticed, the angels’ announcement of it was nonetheless a proclamation of good news for all people, an assurance that the old dark time had come to an end, and that God’s good time had begun. And what of those poor, ragged shepherds? Naturally, at first they were afraid. But once they understood what the angels were telling them, they leapt up to see this child for themselves. And when they saw him, they were full of joy, singing out their praise of God.
This is the good news that we too are invited to share. This birth, this change from historic time to God’s time is good news for us too. Because of this birth, we too can hear the angel of the Lord say, “Do not be afraid.” Because of this birth, we too can let go of our fears. Because of the one who was born this day, we too can be joyful. We too can trust that darkness does not have the last word. We too can trust that war, destruction, subjugation, violence, natural disaster, and untimely death have been overcome and transformed by the one born this day. We too can have faith that God continues to come to us, transforming and changing us, as we live into the joyful reality of this birth in our own lives. We too can wait with hope for the final realization of the time ushered in with Jesus’ birth, God’s time, a time when all people will live in peace, freedom, abundance, and justice under Jesus’ most gracious reign.
This then is the holy mystery we have all come to celebrate tonight: that time itself was forever changed that holy night, that that silent birth forever transforms us, and that as Jesus’ disciples we already live our lives on a new and different plane. Because of that holy birth, we too can “sing to the Lord a new song.” We too can sing with all our hearts, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”
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