Luke 2: 1-20
Tonight we gather in the warmth of this place, amid the echoes of angel song, to sing again the great glad carols of the Christ child’s coming, to catch the scent of the fir tree and see the shining light of candles, to witness the wonder in a child’s eyes, filled with the joy of Christmas.
Tonight is Christmas Eve, when we celebrate a mystery that deepens with the passing of the years, that God so loved the world, that he came as word made flesh, to dwell among us, full of grace and truth. We remember his coming as a little child, without a home in the world, so that we might make our home this night where the Christ child lays his head.[i]
We come at last to rest, after busy days of preparation, of decking the halls and toasting friends and finding gifts. We come, with the memories of Christmas past lingering in the air, the scent of cloves and cinnamon, the frankincense of memory.
We come, some of us bearing the weight of all the past year has brought, an empty chair at Christmas dinner, a Christmas stocking still folded away.
We come, having waited for far-flung family to gather under our roof, the usually empty bedrooms now filled with suitcases and grandchildren and the dogs the kids insist on bringing.
We come, some of us weary at the close of a year that has held hard times, work hard to come by, worries about health on the horizon, wondering what the new year may hold.
We come; the hopes and fears of all the years are met indeed tonight. So it was on that first Christmas Eve for Mary and Joseph; a cold coming they had of it, eighty miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem, along a rough and winding road, and Mary so close to her time.
There were many in Bethlehem, gathered for the census ordered by Caesar Augustus; so many there was no room for them in the inn. So Mary brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger.
The inhabitants of Bethlehem little noticed. Had Mary and Joseph been home in Nazareth, there would have been neighbors visiting, and even, as was the custom, musicians to come and sing a simple song to celebrate the baby’s birth. But here, far from home, it seemed his birth would go unsung, were it not for the dramatic appearance of heavenly minstrels, all the heavenly host, singing Gloria in excelsis![ii]
The angels first had told the news of Christ’s coming to a group of shepherds out abiding with their flocks by night. Not to kings was the first news of his coming. But to shepherds, sitting on the hillside, warming their hands around a fire, looking up at the distant stars, listening as one recalled an old story. One day, the prophets promised, the dawn from on high would break upon them. One day, a Messiah would be born. A hope deferred, and their hearts grown weary of waiting. Then, suddenly, an angel appeared to them, and said, “Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”
These shepherds were gifted to receive the great glad tidings of Christ’s coming. The flocks they pastured near Bethlehem were called on to provide pure, unblemished lambs for the Temple in Jerusalem, for the sacrifices of the Lord. And in God’s providence, it was these “shepherds who looked after the Temple lambs [who] were the first to see the Lamb of God,”[iii] given for all the world. And perhaps it is fitting. For his story unfolds in the city of David, David, the shepherd-king. And Christ is to come as Messiah who will lead his flock like a shepherd, and gather the lambs with his arms.[iv]
Suddenly, there is a light that shines for the people who have walked in darkness. In our time, as in theirs, we live in hope of one day seeing a great light, for the darkness is too much with us. We turn on the news, and images of war and protest, accidents and incidents fill in a mosaic of broken pieces, a portrait of the world, a land of deep darkness waiting for light to shine. And we know not only the darkness of the world, but also the darkness in our own lives, the stress on families that seems more keen in the holiday season, the darkness of illness and loss, of children not quite as we had hoped, and parents, growing frail with the passing of the years, the loneliness and fear[v] that shadow our lives.
Yet it was in the bleak mid-winter, near the year’s darkest hour, when God sent for us a Savior when half-spent was the night. So this night, we lift our hearts in song. For unto us, the light has dawned. A light that shines, so that even though the weary world pauses only briefly to sing a “Silent Night,” and not all the places and peoples of our lives are yet at peace, there is a light that shines, and the darkness will not been able to put it out.
This year, there has been a baby in our prayers, baby Molly, born too soon, to friends of ours. They are adoptive parents, themselves past the age of baby showers and baptisms. A friend put them in touch with the baby’s expectant mother, and then they waited. Several months ago, Molly was born, long before her time, weighing just a pound, struggling with every step along the way. Yet she has been borne up on the prayers of many, and has marked every milestone, two pounds, breathing on her own, three pounds, growing more resilient, four pounds and just yesterday, released from hospital in time to go home for Christmas, to begin the new year with her new family.
Yet their joy in her growth has been tempered by a deep and sounding sorrow. For Molly was one of twins, and the other twin, her brother, was not strong enough to survive being thrust into the world not yet made up. So around the edges, a hint of darkness remains, an echo of an old Christmas carol in a minor key, “What Child is this who laid to rest?” Yet Molly’s parents and all who have prayed for them, having marked her brother’s passing, are now embracing this little one who did survive. Who knows what her life may hold, in the loving embrace of her family, and the many who have held her in their prayers? Life in all its frailty and fragility endures. The Christ child sleeps in the manger; a light shines in the darkness.
So in his name may we go out to look for the light that shines; in the Christmas card from a far-away friend, in the half hug we manage with a family member with whom we had fallen out, in the old carols of Christmas, and the candlelight illumining faces made radiant by the beauty of this night.
The people who walked in darkness; we have seen a great light. This night, rejoice, for Christ has come--Merry Christmas!
Let us pray:
When it’s cold and wet and we long for the light, come Christmas.
Come with warmth and joy for innkeepers and travelers, shepherds and kings; Come to comfort the lonely and wipe the tear from the cheek of those who are sad.
Come, Christmas God, Christ-child of Bethlehem, Spirit of wonder, be born in us and your world once more.[vi] Amen.
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