CHRISTMAS EVE AND CHRISTMAS MORNING

DECEMBER 24 AND 25, 2002

CHURCH OF THE REDEEMER 

There were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.  Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.  But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid—for see, I am bringing you news of great joy for all people: to you is born this day in the city of David, who is the Messiah, the Lord. . . . Glory to God in the highest heaven and peace to his people on earth.” 

How comforting and wonderful the Christmas story, how timeless and poignant it is.    You and I meet the story each year like a dependable, old friend.  Nothing changes.  The characters and places are part of our upbringing and culture: Mary, Joseph, and the birth of the tiny boy Jesus.  The story takes us inside the life of a family; we know them; we have met before.  How I wish I might have visited the peaceful birthplace of Jesus in the little town of Bethlehem, a city more notorious today for bloodshed and destruction than the little town enshrined in Phillips Brooks’ beloved carol.  Bethlehem in 2002 assaults its own legend.  While Bethlehem had its seedy side back then, until King Herod ordered the death of innocent children, we do not associate that place with violence.  As we begin our descent to the end of the year 2002 we know for sure that Bethlehem and much of the geography around it are places of fear and death. 

But back to Luke’s lovely version of Bethlehem and the story that unfolds there, the Christmas narrative, so dear to our hearts and so soothing as we worship together.  Not surprisingly, open fields surround Bethlehem, and in the temperate climate sheep and their watchful keepers stay out all night.  Look with me at those shepherds – good, simple men in those long-ago days.  They talk quietly among themselves of practical matters, exchanging the latest jokes, wondering about the weather or predators or money problems.  They could not be more ordinary, just people like Mary and Joseph, like the majority of God’s children.  We have no evidence that they were particularly religious; their longings were for plain things like health, happiness, and a chance to have a day off every so often.  They could not have cared less about what they wore or how they smelled or what they would have for their main meal.  Less beautiful perhaps than the lilies of the field, these shepherds were natural and real. 

So there they are, minding their own business in the dark of night when suddenly everything changes.  Sound and light and words come out of nowhere!  Sleepy shepherds wake up fast, and none of them will ever forget that night.  God came alive in the form of what, an angel?  Who had ever seen an angel?  At least none of those men had.  Luke would have us believe that they recognized the angel of the Lord.  It had to be something holy, some other sort of thing.  The shepherds are scared to death.  Like the women who find the empty tomb of Jesus 33 years later, the men are completely frightened.   

In their fear, though, they listen, only to hear an assuring message about a baby, news, as Luke says, of great joy.  These shepherds were not used to news of great joy; they were poor, hardworking, and at the bottom of the heap.  They get directions as to where this child is to be found, lying in a manger where cattle fed, and wrapped up in plain cloth.  The men, still dazed and scared, take courage and decide to go and see this things “that has come to pass”.  But before they leave their sheep on the hillside they hear a further message, not so near now but overhead perhaps, in the distance, a truly celestial cry of wonder.  "Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth.”  Neither obscure hymn nor mythic riddle, these words coincide with the birth of that as- yet-unknown child, the baby we know as Jesus.  The words of praise and glory are the theme song, the unique and wonderful rallying cry of Jesus the Messiah, of Jesus the Son of God, of Jesus the baby who is born to die on the cross and rise again on Easter.  Hear the song of the angels: GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND PEACE TO HIS PEOPLE ON EARTH.  Say them aloud with me once, and again.  These words, now found more frequently on Christmas greeting cards than in the facile proclamations of politicians and world leaders, contain the real message of the GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST THE SON OF GOD.  In our time we must join the angels and sing those words if we are to be the faithful brothers and sisters of the holy child born lo these many centuries ago in the city of David, the city of violence. 

My friends, you and I are living in a world of danger, at the edge of humanity at its worst.  The shepherds have left the fields for fear of war.  The wise men will not travel in the territories of the East.  Our world mocks the song of the angels  - PEACE ON EARTH TO GOD’S PEOPLE ON EARTH.  I do not believe we sing that song any more.  We sing instead of killing enemies, sending our sons and daughters into harm’s way, distrusting our neighbors, returning hatred toward those who hate us, slaughtering innocent children in faraway places, not far even from Bethlehem.  What has happened to our vision, our love for peace and good will to God’s people?  And when did we decide that only powerful Christians are God’s people.  Last time I read Genesis I saw again that God created ALL people, not just Christians.  And not just white, Anglo-Saxon Christians either. 

The words of G. K. Chesterton’s hymn speak as eloquently as they did a century ago:

                    O God of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry,

                    Our earthly leaders falter, our people drift and die;

                    The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide,

                    Take not thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.

We live in a world far from those sheep-filled hillsides, and we are the poorer for it.  We are weak in our arrogance, mired in the language of weapons of mass destruction, rightly fearful that someone, maybe the U. S., will start setting off all that fire power.  Somehow I fear that we have made more than a mockery of the message of the angels.  We have made a mockery of the love and compassion and beauty of the whole Christmas Gospel.  If you are like me, you feel so helpless, so minimal.  The center does not hold, and some sinister kind of anarchy may be around the corner.  Can humanity, sinful and hopeful, murderous and healing, violent and tranquil – in all our contradictions – can humanity reverse the dreadful tide of our world’s madness?  I do not claim to know the answer to that question intellectually or strategically.  I surely sense the answer in my heart, though.  My heart opens to prayer and trust in the God who sent that baby into the world to bring peace.  My heart makes a place for prayer that we might hear once more that angelic theme song and make it our own, not just because it sounds lofty but because it is the only song this world can sing with any integrity.   If we are to survive and grow and know the tender care of that baby and Mary his mother, then we must go directly to that humble birthplace and sing with the angels: GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST AND PEACE TO HIS PEOPLE ON EARTH.  

As much as history and contemporary events conspire to mask the message, the good news is true.  In its stories is our salvation, and rarely have we needed salvation more than at Christmas 2002.  May God hear our prayer and incline our hearts to follow his ways and think his thoughts and live his love.  AMEN.

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