Christmas Eve Sermon Thoughts

18 years ago we bundled up into our Dodge Caravan and drove from Eureka, California to Fort Wayne, Indiana with our 4 year old and 7 month old children.  It was not a pleasant drive for any of us — the youngest cut teeth the entire trip and would only be consoled by Mom — Mom suffered from kidney pain and dehydration the last two thirds to half of the trip — even the easy traveling 4 year old was out of patience — the weather in the plains and Midwest was painfully cold and our van had a terrible time staying warm — and once we finally got to Indiana there was a huge argument between me and another member of the family.  The much anticipated family trip for Christmas wasn’t turning out anywhere close to what I was imagining.  I wasn’t really in the mood for much of anything, but Dad and Betty wanted to take us to Christmas Eve services, so dutiful children that we are, we went to Church.  All I remember from the service is the candle lighting at the end and, more specifically, my father holding his, at the time, youngest grandchild up in the air, face glowing with candles and love, while singing Silent Night.  This Christmas Eve I am mindful of the joy and gratitude I felt this past October as grandfather embraced his grandchild once more, and in that embrace I could see the same love I witnessed that night 18 years ago.

All that to say, I am conscious of the reality that some of us come to Christmas Eve because we desire to celebrate the birth of the Child of Bethlehem with absolute heart-felt devotion, and some of us come to Christmas Eve as dutiful children.  For some there is enough comfort that we relate to those who had plenty of space at the Inn; for others the feeling of discomfort is such that there is no room or place for us at all.  Some of us have whole homes and families to return to, some do not.

And yet, into this reality, breaks the message of this day. This is what Luke is setting up with his text.  Into Caesar’s counting of his people: a child is born. While some families celebrate warm reunions facilitated by the Emperor’s census, one family gives birth surrounded by animals instead of loved ones. And, while Matthew’s birth narrative has star-gazing, philosopher kings visiting the Child of Bethlehem, Luke tells of shepherds…poor, sheep-gazing outsiders who visit Joseph and Mary and their baby.

It’s shepherds who come to the room that isn't really a room, to pay homage to the Child because they were the ones who received the good news first.  The first people to hear the message of the birth—or maybe just the first ones to notice and pay attention—were people who were considered social outsiders—ones for whom there was never any room, anywhere, except in fields at night, keeping watch over sheep.

One pastor says that it is probably safe to compare the shepherds of that day with day workers who stand in parking lots, waiting for someone to offer them a job that may or may not pay minimum wage (because they can’t really complain to anyone, can they?).  Shepherds were, more than likely, the poorest of the poor, left to guard flocks from nocturnal predators, knowing that it may take their life to protect the life of the flocks they have been hired to protect.  

To them the angel of God proclaims the birth of the Child of Bethlehem, saying, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord…” 

“And suddenly,’ Luke says, “there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!”

The first message of the Gospel is “Do not be afraid!”

If you have ever seen Charlie Brown’s Christmas Special you know that Linus is the one who delivers the Christmas narrative.  As the children and even Snoopy, laugh at Charlie Brown, and his choice of the odd little tree, and as Charlie cries out in frustration, he asks, “Everything I do turns into a disaster; I guess I don’t know what Christmas is all about. Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”  Linus says, “I know what Christmas is all about.” And he walks out onto the stage and while speaking he does something very un-Linus like.  When he gets to the message of the angels and their proclamation of “Fear not!” Linus lets go of his blanket. We don’t see him drop it but in one moment his hand is grasping his blanket, and in the next he raises that empty hand up as he completes his soliloquy. It is probably the only time that Linus is seen without his blanket, his symbol of security and protection, the thing that helps him be brave.  

As Charlie Brown wonders where his place is, when he can’t do anything right and gets laughed at all the time, as he doubts his choice of the runty little Christmas Tree, Linus tells of the birth of the Child of Bethlehem, of the message to the outsider shepherds, that there is no need to be afraid, that the good news “reminds us that God appears to the less than perfect and the less than powerful.”  And for those that relate to the awkwardness of Charlie Brown, for those who relate to the odd little tree, for those who stand at the margins wondering if and where they may have a place, this is good news.  This is good news for us all!

“Do not be afraid,” the angels say. “I bring you good news of great joy…”

Greek is a very precise language (except when it is not…) so when reading a Greek text of the gospel the reader can notice that the angel says to the shepherds, “I bring you (all) good news of great joy.”  Greek has different words for singular you and plural you.  Kind of like how folks from you south have you, y’all and all y’all. So the message isn’t just addressed to one person, one shepherd, but to all of them.  That being said, there is a point where you have make the leap from the good news being proclaimed for a group of people and the good news being for us.  While the shepherds were addressed as a group and the angel said, “you (all) are recipients of the good news of great joy” there is no doubt that the message was also meant for and received by each one of them individually.

Martin Luther once preached: “[The angel] does not simply say, ‘Christ is born,’ but: ‘For you he is born.’ What good would it do me, if he were born a thousand times and if this were sung to me every day with the loveliest of airs, if I should not hear that there was something in it for me and that it should be my own?”

The good news is declared to “all y’all” because God wants to be sure that every individual understands that the good news is for them.

The angel says, “I bring you (all) good news of great joy for all the people.”  Christ’s birth is not only good news for this group or for that group, for these people or those people.  The child of Bethlehem is good news of great joy for all the people.  The child of Bethlehem isn’t just good news for the lost sheep of Israel; the child is good news for the nations.  The child of Bethlehem isn’t just good news for the religious folk; the child is good news for the folk who know exactly how difficult their struggle is every single day and how far from the mark they land more often than not.  You could even say that the good news is that the Child of Bethlehem is for Charlie Brown AND for the kids who laugh at him.

As Caesar counts the people who make up his realm, as a subtle or not so subtle message of who is in charge and who is not, and who is favored and who is not, Christ is born bringing good news to all the people. As Mary proclaimed following the annunciation, in this child “[God] has brought down the powerful…and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich empty away; he has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise made to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” And as Jesus declared in his first sermon in the synagogue, “[the Lord] has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” In this moment of angels visiting shepherds we are reminded that the message of Christmas is that the Child of Bethlehem is good news for everyone, absolutely everyone.

The On Going Work of Turning

Image Courtesy of United Methodist Board of Discipleship, Worship Resources

There is a scene in O Brother, Where Art Thou? where Everett, Delmar, and Pete are hiding in the woods and a congregation begins walking through to go to a nearby river for Baptisms. The stream of people flowing through the woods brings their conversation to a slow stop as the trio begins to follow the congregation down the river bank.  It is one of my favorite scenes in the movie for a variety of reasons, but it comes to mind today as we consider the voice of John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness on the second Sunday of Advent.

It never really occurred to me that the preparations for advent are a bit like being in a wilderness place.  Yet, throughout Scripture we find that the wilderness is a place of preparation.  The children of Israel were prepared for entering the Promised Land by their sojourn in the wilderness; they spent years shaking off the remnants of a life of slavery and learning to be free.  Jesus prepared for his ministry by spending 40 days fasting in the wilderness.  Advent is a bit like a wilderness place as we wait and listen and prepared our hearts for the celebration of Christ’s birth and as we prepare ourselves for Christ’s eventual return. One may even go so far as to say that the life of discipleship, that the process of sanctification, is a wilderness life as we learn to shake off the remnants of our slavery to sin and learning to live a life of freedom as the children of God .  

That is why John is crying out in the wilderness, “Repent!” Change your lives! Change your minds! Turn from the slavery you know to the freedom you have been given! Wash yourselves as an outward sign of your inward commitment!

One Sunday when I was away from my church for a conference or some event, I heard that the guest preacher offered up a fantastic sermon. (It’s always a little intimidating when you come back from being away for a Sunday and folks are talking about how good that visiting preacher’s sermon was!)  One of the points that was made was that there is a huge difference between “Interest” and “Commitment.”  Lots of folks may be interested in something; but only a handful will demonstrate the commitment necessary to make something happen.

Like stand up paddle boarding.  I am really interested in learning how to ride swells and small waves on a stand up paddleboard.  Whether or not I am committed to learning how to ride a SUP is something altogether different.  I have an interest in learning how to surf after 20 plus years away from a long board.  I have to muster up the commitment to actually get out there and learn if I want to do more than just stand on the pier in IB and watch surfers.

John the Baptist isn’t interested in interest.  He’s crying out that folks need to lean into commitment.  

I think the Pharisees and Sadducees are there because they are interested in what John has to say. Maybe they just want to find out what all the hubbub is about.  That’s probably why he calls them on the carpet, too.  In no uncertain terms, John is calling them out: 

“Brood of vipers” isn’t the kind of language you use when you want to build bridges or when you’re trying to be tactful about something. It’s not a phrase that my friend and mentor would encourage the use of when using the art of pastor-fu on someone.

“Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” Those are key words to a life of being prepared in the wilderness.  Those words call folks to a life of commitment.  It’s not that John is preaching to people who are inherently bad or evil or wicked.  He’s not.  He’s preaching to people who have become comfortable in their relationship with God.  He calls the Sadducees and the Pharisees out because they have become comfortable in their positions of leadership.  He calls out anyone who feels like they don’t have any more internal work to do because they’re already members of the club.  He says, “Don’t tell me you have Abraham as an ancestor…bear fruit of your life with God!”

Maybe that’s something for the church to hear in Advent: Bear fruit worthy of repentance; let repentance be an ongoing work in your lives. 

The on-going work of turning ourselves toward God. Ms. Carrie, a saint, really, truly a saint of the last church I served before going on active duty, and in her last days she wanted to talk to me about dying and making sure that she had everything covered when it came to repentance. If there is a person I would think would not have to be concerned about repenting, it was Ms. Carrie. But she still wanted to make sure her life was turned as closely as possible to facing God. Repentance, making the turn toward God, is an ongoing work.

I’m still learning traffic patterns around the area, and the other day I was in the wrong lane coming out of 32nd Street and needed to get over by one lane to get to the exchange and commissary gate…got the non-regulation salute from someone who was less than thrilled by me blocking up traffic once I finally managed to get over…got to thinking about how we don’t do much with regard to allowing folks the benefit of the doubt anymore, maybe they don’t know where they are going…yada yada yada…I was composing the most eloquent Facebook post ever about how we need to change and maybe be a little more grace-filled and kind, and when I finally get to the light to turn left on the green arrow, someone in the right turn across the intersection shoots out in front and gets into the space for those of us turning left! I did not render honors in like fashion, but I was pretty irritated and then it occurred to me how willingly we see the need for other folks to repent and maybe not so much when it comes to ourselves. Repentance, making the turn toward God, is an on-going work.

Which leads us to the altar. John was doing nothing but pointing people to Jesus, who pointed people to God. And when we come to the altar, we are turning our lives in that God-ward direction, remembering everything God did, does, and will do, in the person of Jesus.   The president of my seminary said once “It is at the altar where we are confronted with the call to alter our lives.”

As we celebrate Communion this day, may we hear the call of John to turn ever more toward God in Christ; may we hear, receive, and know the assurance of forgiveness.