Happy Christmas! This is a new experience
for me. I cannot recall ever coming to
church on Christmas Day. Our tradition
has been to sit around the Christmas tree in our pajamas opening gifts and
eating cinnamon rolls. Coming to church
just hasn’t been a part of our routine.
I think we have had the attitude that we celebrated through worship on
Christmas Eve. Wasn’t Christmas Day
worship redundant?
Today Jeff and I are trying something
new. We have left our teen-aged, sleep
deprived kids at home and we’ll celebrate later. Today, we will experience the birth of the
Christ Child from a new perspective: in
the daylight.
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The past couple weeks have been
exceptionally hard. The news is
generally not very good as our country experiences fiscal, moral and ethical
questions. When these things happen in
the darkest days of our calendar year and the Mayan calendar predicts the end
of the world, it can be hard to stay positive and continue to look toward the
light.
It really isn’t all that different than when
Jesus was born. Those with power wielded
it with abandon—abandoning any real consideration for the people: Alienating the faithful from the government;
leadership living in fear that they would lose power to someone else; counting
heads; the list goes on.
The Gospel of John reminds us, however, that
even though the world seems to be teetering on collapse, The Word, Jesus, would
be made flesh, returning the faithful to the Light.
The world was ready for a savior. The world NEEDED a savior. The people of God were forgetting, yet again,
that God was with them. The external
forces of humanity: of power, of growth and of oppression were throwing the
people back into the darkness of faithlessness:
of fear, trepidation and worry.
When the world seems to fall apart the primal response of fight or
flight can and often does overtake the need to focus on faith. To whom does one turn when the world is
coming to its end, as we know it?
We have spent the past month waiting and
preparing for the light. And then, when
we begin to find hope that the light will return, we spend the past ten or so
days watching or listening to talking heads give us the play-by-play and
analysis from Sandy Hook Elementary School.
For the past couple months not a day has gone by when the fiscal cliff
isn’t mentioned and the political disagreements don’t leave us shaking our
heads, hoping for compromise. We lament
these things which we have no real ability to change. We wring our hands and cry our tears, hoping
that we can be
saved by something, by some One and we pray.
And now it is Christmas, our annual reminder
of Emmanuel, God with us. How we choose
to move into this Light, bringing our vulnerable, inadequate selves is our
journey of faith. Yes, we need a savior
yesterday, today and tomorrow.
With these thoughts in mind, I wrote a poem
I’d like to share with all of you.
The Christmas Sun
The sun rose this morning
illuminating the sky;
pink clouds announcing the beginning of a new day.
Smoke from last night’s fires
and vapor from the heat escaping the homes
send thin lines of grey up to the sky.
Last night the sky held stars
and the moon shone bright,
our slumber disturbed by sounds
of herald angels telling us
“Do not be afraid.”
A babe was born.
Who is this child, so fragile
and so new?
What difference can he make
in a world filled with fear
of rulers incapable of compassion,
of tax collectors stealing what little we have left,
of those who slaughter innocent children?
We came through the night
to see this miracle,
born in a stable,
surrounded by animals and hay.
His mother and father
exhausted from their journey,
exhausted from their labor
create a makeshift home
with torches burning.
We are welcomed into this sacred space:
their home, for what it is worth.
A simple space,
a simple life.
Two parents, their lives
newly entwined,
welcoming their little king
with humility and fear--
unsure who was coming
to celebrate this new birth.
The sun rises this morning
illuminating the winding path
we traveled through the night.
The angels have grown silent.
Their message received.
Their urgency, their excitement,
their hope somehow understood
by those who heard.
We walked, our faces to the sky
listening to the song from heaven.
Following,
trusting,
wondering:
Why me?
Why was I chosen for this journey?
Who am I?
I am nothing.
I have nothing.
I bring nothing.
I go as I am, carrying only a water skin
and a bag of food.
Afraid.
Guided by the mystery,
I take each step, unsure,
unknowing where this path will lead.
The sun came up this morning.
The ground shimmering,
the sand glistening.
The baby cries and is quickly
cradled in his mother’s arms.
She looks around her
temporary home at all who have
come for shelter.
Disheveled, broken, hungry and dirty
I begin to move, to start a fire
to cook some food,
sharing all I have in my small bag.
It is insignificant.
It is meager.
It is all I have to give.
But when we put all we each have
together, there is enough,
at least for now,
as the sun rises,
and the mother feeds the baby.
This day begins like most others,
and yet the sun seems warmer,
the sky clearer,
the air fresher.
It is a new day
filled with a new hope,
a new joy,
a new light,
a new peace
brought into this world
through this tiny child.
And though I am not worthy--
I am poor,
I am broken
and this world is in chaos
with rulers who know little of compassion,
who know little about my tiny life,
who take but don’t give,
there is light.
There is light
in this new beginning
that brings hope,
that brings redemption,
that brings expectation.
And I am worthy
to sit in this stable
and share a meal
and wonder at the miracle of this birth.
This Christmas morning, creation springs new. The world is fresh, our paths lightened by
the One who came as a baby in a manger stall.
The One present since the beginning of time, reminding us that we are
all creatures of the Creator, worthy to receive, open for transformation,
hungry for a Savior.
Amen.