In
November, my husband, Jeff, and I saw a performance of Dicken’s A Christmas
Carol.
I’m
certain most of us here know the story.
A crotchety old businessman who cares only about money is rude and cruel
to the people closest to him—his employee and his nephew—on Christmas Eve. He begrudgingly gives time off with pay to
his employee and dismisses an invitation to spend time with his family on
Christmas Day with a BAH! HUMBUG!
When
he goes home, he is visited by the spirit of his old business partner, who
tells him that over the next few nights Scrooge, as he is known, will be visited
by three spirits: the spirit of Christmases
Past, Present and Future.
Beginning
that night the spirits visit him, reminding him what it was like to be loved,
to know success, to be seduced by money and power, to see how other people in
the world live in the poverty he creates, to learn how others might view him
when he dies: alone, bitter, and almost soul-less.
His
heart is turned. He asks the last spirit
if he can change the future. The
faceless spirit does not answer him, cannot answer him, because it’s Scrooge
alone who can make that decision.
When
he wakes up, Scrooge finds that, miraculously, only one night has passed and these
visits have profoundly changed him.
Changed him so much that he begins to dance, to give money away, to buy
food and gifts for his poor employee, and to show up at the Christmas party
hosted by his nephew.
The
story doesn’t seem to focus much on the story of the birth of Jesus, but it
does focus on being transformed. Of
changing who he was into someone no one recognizes as Ebenezer Scrooge.
That is
what this birth story of Jesus is all about.
Transformation.
God
sends Jesus to earth to be born as a baby:
divine and human, all in one, to show the world that there is a different
way to live. To show us that there is a
world beyond our noses that needs our compassion and hope, resilience and deep
joy, community and abundant love.
Joseph
brought the very pregnant Mary to Bethlehem, the place of his ancestors, to be
counted in the mandatory census. We
might wonder why they made this trip alone to a place he had likely never lived
to people he really did not know. I
suppose he could have ignored the edict and faced the consequences, or he could
have left Mary with her family, but instead, Joseph took Mary to Bethlehem.
In our
imaginations and in the artful representations of this story, it seems like
they made this trip alone. That they
took these days to get to know one another better without the interruption or
meddling of family. But it is unlikely
that this is the truth. Realistically,
if Joseph was heading to Bethlehem, other members of his family were too. And they were heading to a specific family
location, where they would gather.
The place
would be crowded. Uncles tripping over nieces,
cousins tiptoeing around elders, as they came together in a single home, where sleeping
quarters would be on the second floor, under a thatched roof, and where the lower
level likely collected the animals on chilly nights. When Joseph and Mary arrive, the extra
sleeping spaces were probably cramped and because it was near the time for her
to give birth, Joseph’s relative gave them the lower level of the house, where
the animals, too, had gathered for the night, and let them settle in.
When
Mary’s birthing cries begin, I bet the women in the rooms above came down to
help with the birth of this child. That’s
what women of that time would do. They would
gather around their sisters in this moment of great pain and need and they would
help bring forth new life.
What
they probably did not know is that this new life was coming into the world to
transform them and all the generations to follow. So when they went back to their cramped rooms
upstairs to go back to sleep, after cooing over and holding this new member of
the family, they would be surprised by the visitors who would begin to stream
into Bethlehem to visit this babe and his family over not only the next few
nights, but the next few years.
Think
about the birth of any of our children.
Seldom do we bring a child into the world without a cadre of people
supporting the birth and early days of life.
Often surrounded by family, the parents and baby and other children, if
there are any, have helpful support and care.
It had to be so when Jesus was born.
Looking at it this way, the birth scene is not silent or private. Mary did not birth a baby without experienced
help. But like family does, each one
eventually slipped away to allow the new family some quiet time.
I think that’s the scene we come upon when we picture the
manger and the star overhead. The
silent, quiet moments of a family getting to know one another before the dawn.
Their lives will never be the same. This holy birth marks a change in each of the
people who come upon it. It doesn’t
matter when someone comes to know the babe lying in a manger in Bethlehem. If they were there that night, helping with
the birth, if they were shepherds in the fields directed by an angel to go and
see, if they were wise men who came three years later, or people in the Temple—amazed
by the depth of scriptural knowledge coming from a 12 year old Jewish boy, or
men and women chosen or who chose to follow him and be taught by him as he
spread the message of Love for the three years of his ministry. It doesn’t matter if he washed their feet or
fed them bread and wine. Or if they were
at his trial or his crucifixion or at the empty tomb. If they were on the road to Emmaus, locked in
an upper room-scared for their lives, or they touched the wounds in his hands,
feet and side. Or even if they watched
as he ascended to heaven.
It doesn’t matter if you were raised hearing the story or
if you came to hear it for the first time tonight.
All of us can be transformed by this birth and the life of Jesus.
We can hear over and over again what Jesus did when he
walked on this earth as Emmanuel, as God is with us. Stories of healing, of feeding, of teaching,
of seeing, of listening, of praying, of miracles and of the mundane. We can hear them throughout our lives and be
transformed every time to be the people of Jesus, lovers of God, open to the
Holy Spirit.
Because as people of Jesus we are called to be like
him. To see the world with compassion,
to live our lives seeking equity and justice, to love all God’s beloved creation,
and to care for one another.
Tonight, we celebrate the birth of Jesus, and we open our
hearts, minds and souls to be transformed by the wonders of his love. Amen.