When our eldest was born, he was born to two oldest
children. And he came two weeks early. Everyone had told us not to anticipate
this; that firstborns always come a bit late. So we thought we had weeks
to go. I will not bore you with the details here, but thirty-five years later I
remember it all like it happened yesterday. People arriving in Connecticut from
Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, calls being placed at a time before we had cell
phones. It’s a boy! No small measure of chaos after all that waiting time.
Ready or not, we began our vocation as parents in
September 1990. It continued about three years later when James joined our
family, but while no less important, welcoming our second son was different. We
had a clearer sense of what we were getting into.
The Birth we have gathered here to celebrate today is unique,
for sure. But in other ways it is no different from the ways all of us have
come into the world. We just spent four weeks of waiting and getting ready, or
not. But this day comes regardless of whether we patiently lit the candles on
our Advent wreaths. And when Christmas finally arrrives, it’s a little chaotic. No room in the
inn, so a make-shift bed in the barn. Cattle lowing Smelly shepherds arriving
in the midst of it all. Mary asking Joseph one more time, “I thought you said
you’d reserved an Airbnb for us?” And who thought it was a good idea to invite
that little drummer boy? Parumpapumpum!
And yet, after it all, there is finally a quiet moment
when all really is calm and bright. This
holy infant – this mother and child. A moment to take it all in, in all of its
glory. In the Gospel we heard today, after
a whirlwind of activity Luke gives us this phrase that Mary “pondered all these
things in her heart.” We didn’t read that far last night. If you were here then
you will remember we stopped reading after the angels sang: Gloria in excelsis
deo!
This morning, though, we continued the story. The
angels leave and go back to heaven. The shepherds arrive, tell their story,
experience amazement and then get back to work. And Mary finally has a moment
to herself, and she treasures all these words and pondered them in her heart.
I think that Christmas Eve services are wonderful and
last night was great. It’s festive and Christmas is a festive season. It was
joyful and Christmas is a time of great joy. But it was important to me to be
with you this morning and to see these two celebrations as complementary. Christmas
Day services are much quieter. After fifteen months of shared ministry, today
is a day to ponder so many things in our hearts.
What does this birth mean?
It means that the Word has become flesh to dwell among us. Literally this birth
changes us, as all births change us. But this one changes the whole world. The
birth of Jesus invites us to see ourselves and the world in new ways.
Early church fathers, especially from the eastern side
of Christianity, speak of divinization. This is still a very central idea for
Orthodox Christians that can sound a little heretical to western ears: God
became human, so that humans might become divine. We in the western part of
the Jesus’ Movement have been too shaped by Calvin and Luther to let this roll
off our tongues. We tend to focus more on sin and grace by way of Good Friday
and Easter.
But in the eastern wing of Christianity, it is not
that they go easy on sin. It is that they embrace more fully the theological
insights of John’s Prologue. The Word has become flesh. We have beheld his
glory, full of grace and truth. This world and even the whole cosmos, has been
changed because the gap between heaven and earth has become extremely thin. Ponder
that in your hearts over these twelve days of Christmas.
Because of this birth, we are invited to become more
radiant, more glowing, more light in a world of darkness. To live more and more
and more into our vocation to be light, and salt, and yeast, not just
individually but as the Church. To be fully alive, one day at a time. Not to
waste our lives or postpone our living until some future date. To live our best
lives right now, the lives for which God made us and to which Christ calls us,
one day at a time.
The new and abundant life to which God calls us in
Christ doesn’t happen all at once. But very often it begins in quiet moments
like this one, because in this new life we recognize once more all that is
possible, with God’s help.
So this is it, friends. This is literally the end. And
as with all ends, there will be new beginnings. For me and for you all. It’s
been a wonderful ride and I am grateful for the party earlier this month. And
for the festival tone of last night and for the quiet tone of this morning. All
to the glory of God and both very legitimate ways to celebrate our dear
Savior’s birth.
But in this liturgy, on this celebration of Jesus’
birth, let us ponder all these things in our hearts as Mary did. Let’s just
pause, and take it all in, before we move along to the next chapter here at St
Michael’s and for me the next chapter of retirement. Both include some knowns
and some unknowns; that’s life. But we know this: that God is with us, every
step of the way. That’s the name of Jesus we take from this day: Emmanuel.
God with us, in the flesh, in Jesus. Ponder that over the next twelve days and
beyond.
And then, do the work God has given you to do. Do the
work of Christmas. The late Howard Thurman, who was for many years Chaplain at
Boston University, put it this way:
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among the nations,
To make music in the heart.
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