Christmas Eve – Year C – Bill Harkins
The Gospel: Luke 2:1-20
In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
In that region 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 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. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
In the name of the God of light and creation, whose loving care surrounds us on this night…Amen. Grace and Peace to you, and welcome, one and all, to Holy Family on this Holy Night! I especially want to extend greetings to those here tonight visiting family and friends. We are blessed by your presence among us, and we welcome you on this Christmas Eve.
“But Mary treasured all these words, and pondered them in her heart.” The beauty of this passage from the last part of Luke’s narrative has remained with me for several days. Perhaps this is because our Advent preparations have asked us to be more intentional about cultivating a sense of wonder at the mystery of the season. We, too, have pondered in our hearts the coming Incarnation and its meaning for our lives here, and now. Indeed, the beauty of Luke’s narrative never fails to draw me in with its rich images and moving and mysterious story. We recall the timeless images of this infant in a humble stable, the shepherds’ arrival, and the images of Joseph and Mary huddling together, being present with their son. As is so often true with Gospel narratives; however, Luke’s story of the birth of Christ is not limited to what we first hear or see.
In this season of wonder we need only use our imaginations to fill in some of the gaps in the narrative. Luke doesn’t mention the pain of childbirth, for example, or the radically life-changing event that has occurred in the lives of this young couple: the cries of the infant, the exhaustion and anxiety, the fears that both parents must have felt. And then there are the shepherds. In our mind’s eye we tend to romanticize about them, don’t we—and perhaps the author of Luke does too. We do well to remember that shepherds were not at the pinnacle of society in the day of Jesus’ birth. It’s not as if these guys dropped in from a party at the local Country Club to see the infant who in just a few years would certainly be joining the membership roles there. No, they were marginal, nomadic folk, eking out a subsistence living on the land. They showed up at the stable of Jesus’ birth at the suggestion of angels, no less, and I wonder what Mary’s response might have been. Was she concerned about their earthy appearance? Did she feel moved to shelter the child from these strangers? But the angels did choose them to be the first witnesses of God being born into the world. And we might wonder about this, too. We might ponder in our hearts, as Mary did in hers, that the least in society would be chosen to proclaim a mystery that would transform millions of lives and change the course of history. And I found myself thinking about Joseph, and identifying with him, perhaps most of all. I imagine Joseph worried over many concerns as these events unfolded: his fears about what others were thinking and saying about this child born out of wedlock, what this might mean for the honor of his family as he returned to his ancestral birthplace; and, moreover, the disturbing questions of finding a safe place away from home for the birth to occur—and ending up after all in a stable.
And then there is this whole business of being “registered,” because the Emperor Quirinius decreed that it be so. Several years ago, I found myself at the local county tag office, standing in a long line that stretched outside into the cold, waiting to “register” my car. I found myself irritated at having to wait, angry that because of a glitch in the system our attempt to do this by mail had failed and feeling that I was somehow above this use of my time. I looked around at my fellow sojourners in line and I began to watch and listen. Most of them were speaking Spanish, and so I could only make out some of what they were saying. Partly because of the language barrier I felt a little isolated and lonely, even in this crowd of people, and I found myself wondering about this. Here, only 4 or 5 miles from my home, I felt like I was in a different world. I thought about the dislocation Mary and Joseph must have felt—the fear and anxiety. I wondered if Joseph was angry about the emperor’s census decree: the seeming arbitrariness of it and the great imposition it had on his young family. I recalled how frightened I was when our first son was born. Vicky and I were both graduate students, living in a new city, poor and scared. Our plans had been radically altered by this new life. And we took our son back to the small house we rented off-campus, and we knew that our world had changed forever. I thought about all of this as I waited there in line, waiting to be registered, and I tried to imagine the exponentially greater sense of fear and dislocation Mary and Joseph must have felt. And Mary treasured all these words, and pondered them in her heart…As Mary watched the world, one already radically altered, become stranger by the moment and filled with mystery—there seemed no end to the ways that God was turning their lives upside down. So even in “reading between the lines” we find that this story, one that we hear year after year, brings good news into our midst, wherever we may be, regardless of what’s going on in our lives. For some among us the light and warmth of this space on this evening may seem a sanctuary amid stressful and storm-tossed lives. At times Christmas may occur in our reflection on the long memories of youth, and relationships gone by. For many, this is a time of gathering with friends and family, sometimes in joy, sometimes with anxiety and trepidation: often with a mixture of both.
And what of Joseph… a different kind of father in that culture, to be sure. A friend of mine reminds us that Joseph is the father who braved the ridicule of his society for this child and the boy’s mother. Instead of simply being ‘a righteous man’ by refusing to ‘expose her to public shame,’ Joseph was a just man who refused to ‘dismiss her (and her child) quietly.’ Rather than the standard formulas about female virtue, he trusted a dream that overwhelmed the categories he had been taught about women and men, virtue and righteousness. Having your categories upended, like who’s a sinner and who isn’t, my friend says, is always a good hint that the force we often call the Holy Spirit might be present. The Bible calls scrambled categories metanoia, having your mind changed, often translated ‘repentance.’ I like to think that Jospeh played a big role in teaching Jesus the glory of connection with others and the joy of intimacy.
As I see so often in my clinical work this season can, at times, be one of depression, loneliness, and fear. Regardless of where we are, we can hold on to the wonder of this new birth among us, and in us. This is the mystery and miracle of the Incarnation: God being born into humanity—into each of us: no matter where we find ourselves. And we are reminded in the Gospel of Luke, if we use our imaginations and think of similar instances in our own lives, that this birth doesn’t happen only when the house is in order. It doesn’t happen when the mess has been cleaned up in anticipation of guests, and our world is a tidy place. Rather, Jesus is born into a world as messy and difficult and broken as ours may be at times. He is born into a community and a family that experiences fear and anxiety, torn by conflicts, transitions, and uncertainty, waiting to be “registered” for reasons that are not always clear indeed, reasons that may have to do with the arbitrary indifference of the powers and principalities. The Christ who is Incarnate among us demands that we resist giving in to despair. He is born into a place where those who first bear witness to who he is and what he represents are not those with political power, nor are they scholarly professors or the debutante crowd. Rather, they are those living on the margins of society. And like Mary, we are called to treasure all these words, and with a sense of wonder, to ponder them in our hearts.
Well, recently a group from Holy Family visited a local long-term care and rehabilitation center, where we sang seasonal songs, shared Christmas cookies, and distributed gifts to the residents. There was some confusion about the time and date of our arrival due to some administrative changes at the facility, but despite this initial anxiety all went well. During our visit, I recognized an elderly resident whom I met last year; let’s call her “Susan” to preserve confidentiality. She says very little, and she walks a lot, but when she does talk her refrain is “I need help.” At first, I would sit next to her and ask, “Susan, how can I help you.” Inevitably, she did not answer. But this year, I finally realized that what she most needed was for someone to “see” her, to pay attention to her…to sit alongside her. And so, finally, this year, I got it. The real help Susan needed was for someone to simply show up, and be present, and acknowledge that she existed. This year I simply sat down next to her on the sofa in te atrium, and I was quiet. Silently, she reached out and took my hand, and she was quiet too. This is the antithesis of simply being “registered.” When we allow ourselves to imaginatively enter into this story of the Incarnation we find that it shines light into all the dark and scary places of our lives: lives lived in relation to a God to whom all desires are known, and from whom no secrets are hid. The coming of Christ breaks open the darkness, rearranges our perceptions of the world, and invites us to live our lives in response to a deeper truth. Here’s the truth of the message of the Incarnation: Let the Word of Christ dwell in you. Most of us, most of the time perhaps, think of the Word as being in a book, rather than the Word of Christ being in each of us. A newborn life radically changes the lives of any family—as it did for Mary and Joseph. An encounter with a stranger in need can change our lives and invoke life-giving compassion for all. Tonight, we celebrate the Word made flesh, dwelling among us. Like Mary and Joseph, we are called to be co-participants in the transformation of our lives, and the lives of those whom we encounter. We have indeed seen a great light. As we treasure all these words and ponder them in our hearts, let that light shine forth in each of us. I pray that it may be so for us all. Amen