It is a wonderful scene in that stable so long ago. The animals quietly munching on their hay. Mary and Joseph lovingly peering down at their newborn baby. The star shining in the night, marking this place of miracle. The shepherds curiously looking in from the edge, their hats removed in respect. The angels singing their hearts out, hovering just behind the holy family, the light from their haloes illuminating the scene. The three wise men opposite the shepherds opening their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And in the middle of all this busy scene, there is the baby Jesus cozied down in the soft sweet smelling straw in the manger. Hark, is that the little drummer boy I hear coming? It is all such a beautiful tableaux. It makes for some very pretty Christmas cards.
Too bad it wasn’t anything like that. If anyone has ever been in a barn, they know that it is not sweet smelling and cozy. The stable would have stunk of sweat and manure. It was probably dark, with perhaps only a small oil lamp to light the space. The animals may have wondered why a baby was in their feed trough. Mary and Joseph would have been exhausted from their travels and from childbirth. If the shepherds were there, (they’re not mentioned in the Matthew account), they too would have stunk and been rude. If the three wise men were there (they’re not mentioned in the Luke account), their great gifts would have been used for food and the escape to Egypt from King Herod. The straw would have been scratchy. Even Jesus probably cried in discomfort. And I really don’t think there was a little drummer boy.
That was the reality in which God chose to insert himself into human existence. He chose to come in the form of the lowliest of human beings, dirt poor, rejected from the very first with no room at the inn. He chose to be born among us in the muck and stink of a barn. This is the Christ who came to tell us we had it all wrong, that our God was a God of peace, not violence, a God of abundance, not scarcity, a God of forgiveness, not revenge, a God of love, not division and hate. Ironically, not everyone thought this was good news, especially those in power. This is the Lord and King who comes to be with us, to understand us, to comfort us, not from some distant throne, but here in the muck and mire of our daily, and sometimes stinking, lives. This is the Christ who will die for us in order to call us into a new relationship with him. This is the God who loves us so much, who wants to show us how significant we are his eyes, that he comes to seek us, and calls to us, “Come closer.” We can hardly believe it, not as William Sloane Coffin says, “because he is so hard to believe in, but because he is too good for us to believe in, we being strangers to such goodness.”
Perhaps because it is hard to believe we have made it a myth, a good story. We have done our best to clean up Christmas. We have done our best to sentimentalize it and to make it about family, good times, and gift giving, sometimes extravagant gift giving encouraged by our retail mindset. Don’t get me wrong, I love the lights on the houses, the Christmas trees in the windows, the parties to go to. Those things are fun and heart warming. But let’s not confuse the sentimental Christmas scene, or the gifts under the tree with real Christmas.
William Sloane Coffin has said, “Christians are properly troubled by a commercialized Christmas. My own greater concern is with a sentimentalized one. A commercial Christmas at least never pretends to be anything else. Sentimentality, however, does not arise from the truth; rather it’s what’s poured on top, blurring and distorting the truth.”
The danger of making Christmas into just another Hallmark moment, is of course, that it trivializes what God had done for us. It calls for nothing from us, no response, except perhaps to raise the Kleenex to daub the tears from our eyes. The temptation of sentimentality lets us avoid the humility it takes to acknowledge something greater than we are, to accept God’s dominion over us and our own dependence on him.
By making Christmas a sentimental experience we risk confusing our emotional response as real spirituality. That little tug at our heartstrings may soften our hearts for a few days so that we are nicer to the people around us, but it does not fundamentally alter our lives. You see, that little babe in the manger is dangerous. If we listen to him, really listen to him, he will call us beyond ourselves into a transformative relationship. That little baby will not be satisfied until we have changed, until we have put aside our own egos, our own need for control, and listen to where he is calling us. When Christmas becomes a life-changing experience, then we can talk about how spiritual it is for us.
There are a lot of people today who call themselves spiritual but not religious. Perhaps you are one of them. Religion loses its credibility when it is focused first on our sentimental traditions rather than the deeply authentic meaning that Jesus Christ has for our lives. Religion loses its credibility when it focuses on its own hierarchy and polity, rather than the potential for the gospel to change the world. Religion loses credibility when its liturgy does not reflect our real concerns. Religion loses credibility when it makes no discernable difference in people’s lives. It is not that traditions and liturgy and hierarchy and polity are not good things, they are. They give structure to our spirituality and give ways to express our desires and our regrets, and call us into a community of fellow human beings with similar concerns. If the church is to appeal to people’s spirituality, we must first be authentic to the message of Christ’s saving love for all of us.
A non-sentimental Christmas can still be beautiful. Beauty has the capacity to touch us deeply, to express truth in ways we may have not noticed before, and to change us. When Christ touches us at the center of our spirits, we want to respond in gratitude by honoring him with our best gifts, our best efforts. Our hope is that the beauty of those gifts offered up to Christ, might inspire others to look more deeply into their own spirit, to their own relationship with Christ and be transformed. The beauty of our church, our music, and our liturgy, so lovingly assembled, can help us to reflect on the deeper meaning of the incarnation of God’s love for us.
So the question is, how has Christmas changed us? Has it brought us to our knees in sincere adoration of the one who has brought God down to be among us, cleverly disguised as a little baby? Has it given us the humility to acknowledge that even this babe is greater than we are, and that we need his forgiveness? Has it inspired us to deepen our relationship with God, with others, and ourselves through prayer and worship? Has is it convinced us that we need to go out and work for justice and peace, one person at a time? How have we been transformed?
Unto us a child is born. But this is not just a sweet baby in a romanticized scene far from the reality of our own lives. This is Emmanuel, God with us. He has changed the world, and he can change us. And that is a beautiful thing. O Come let us adore him, Christ our Lord.
Sample sermons from the Rev. David Drebert. Contact me for additional information.
Advent 4B
If you are like me, most of the time I really hate to be interrupted. When I am focusing on a project an interruption can knock me off my train of thought. If I am engrossed in a mystery novel or TV program and I am trying to follow the plot, that is not the time I want to start a conversation. Or if I am listening to sublime music at a concert, I get annoyed if someone’s beeper goes off. And I really get annoyed when something intrudes on my best laid plans for the weekend, or the year, or my life for that matter.
That isn’t to say that there aren’t some very good interruptions. I want to be interrupted if a parishioner has an immediate pastoral care need. I want to be interrupted if someone I have not seen in a while drops by to visit. I want to be interrupted by good news.
I wonder how Mary felt about being interrupted by the angel Gabriel. Her life had been going pretty much as planned. She would get married, have a family in due time, and live peaceably in her village where nothing too exciting ever happened. She did not plan to rock the boat. I picture her busily planning her wedding to Joseph, maybe making a wedding dress. I suspect her plans for her life did not include the stigma of a baby born out of wedlock. There is nothing like a baby to produce interruptions. There are the cries for feeding or changing diapers that cannot be scheduled. There is the sleep that is interrupted by the scared child with bad dreams. Later, there will be skinned knees that need to be kissed, the trouble that a spirited kid can get into. I’m sure Mary could not have foreseen the anguish and grief that interrupted her life, as her child was nailed to a cross and was killed. If Mary could see all the changes that would come from that first interruption, would she still say “yes” to God?
Being interrupted by God is not an easy thing. There is not telling what he will ask of us. It is tempting to run away from it. Jonah tried to run away to Tarshish rather than go to Ninevah as God ordered. Moses tried to convince God he had the wrong guy – he couldn’t even talk well. When God interrupts, he may intrude on our plans for the weekend, or the year, or our lives. But God know what he is doing, and he know who he is asking. He also equips us for what he asks, and despite the interruption, there is joy and satisfaction in being part of God’s plan.
David knew what it was like to have his life interrupted. He was the most unlikely of kings, the youngest son of his father Jesse. Being anointed king was not in his plans. He was supposed to be a shepherd. God’s interruption led him into conflict with Saul, with Goliath, even with his own sons. David knew that God was unpredictable in what he might ask. Perhaps that is one reason that David wanted to build a temple for the Lord. Perhaps there God would not create as much mischief. God would not interrupt so often. David’s desire to build a house for God rested in the belief that God was a local God, belonging to Israel, who could be carried about. Somehow God could be kept in a tabernacle, in a box. But it seems that God did not want to be confined in a house or a box, but to be free. The idea seems quaint compared to our belief that God is everywhere, all the time. We know He cannot be contained.
And yet, we seem to put God in a box ourselves from time to time. When we consecrate the Eucharist at communion we believe that somehow, in some mysterious way, that the bread and wine actually holds within it the real presence of Christ. He is really with us in the sacrament. It is not that I say some magical incantation, and I call down Jesus as if I had some kind of superpower. But we believe that Christ cooperates with us, with his church, in joining us and being with us in the bread and wine. That is why we treat the consecrated elements with the utmost respect and reverence, because Jesus is with us in a very real way in the bread and wine. We ingest the bread and the wine, take into ourselves, and Christ becomes part of us, and we become part of Christ. It is a great mystery. And then what do we do? We put what’s left in a box, a fancy silver box to be sure, but still a box.
Of course, we should treat the sacrament with the greatest respect, but we should not fool ourselves in thinking that we can keep Jesus in a box. He is active and everywhere, all around us and within us. There he always seems ready to interrupt us, to butt into our lives. It is up to us to say yes.
We try, I think, to place God in a box in other ways. We may confine our thoughts about God to an hour on Sunday mornings. When we make a decision about our life or when we are tempted to something we shouldn’t or obtain something we don’t need, we might weigh all kinds of factors – will it be profitable, is it what I want to do, will it feel good? We try to follow the path that our parents, or our peers, or our culture has laid for us. Less often do we ask if this is something that God wants for us; we try to leave God in his box. God becomes a tool for us to use to get through life a little better, to take out when we need some comfort, and put back in the box when we don’t need him anymore.
But God will not be kept in a box or a temple, or a tabernacle, but he will make his dwelling place within us. For Mary, that was quite literal; Jesus took up residence in her womb. She was pregnant with God. She was Theotokos, the God bearer. Jesus wants to take up residence within each one of us as well. When we take communion, the real presence of Christ in the bread and the wine, we take Jesus within us, and if we let him, he will take up residence there. We too will be pregnant with God. And from that pregnancy there will come birth, new life. But make no mistake, that new life will interrupt our best laid plans.
God wants us to let him out of the boxes we have made for him. He wants our complete surrender. When we say yes to God, we are in for the greatest adventure of our lives.
It is tempting to keep God in the box, even to wrap the box in pretty paper, and cover it with beautiful tinsel. Maybe even put it under the Christmas tree, so we can open it for that special feeling we get on Christmas Eve that makes us warm and comfortable, helping us to be in fellowship with family and friends, giving us hope for world peace. It evokes that soft, protective, parental feeling we have for vulnerable little babies. That is fine as far as it goes. Remember that this baby will call us to a die to our old selves, will call us to a work that is of God’s purpose that will give us new life, maybe even change history. This baby will interrupt our best laid plans for the weekend, for the year, for our lives.
But with God’s grace we will get beyond the annoyance of the interruption and will be able to say with Mary “ Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
That isn’t to say that there aren’t some very good interruptions. I want to be interrupted if a parishioner has an immediate pastoral care need. I want to be interrupted if someone I have not seen in a while drops by to visit. I want to be interrupted by good news.
I wonder how Mary felt about being interrupted by the angel Gabriel. Her life had been going pretty much as planned. She would get married, have a family in due time, and live peaceably in her village where nothing too exciting ever happened. She did not plan to rock the boat. I picture her busily planning her wedding to Joseph, maybe making a wedding dress. I suspect her plans for her life did not include the stigma of a baby born out of wedlock. There is nothing like a baby to produce interruptions. There are the cries for feeding or changing diapers that cannot be scheduled. There is the sleep that is interrupted by the scared child with bad dreams. Later, there will be skinned knees that need to be kissed, the trouble that a spirited kid can get into. I’m sure Mary could not have foreseen the anguish and grief that interrupted her life, as her child was nailed to a cross and was killed. If Mary could see all the changes that would come from that first interruption, would she still say “yes” to God?
Being interrupted by God is not an easy thing. There is not telling what he will ask of us. It is tempting to run away from it. Jonah tried to run away to Tarshish rather than go to Ninevah as God ordered. Moses tried to convince God he had the wrong guy – he couldn’t even talk well. When God interrupts, he may intrude on our plans for the weekend, or the year, or our lives. But God know what he is doing, and he know who he is asking. He also equips us for what he asks, and despite the interruption, there is joy and satisfaction in being part of God’s plan.
David knew what it was like to have his life interrupted. He was the most unlikely of kings, the youngest son of his father Jesse. Being anointed king was not in his plans. He was supposed to be a shepherd. God’s interruption led him into conflict with Saul, with Goliath, even with his own sons. David knew that God was unpredictable in what he might ask. Perhaps that is one reason that David wanted to build a temple for the Lord. Perhaps there God would not create as much mischief. God would not interrupt so often. David’s desire to build a house for God rested in the belief that God was a local God, belonging to Israel, who could be carried about. Somehow God could be kept in a tabernacle, in a box. But it seems that God did not want to be confined in a house or a box, but to be free. The idea seems quaint compared to our belief that God is everywhere, all the time. We know He cannot be contained.
And yet, we seem to put God in a box ourselves from time to time. When we consecrate the Eucharist at communion we believe that somehow, in some mysterious way, that the bread and wine actually holds within it the real presence of Christ. He is really with us in the sacrament. It is not that I say some magical incantation, and I call down Jesus as if I had some kind of superpower. But we believe that Christ cooperates with us, with his church, in joining us and being with us in the bread and wine. That is why we treat the consecrated elements with the utmost respect and reverence, because Jesus is with us in a very real way in the bread and wine. We ingest the bread and the wine, take into ourselves, and Christ becomes part of us, and we become part of Christ. It is a great mystery. And then what do we do? We put what’s left in a box, a fancy silver box to be sure, but still a box.
Of course, we should treat the sacrament with the greatest respect, but we should not fool ourselves in thinking that we can keep Jesus in a box. He is active and everywhere, all around us and within us. There he always seems ready to interrupt us, to butt into our lives. It is up to us to say yes.
We try, I think, to place God in a box in other ways. We may confine our thoughts about God to an hour on Sunday mornings. When we make a decision about our life or when we are tempted to something we shouldn’t or obtain something we don’t need, we might weigh all kinds of factors – will it be profitable, is it what I want to do, will it feel good? We try to follow the path that our parents, or our peers, or our culture has laid for us. Less often do we ask if this is something that God wants for us; we try to leave God in his box. God becomes a tool for us to use to get through life a little better, to take out when we need some comfort, and put back in the box when we don’t need him anymore.
But God will not be kept in a box or a temple, or a tabernacle, but he will make his dwelling place within us. For Mary, that was quite literal; Jesus took up residence in her womb. She was pregnant with God. She was Theotokos, the God bearer. Jesus wants to take up residence within each one of us as well. When we take communion, the real presence of Christ in the bread and the wine, we take Jesus within us, and if we let him, he will take up residence there. We too will be pregnant with God. And from that pregnancy there will come birth, new life. But make no mistake, that new life will interrupt our best laid plans.
God wants us to let him out of the boxes we have made for him. He wants our complete surrender. When we say yes to God, we are in for the greatest adventure of our lives.
It is tempting to keep God in the box, even to wrap the box in pretty paper, and cover it with beautiful tinsel. Maybe even put it under the Christmas tree, so we can open it for that special feeling we get on Christmas Eve that makes us warm and comfortable, helping us to be in fellowship with family and friends, giving us hope for world peace. It evokes that soft, protective, parental feeling we have for vulnerable little babies. That is fine as far as it goes. Remember that this baby will call us to a die to our old selves, will call us to a work that is of God’s purpose that will give us new life, maybe even change history. This baby will interrupt our best laid plans for the weekend, for the year, for our lives.
But with God’s grace we will get beyond the annoyance of the interruption and will be able to say with Mary “ Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
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