25December2000sermon.htm

Christmas Day, Year C, 2000

St Thomas' Episcopal Church, Alexandria Township, NJ

Readings: Isaiah 9:2-4, 7-8; Luke 2:1-20

It's Christmas, don't you know?

It's arrived.
Christmas Day, the baby is born, and it's too late now
to worry if you should have bought
the blue sweater for Uncle Tommy
rather than the green, it's too late
to bake that extra batch of cookies, too late
to worry if the new red tree skirt clashes with the rest of your decor, too
late...

The days and weeks before Christmas
are filled with busyness, as we squeeze in lunchtime shopping trips,
join the lines at the post office,
and somehow juggle our schedules
so that we can get ourselves - as well as our kids -
to the inevitable Christmas celebrations.
Its no wonder
we get to Christmas Day
and breathe a great sigh
of relief.

Christmas Day dawns. I hide under the blankets until the alarm rings, still
feeling the effects of last night's midnight service you can tell I don't
have
kids to bounce on my bed at the crack of dawn!
I crawl out of bed, put on the coffee,
and then get down to unwrapping my presents. And then there's church, and
a meal with family and friends, and then....

And then
there's a kind of emptiness.

All this time we've been getting ready,
and for what?
The baby is born,
but we already knew that,
the gifts are unwrapped
and enjoyed,
the meal is eaten.
And yet, it feels like
there should be something more.
All the anticipation, all the promise, all the hopes
of this season
are somehow unfulfilled.

It's Christmas, don't you know?
Isaiah announces:
"The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light
those who lived in a land of deep darkness
on them light has shined."

America
is the land of freedom, the land of plenty.
Not for hundreds of years has it been thought of
as a place of darkness and fear. And yet darkness is
for some of us
exactly what it feels like.
We often speak
of being in the dark, meaning we've missed out on some crucial
piece of information,
but this is not
the darkness
of ignorance, nor even
the darkness of fear,
but particularly, at this time of year
the darkness of loss
and grief.
Perhaps its because
hope is so bright
at Christmas
that beside it,
shadows loom
extra dark.

You sit down to write your Christmas cards
and as you go through the address book, you find names of people
you haven't spoken to
for years,
whether its because of death
or a quarrel,
or just that almost inevitable
drifting apart
that seems to happen over time.

I think of a teenager I know,
whose mother died suddenly
just a couple of months ago.
It will be his first Christmas
without her laughter
to celebrate.

And a couple with three young children
whose marriage suddenly,
unaccountably to the outsider
felt apart this last summer.

And my grandfather, who three months ago was diagnosed with cancer.

He's 91, so it's not quite the death sentence it
might be to someone younger.
But this will most likely be his last Christmas, and everything my family
does
will be tinged bittersweet
with that knowledge.
And I won't be there.

I don't need to tell you any more stories -
I'm sure you have plenty
of our own.

There will be empty chairs at the table this year,
and chairs now filled
which will be empty
in twelve months' time.

For all Christmas
is a time of joy,
it can also be
a time of great sadness.
All the sparkling hopes and promises
of a tinsel-decked Christmas
are brought crashing down
by the reality of our lives and relationships.
The baby is born,
the holiday is over.
Christmas is ended,
and we are left
with the wounds
it reopened.

It's Christmas, don't you know?

A baby is born, a birth surrounded with miraculous angels
and extravagant gifts,
and then we put away the manger scene
for another year. It's over,
and we breathe a sigh of relief
and get on with preparing for New Year's.

But imagine
for a minute
that Christmas
is not the ending
but just the beginning.

From Thanksgiving to Christmas
we anticipate the birth of a child. But the story did not end
with that baby's birth
in a straw-filled barn
on that very first Christmas -
as with all pregnancies,
that was only the beginning.

Jesus grew up,
as all babies do,
and lived among us
as all babies do.
But Jesus
was not like
all babies.
For as much
as all babies
are special,
precious gifts of life,
this Jesus
was special
in a different way.
For this baby
was God
with us,
God
in human form,
God
if you like
with skin on.
In this baby, this child, this man,
God came among us
and found out
exactly what it was like
to be human.
To get hungry
and tired,
to enjoy a wedding
with a good glass of red,
to get angry
and to forgive,
and to grieve.
Remember the story of Lazarus,
Jesus' friend?
Who got sick, and died,
and I presume because of the heat, or perhaps the fear of infection,
was already in the tomb before Jesus got there?
Jesus wept.
He knew
what it is like
to lose someone.
God knows
what it is like.
Would it be any surprise to God
that at the time we celebrate
God's taking on of humanity
we come up against
the fragility
of our own humanity?
God knows
what it is like.
But if that were all it was,
if, in effect, Christmas was just the ending,
then I'm not sure
where that leaves us.
Because for all that its nice
to know God understands our grief,
there's got to be more,
or else
there's no hope.

Part of the "what's more"
is hinted at
when, as Jesus comes close to the grave for his friend,
he tells his friend's sister,
"I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me,
even though they die,
will live."
Pointing
to his own death
and beyond that
to that
which is almost inconceivable
his resurrection to new life,
that great event of Easter,
and one
which we are caught up into
as well.

But even Easter
is just
the beginning.

Remember the reading from Isaiah?
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light
those who lived in a land of deep darkness
on them light has shined."

Christmas
is the dawning
of a new day.
A new day, and even now,
the sun
has not set.
We live
in that new day.

The vision of Isaiah
is that
that new day
will be one
when everything
is put to right.
Wrongs
will not be avenged
but forgiven,
wounds
not torn apart
but healed,
tears
will be wiped away.
God will establish justice
and righteousness
and peace.

A new day has dawned,
the light has shone on us.
And we carry our hurts
and our disappointments
and our griefs
with us
into that light.
And its not the cold harsh brightness
of a spotlight
or even the romantic light
of a candle,
but the warm healing sunlight
of spring,
light which coaxes daffodils out of the cold earth
and sprinkles grass
across the scarred earth of construction sites,
and brings hope
after the dreary days
of winter.

Christmas
is just the beginning.
The beginning
of a life
where God is with us
where God promises life
where God offers healing
and hope.

It's Christmas, don't you know?

Raewynne J. Whiteley
25 December 2000