Accept but Not Agree: Luke 2:1-20
Christmas Eve
In those days Caesar Augustus declared that everyone
throughout the empire should be enrolled in the tax lists. 2 This
first enrollment occurred when Quirinius governed Syria. 3 Everyone
went to their own cities to be enrolled. 4 Since
Joseph belonged to David’s house and family line, he went up from the city of
Nazareth in Galilee to David’s city, called Bethlehem, in Judea. 5 He
went to be enrolled together with Mary, who was promised to him in marriage and
who was pregnant. 6 While they were there, the time
came for Mary to have her baby. 7 She gave birth to
her firstborn child, a son, wrapped him snugly, and laid him in a manger,
because there was no place for them in the guestroom.
8 Nearby shepherds were
living in the fields, guarding their sheep at night. 9 The
Lord’s angel stood before them, the Lord’s glory shone around them, and they
were terrified.
10 The angel said,
“Don’t be afraid! Look! I bring good news to you—wonderful, joyous news for all
people. 11 Your savior is born today in David’s
city. He is Christ the Lord. 12 This is a sign for
you: you will find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger.” 13 Suddenly
a great assembly of the heavenly forces was with the angel praising God. They
said, 14 “Glory to God in heaven, and on earth
peace among those whom he favors.”
15 When the angels
returned to heaven, the shepherds said to each other, “Let’s go right now to
Bethlehem and see what’s happened. Let’s confirm what the Lord has revealed to
us.” 16 They went quickly and found Mary and
Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. 17 When
they saw this, they reported what they had been told about this child. 18 Everyone
who heard it was amazed at what the shepherds told them. 19 Mary
committed these things to memory and considered them carefully. 20 The
shepherds returned home, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and
seen. Everything happened just as they had been told. (CEB)
It’s Christmas
Eve.
I know
this because I’ve almost won the Whammageddon challenge—see if you can make it through
December without hearing the song “Last Christmas.” I know this from having my tree and it has
lights, although only one ornament as yet.
I know this because I’ve been listening to Christmas carols all day.
I do not
know this from pulling together the last of my people and plans before stepping
into the sanctuary for a Christmas Eve service.
We spent
Advent going through the stages of grief as well as the Sundays of waiting here
at St. Luke’s, and it is not news to anyone that this Christmas Eve is not what
we wanted. We gather around our laptops
or Chromecast screens or phones and wish that it wasn’t like this, that we
could be together with our garlands and lights and even that one candle that
always burns unevenly. But okay, sure,
we’re here. It’s Christmas. Welcome, Jesus.
The last
stage of grief is acceptance, but I want to make very clear that accepting that
a thing is does not mean that we agree that it should be. I accept the fact that 1.7 million people
have died this year from the coronavirus, but I do not agree that it had to
happen.[1] I accept the reality that seventeen men and
women were executed by state and federal governments here in the United States
this year, but I do not agree that this was justice.[2] I accept the event of Congress continuing to drag
their feet over any sort of economic help to the millions of unemployed Americans
facing this holiday season with uncertainty, but I do not agree that this is an
acceptable side effect of governance.[3]
“In
those days Caesar Augustus declared that everyone should be enrolled in the tax
lists.”
Many of
us know this story so well we could recite it along with Linus in the Charlie Brown
Christmas special, but in this year when everything went wrong we come to an
event where nothing went right and are reminded that God knows what it’s like
to have a time like 2020. Mary was pregnant
when she absolutely hadn’t expected to be and she and Joseph got to face the
townsfolk who may or may not have supported their claim that God was involved. The Roman government that held Israel under its
rule declared that everyone needed to travel to be counted so that the
financial obligations could be calculated to better imperial advantage. Mary was away from her family when she gave
birth and had to observe her culture’s purity laws in a guest room of her in-laws’
connections. Shepherds who were simply
minding their own business got pulled into an unbelievable story by a great
assembly of heavenly forces. This was no
gentle night of a mild-mannered Jesus sliding quietly into an orderly world—this
was by-the-seat-of-your-pants chaos in a messy swirl of inequality and expectation.
Joseph
and Mary accepted that they were asked to handle all of this, but they may not
have agreed that it was the best way.
The
marvelous, miraculous, mind-blowing reality of this thing we call Christmas,
though, is that God did not ask them to.
There is
no moment in Scripture where God says to either Mary or Joseph, “Shut up and
deal with it.” There is no moment where the
angels shrugged and said, “It is what it is and it’s not getting better.” At every turn, God invites the human players
of this story into a determined effort for change. Mary gets it—in her response to the proposal
of pregnancy, she says, “The Mighty One has done great things for me—He has
brought down rulers from their throne but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but
has sent the rich away empty.”[4] This is a God Who not only sees the inequality
and expectation but works to change it, even and including by coming
into the human form and learn this world from the inside out.
Pastor Roger VanHarn told a
story in one of his books, a story that tells two truths: God refuses to brush
aside our suffering and by entering into it, he saved us in a most compelling
and loving way.
It seems that one December
afternoon just before Christmas vacation was to begin a group of parents stood
in the lobby of a preschool, waiting to claim their children. When the bell rang, the youngsters ran from
the classroom, each child carrying in his or her hands a special “surprise”–a brightly
wrapped package containing a project that each child had diligently been
working on for weeks to give Mom and Dad for Christmas. One little boy was trying to run, put on his
coat, and wave all at the same time. He
slipped and fell, the “surprise” flying out of his hands and landing on the
tile floor with an obvious ceramic crash.
There was a moment of stunned silence which was immediately followed by
the little one’s inconsolable wail of tears.
The boy’s father immediately tried to be strong so as to comfort the
little guy, kneeling down and saying, “It’s OK, son. It really doesn’t matter.
It’s OK. It doesn’t matter.” But the boy’s mother was wiser about such
things. She swept the little boy into
her arms and said, “Oh, but it does matter. It matters a very, very great
deal!” And she wept with her son.
We come to this Christmas Eve in
a year of loss and grief and we say we accept that it has happened but oh,
Church, can we also say that we do not agree that it has to be this way? Can we, on this eve of a birth that changed
everything, say that we want to be part of a faith that lifts up the humble and
fills the hungry with good things, that brings shepherds to the birthplace of a
King and listens to a woman’s triumphant cheer for justice? Can we embrace the wonder of a God become flesh
in such a way that we see the flesh ennobled by God? Our definition of “together” has been rather
upended this year, but are we willing to state that we, together, will live as
though this Child has called us to more than bleary resignation?
Ophelia Hu Kinney, the
communications director of Reconciling Ministries Network, wrote this message
for this Christmas Eve:
“Hope is born in a small town
to a Brown teenaged girl
who was not without agency or
power or wisdom.
Hope is born in the midst of
noise,
in the presence of people and
animals,
their real bodies, their aching
joints and cold fingertips.
Hope is born under the nose of
power
against the threat of
extinguishment,
as a cosmic answer to our
yearnings –
both understandable and
mysterious.
Hope is born to exhausted
parents
in a strange land, in
unprecedented times,
without the comfort of extended
family,
under the heavy blanket of
night.
Hope is born in all the
most unlikely places, the
most unlikely times.
In times like ours.
Behold the mystery of these
darkest days.
Turn their beauty between your
fingers –
what little corner you can hold.
In this too is God the child,
born into darkness.”[5]
In the bright light of hope, let us celebrate Christmas,
Church. Let us lean into the joy, the
peace, the love of a God Who came into all the messiness of humanity and said
this, too, is beautiful, and good, and broken, and unjust, and ready for change
that reflects the Kingdom of wholeness and holiness that is not yet arrived—and
is already here, even in a manger on a not-so-silent night. Merry Christmas, siblings of creation, and
may your Christmas season and your new year be filled with the moments of God’s
grace refusing to be hindered by what is merely acceptable. Amen.
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