Christmas Eve - What the Stable Meant

One Christmas hymn begins:  “What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary's lap is sleeping?” Sung to a English melody called “Greensleeves, its chorus answers the question posed by the opening line.  It says, “This, this is Christ the King, whom shepherd guard and angels sing; haste, haste to bring him laud, the babe, the son of Mary.”

But there can be another way of looking at who this child is.  Perhaps you've heard the Christmas spiritual “Sweet, Little Jesus Boy.”  Its lyrics reflect how humanity somehow seems to have missed the point about Jesus.  It begins:

“Sweet little Jesus Boy
They made You be born in a manger
Sweet little Holy chil'
Didn't know who You was . . .”

The joy and clarity of the gospel narrative of Luke and of the hymn I quoted becomes muted in the recollection of the unknown author of this spiritual.  Looking at the world through the lens of the spiritual, we see a chasm between the truth about Jesus in the singer's heart and reality of disappointment, pain and loss the singer sees in himself and in the world.

“Sweet little Jesus Boy
De worl' treat You mean, Lawd
Treat me mean too
But please, Sir, forgive us Lawd
We didn't know 'twas You
***
Sweet little Jesus Boy
Bawn long time ago
Sweet little Holy chil'
An' we didn't know who You was.”

We love the story of Jesus' birth—especially the narrative from Luke.  We have created all kinds of nativity scenes based on Luke’s narratives—live ones, elaborate ones, unusual ones.  And we understand the drama: “no room at the inn,” a sweet young mother giving birth and then pondering what she hears said about her child, Joseph hovering protectively over mother and child, the amazed shepherds, and the glorious angelic host.  In fact this week I was asked a question that drew me away from the theology of Incarnation and back into Luke's wonderful story.  That question was, “Who helped Mary give birth?”

Mary's experience of giving birth was not a mystery, as Jesus' conception was.  Giving birth can be a frightening experience, especially for a first time mother.  Could Mary have wondered whether Gabriel's message had misled her?  How could she give birth to the Son of the Most High in these dreadful conditions—and with no one to assist her—no midwife?  Such details were of no interest to Luke, but we can imagine that others were in that stable as well, also forced out by the overcrowding of the inn.  Perhaps among the strangers in the stable there was a woman who had given birth herself, had helped others, and now helped Mary.  We have a hint that there may have been others around, because Luke reports, “. . . all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.”

So Luke's story recounts both the story of a very human birth—without all the details we might want—and glory of the divine as the angels' proclaimed the wonderful “good news of great joy to all people.”  First, the shepherds and, then, all those in stable heard about the birth of God's Messiah: “. . . to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

How could we not know who Jesus was??  How could we have heard this message and not have our lives changed? Why aren’t we ready to tell everyone that the prophetic words of Isaiah have come to pass?  “See, your salvation comes!”  The barrier of sin that separates us from the mercy, justice, and peace of God has been overcome in the birth of this particular child!

And yet, although we sing that we will bring laud to Jesus, that we will praise him as our Lord, we seem to forget what we have seen year after year at Christmas.  We forget what we have come to understand about the reign of Jesus Christ.  His reign began with his birth, mostly hidden now, but at the end of time he will reign fully revealed. We forget, of course, because that's how life is.  Our daily tasks consume us with their mundane details.

The poet W. H. Auden speaks about this near the end of his epic poem, A Christmas Oratorio:  “As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed / To do more than entertain it as an agreeable / Possibility, once again we have sent him [Jesus] away . . .”  Auden suggests, though, that we continue to long for a return to the moment when the barrier of our sin, which separates us from God and from each other, breaks down.  Auden wrote about this moment, too: “Remembering the stable where for once in our lives / Everything became a You and nothing was an It.” At this moment God's time (kairos) breaks into our time (chronos)—and we understand.

So for Auden—and perhaps for us tonight—the Christmas hymns, the candlelight, the nativity scene, Holy Communion—our whole experience of Christmas tonight—recreates Eden, if only briefly.  We are at peace with each other and with God.  In this moment we do know who Jesus was and who Jesus is, how he came from God to live and die as one of us, how he came to redeem our lives from the power of sin and death!  We know the reign of Christ has begun—hidden now; already here, but not yet fully revealed—beginning in a humble stable and ending in the promised new heaven and new earth!  Look at the stable here—depicting Jesus' as an infant whose vulnerability is ours, too—and know—KNOW—that God longs to be at one with us—with each of us—with all of us—drawing us into a relationship of love.  And despite the brokenness of our lives, tonight our hearts respond, “Yes!”

The 4th Sunday of Advent - How Can This Be?

How do you see the angel Gabriel and the young Mary in your mind's eye?  Focus on Mary's face. Some of us might see her face, expressing acceptance of the angelic message.  Some of us might see her puzzling over Gabriel's amazing pronouncement.  She might be staring at the angel with fear—because scripture usually depicts God's messengers as needing to reassure us with the words, “Fear not!”

And, then, Gabriel drops the bombshell: God favors you, and you will conceive and bear a son. What???? Several years ago, someone spray-painted what they considered anti-Christian graffiti on the outside wall in back of me.  One part of the graffiti, in very tall letters, said, “Mary was a slut.” The parishioner who called me about it wryly observed, “Well, that's old news.” 

Old news indeed—and I am sure Mary, at first, thought the angelic announcement was neither what she expected nor wanted to hear—receiving an angelic message would be “unexpected”; hearing that you are pregnant outside marriage which could result—at best—in your being rejected by the man who is to marry you would be “unwanted!”  Mary responded to this unexpected and unwanted message with these words, “How can this be?”

Although most of us will never receive an angelic message, we all have received sometimes unexpected and certainly unwanted news.  “Our company doesn't have enough contracts, so we are cutting your hours.”  “Our factory is closing, and you will no longer have job.”  “You have cancer.”  “Your father and I are divorcing.”  “There was a bad accident and your son, daughter, wife, husband—you fill in the name—was killed.  I am sorry for your loss.”  “You are having a miscarriage.”

“How can this be?”  In our minds and hearts we recoil from the bad news.  We may get angry.  We may become despondent.  We may deny the reality of the situation.

“How can this be?”  I don't deserve the suffering I see in my future.  Or I ache as I witness the suffering of my loved one—or the pain of a friend.

Mary said, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”  Depending on the tone used in reading these poignant words of Mary, she can be seen as an innocent who wonders how in the world this illogical state of affairs can be.  Or she may be crying out in anguish at the unfairness and the grave position in which she finds herself.

Most paintings of this event, called “The Annunciation,” depict Mary accepting this news with composure, looking saintly, accepting with serenity the situation the angel announces.  Really??  How can this be??

I suspect the artists and even the gospel writer, Luke, are viewing this moment with 20/20 hindsight.  They depict Mary as accepting Gabriel's explanation of God's will for her very quickly. I have a hard time accepting the quickness of her submission, “Here I am the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”  To have this make more sense, some theologians have speculated that Mary, like Jesus, was born without a sinful nature and was assumed into heaven rather than dying.  These opinions undercut the power of the Incarnation—God coming to us in Jesus—born of a human mother—being fully human as well as fully divine.

So fully human Mary—perhaps with some anguish, with some anxiety and with some fear—asks the angel: “How can this be?”  Isn't that a much more helpful model for us?  Mary questions with the same authenticity of spirit by which we can approach God:  I have tried to live a decent life—even a good life—so, “How can this be?”

We may take that question to prayer; we may cry it out in the dark night of our grief and fear; we may weep it in pain and in anger.  But it is a valid question: “How can this be?”  As with Gabriel's theological explanation of incarnation to Mary's question, we may receive explanations from physicians, economists, psychologists or other professionals about the process that has led to our distress.  But we long for a reason that transcends logic, which will lead us to understanding how God acts in our world and in our lives today.

Each scripture we heard today approaches an answer to that question.  In the story from II Samuel, we see God—through the prophet, Nathan—telling King David, to remember how God was with the Israelites through their journey in the desert and since.  That relationship, not a house of cedar, is God's dwelling place.  That relationship will be a dwelling place—a house—a place of spiritual safety—for God's people as well.

The passage we heard from the end of Paul's letter to the Romans declares that God's relationship with us will strengthen us in our faith, because that relationship has been revealed through Jesus Christ.

And the gospel passage from Luke also offers insight.  Early in his announcement to Mary, the angel Gabriel utters these words, “The Lord is with you.”  Yes, both at the time of hearing Gabriel's news and throughout her life of living into that news, Mary can be confident that she will never be separated from the love of God.  This love entered her first and then entered the world through Jesus.  God's love remains in the world and can be ours when we open our hearts to receive it.

Yes, no matter what life calls us to face, we can be confident that the Lord is with us.  God will shelter us and strengthen us.  We may haltingly at first—but then strengthened in our faith as we come to know God's presence with us—say with Mary, “Let it be . . . according to your word.”—not passive submission, but active acceptance of God's love as a source of strength whenever we need it.

Although he may have been writing from an entirely secular point of view, that mid-20^th century “theologian” Paul McCartney wonderfully describes how Mary's example can be our guide:

“When I find myself in times of trouble

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people

Living in the world agree,

There will be an answer, let it be.

For though they may be parted there is

Still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be. Yeah

There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,

There is still a light that shines on me,

Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.

I wake up to the sound of music

Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.

There will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be,

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.”