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!”