A Christmas Meditation: A Promise Has Been Conceived In You
Dec. 24, 2006; 10:30 am Worship Service
Crestwood UCC
I am deeply indebted to Steve Garnaas-Holmes for the theme of this sermon.
This Christmas Eve morning we heard the words of Mary and Elizabeth as they marveled at what was happening in their lives. Few proclamations have cracked open history the way the angel’s words to Mary have: The Holy Spirit will come upon you. Few events have changed the whole world, but this one did: Unto us a child is born…
Of course, we shouldn’t be surprised in a sense, because the birth of a child always changes everything. Ask any mother if she believes that the birth of a child changes everything. But this birth is extraordinary, of course—because many Christians believe that God entered history in a unique way through this birth. And that is because Jesus revealed God in such a unique way, he is said to have been, in a way that is really too mysterious for words, an incarnation of God. God come to earth in human flesh. Using another ancient metaphor that imagines God as the Creator of the Universe who exists somewhere “up above”, one might say that the Creator came down the stairs of heaven with a baby in arm. However you define divinity, we can agree that the birth of Jesus was special, because he became a window to God.
The ancient nativity story took shape among first century Christians when they tried to explain Jesus’ effect on them. It is full of archetypal symbols. By archetypal symbols, I mean symbols meant to convey meaning much deeper than the purely literal one. Archetypal symbols seem to transcend time and culture. Virgin births, e.g., are an archetypal symbol in the stories of many ancient cultures, meant to suggest divine origin. A celestial abnormality, like the star, is an archetypal symbol connecting God with earth. A baby represents vulnerability and freshness from God. Imagine now, God not only taking on the form of a baby, but one born to poor peasants without a place to lay their heads…this carries all sorts of meaning, not the least of which is that God shows up in unexpected places.
This story was a radically new concept of how God enters history. If you study the earlier stories of the Bible, God had been depicted as a God “out there” who occasionally got angry and reached down into human affairs to dramatically change the outcome—like the story of God bringing the Israelite slaves out of Egypt. God was believed to reach into history, but just as often to abandon earth’s creatures between these special visits.
The story of Jesus marks a radical shift in thinking, from a God of intervention from someplace way up there, to a God who is with us, not once in awhile but all the time. This God experiences our suffering and struggles. This God enters life in every moment, just as the Baby Jesus took on flesh in this ancient story.
One of my favorite writers, Steve Garnaas-Holmes writes, “God seems to break in on this world as if from beyond, much like a new baby seems to suddenly invade a family. But like a child actually does, God comes to us not from far away, but from deep within…
The grace that Jesus brings into the world is always new, always transforming things… unexpected and unprecedented—and yet it was always here. It is as eternal as God and has been the force behind all life from the beginning.”
Steve continues: “The present moment is pregnant with God… Just as Mary was born with a womb, you were created with a place for God in you…give this mystery time, stillness and some space in your heart.”1
Tonight, something will happen that happens here each Christmas Eve. We will sing “Silent Night” by candlelight, and as we see one another’s faces illuminated by the flickering flames, we will glimpse a holy presence. In that moment we dare to believe that God is here with us and has conceived a promise in each of us.
Tonight our otherwise thin imaginations are pushed to imagine a world where an unmarried woman named Mary could break into a song filled with hope. The idea of God being born in a human baby is preposterous, but on this night we dare believe that God enters life, which is the deeper meaning of this story.
Christmas Eve is not about a once-upon-a-time, singular, magical occasion; it is not “one, brief shining moment.” It is about the presence of God-with-us, all the time, at the heart of things, not merely visiting us on special occasions, but in every moment.2 God is as present here as we are.
The sign the angels gave the shepherds was the Sign of Ordinariness: they were to seek God’s presence in an ordinary baby wrapped in the usual swaddling cloth, lying in a plain old manger. We might come to our lives, then, in the same way that the shepherds came to Bethlehem: in awe and wonder, on bended knee, seeking the presence of God in the ordinary parts of our lives, in the people and the moments that have been given to us. We are capable of such goodness and grace; it is the living out of the promise within us.
I recall a simple story that I read many years ago, written by a woman named Mary Janes. It has stuck with me because it points to how we embody God’s presence for each other, and so I dug it out to share with you:
Our church was celebrating Christmas Eve with a children’s program. Its chapel had special memories for me. Only eight months previously, the memorial service for my husband of 44 years had been held there. On my own now, I settled into a seat near the aisle. During the opening prayer a young girl, about ten years old, stood in the aisle, looking for a place to sit. [I assume her parents were in the choir.] Motioning to her to come in, I turned my knees and the girl slid past and sat down.
The beautiful program continued, with the children participating in songs, poems, and recitals. The climax was the singing of “Silent Night.” As the children’s voices chorused this most beautiful of Christmas hymns, memories of past Christmases with my husband flooded back. My eyes filled with tears and I held a handkerchief to my mouth, trying to control myself. Then I felt my neighbor’s small hand creep into my lap. She took my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. My heart swelled with sudden joy.
As I look back on that evening, I give thanks for this simplest and loveliest of Christmas gifts—the touch of a hand.
This promise conceived in you is lived out in the stillness of your relationship with God, but also in your relationships with others. It is in community where you discover the comfort of love, the power of forgiveness, and the energy of trust. Discovering God’s presence within ourselves and others has far-reaching consequences.
And so this Christmas, and in every ordinary day ahead, may you be blessed by this ancient story of the holy entering life, in the flesh. May you look at the people and the moments that have been given to you and recognize the Christ-energy that lies within you. May you fulfill the promise God has conceived in you. Amen.