Rev. Kevin M. Pleas

Matthew 1:18-25

December 23, 2007

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: "Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

This time of the year

the new-born child

is everywhere,

planted in Madonna's arms

hay mows, stables,

in palaces or farms,

or quaintly, under snowed gables,

gothic angular or baroque plump,

naked or elaborately swathed,

encircled by Della Robbia wreaths,

garnished with whimsical

partridges and pears,

drummers and drums,

lit by oversize stars,

partnered with lambs,

peace doves, sugar plums,

bells, plastic camels in sets of three

as if these were what we needed

for eternity.

But Jesus the Man is not to be seen.

There are some who are wary, these days,

of beards and sandaled feet.

Yet if we celebrate, let it be

that He

has invaded our lives with purpose,

striding over our picturesque traditions,

our shallow sentiment,

overturning our cash registers,

wielding His peace like a sword,

rescuing us into reality,

demanding much more

than the mild and the softness

and the mother warmth

of the baby in the storefront crèche,

(only the Man would ask

all, of each of us)

reaching out

always, urgently, with strong

effective love

(only the Man would give

His life and live

again for love of us).

Oh come, let us adore Him -

Christ - the Lord.

- Luci Shaw

Isn't that beautiful? I found this in a book called Winter Song. The poem was written by Luci Shaw, who is, or at least was, the writer-in-residence at Regent College in Vancouver, Canada. I always think the poets are the best equipped to talk about Christmas. The season is so good at making normal language seem superficial. Not all poetry is good poetry of course, but, loving language as I do, I've always been in awe of people who can paint such vivid and compelling pictures with words.

And it isn't just that Ms. Shaw has a way with words, she also has a fine grasp on the dynamics of Christmas. Every year we trot out and dust off all the decorations and lights, we pipe in an endless stream of seasonal music, we wonder whether this will be a prosperous year for the economy. In the midst of this, we somehow, generally manage to get through all the gift buying, card writing, and meal planning in time to take a deep breath and gather around the manger on Christmas Eve. Lo and behold, beneath all the chaos and kitsch, Christmas remains a deeply meaningful and precious time, which most of us love and look forward to year after year.

Theologically speaking though, Christmas does not and cannot stand on its own. That is the point of Shaw's poem, and it's a good point. If it weren't for Easter, Christmas would be impossible. We could always throw parties and give gifts and such, but what could possibly possess us to celebrate the birth of an otherwise ordinary baby? Naturally, we celebrate if we're somehow directly related. We're thrilled by the birth of our children and grandchildren and those of our immediate family members. We can get excited about a birth to a close friend or neighbor, or some famous person whose life we're voyeuristically following. Beyond that, not so much. When it comes to the other tens of thousands of babies born every day, we're mostly oblivious, and why wouldn't we be?

But then, Jesus is special. More special, we're told, than any other baby in the history of all creation, not because of the baby he was, but because of the man he would become. Every year at this time, we proclaim that Jesus is "Emmanuel, God with us." Has it ever occurred to you what a profoundly outrageous claim this is? It is so completely out of keeping with our normal human experience that we can't even imagine it. And yet, despite the fact of its outrageousness, or maybe even because of it, the claim that Jesus is God with us was, and continues to be, affirmed by countless Christians through hundreds of generations.

The official theology of the church, ever since Emperor Constantine in the fourth century, has been that Jesus is both fully human and fully divine. That is, Jesus was both completely human in every way that you and I are human, and at the same time completely God in every way that God is God. Just for a minute, try wrapping your mind around that. If you're not having trouble, you're not really trying. We can say the words, but we can't begin to understand the reality those words are meant to convey.

Of course, there are plenty of people who say it's all a lot of bunk. The reason we can't imagine it is because is no such reality. There is no such thing as God in human flesh. It did not and could not ever happen. Honestly, I have some sympathy with people who think that way. We're all taught to be skeptics these days, and for good reason. There's a lot in the world that we should be skeptical about. But when it comes to things like Christmas, if we can only see the world through skeptical eyes, we are destined to miss the point.

When it comes to Christmas, it doesn't really matter if all the details are correct. It doesn't really matter if it happened exactly the way the Bible says it did. What matters is the message the stories mean to convey. God is with us. You know, back in the days when Jesus was alive, that was a truly amazing and novel idea. Back then, the gods people knew were understood to be vastly superior, mocking and unconcerned about the little lives of little people. They were capricious, sending the sun and the rain, the lightening and thunder whenever they felt like it. They judged people harshly, with little concern for our human frailty. They were those before whom people were born to cower in fear.

And then, enter Jesus. Suddenly the people are talking about a God whose highest qualities were love, compassion and forgiveness; a God who actually cared about human pain and suffering, a God whose tender concern was embodied in a story of actually taking on human life, human weakness, human vulnerability. My friends, we can argue about historical details until the cows come home, but the story is just too beautiful not to be the embodiment of the deepest, most essential truths of our human existence.

God is with us, waking or sleeping, jogging or praying, when we're angry, when we're fearful, when we're worried about our children, or our country, or the state of the world. God is with us, when we lift up our soldiers in prayer, and when we neglect to pray for those we're fighting against, when we're pulling people out of burning buildings, and when we're cheating on our taxes. God is with us, when we dance and sing for joy, and when we cry out in misery, when we feel God's presence as close as our breathing, and when we hang on our own crosses asking, "Why have you abandoned me?" God is with us. We are never, ever, alone. That, is the Christmas story, and it lives because it's true.

Last week I shared some of the thoughts of Frederick Buechner on John the Baptist. This week let me also close with some of Buechner's words.

Whether there were ten million angels there or just the woman herself and her husband, when that child was born the whole course of history was changed. That is a fact as hard and blunt as any fact. Art, music, literature, our culture itself, our political institutions, our whole understanding of ourselves and our world - it is impossible to conceive of how differently world history would have developed if that child had not been born. And in terms of faith, much more must be said because for faith, the birth of the child into the darkness of the world made possible not just a new way of understanding life but a new way of living life.

Emmanuel. God is with us. Merry Christmas.

Amen.