Christmas Eve 10:30p.m. Service

ISAIAH 9:2-4,6-7

PSALM 96:1-4,11-12

LUKE 2:1-20

Sermon – 12/24/03

Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to control what goes on at Christmas?

Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to just say the word and – the family members would all behave; presents would all buy themselves, arrive on time, be graciously received, and never, ever, cost more than we could afford; traffic would thin out and parking spaces would open up just as we ventured out; the sun would shine by day and in the evening just a decorative flurry of snow would come down after we had safely arrived at our destination; and of course, the church would magically choose all our favorite Christmas carols.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to just say the word and – terrorism would vanish, the sick would be healed, addicts would all experience joyful, serene sobriety, the jobless would find meaningful and good-paying work, and peace on earth, good will to all people would arrive and never leave.

Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen at Christmas?

It doesn’t; and so, too often, too many people chase a Hallmark cards mirage of the “perfect Christmas” and end up crushed under the weight of their unrealistic expectations, kicking themselves for having unrealistic expectations again, and yet yearning oh so much to have all their wildest dreams come true.

And then the newspaper psychologists sit us down over our morning coffee and tell us that the solution is to lower our expectations, to be “realistic”, to set “achievable” goals, and be satisfied with whatever we do achieve.

Anyone else tired of lowering their expectations?

If you can’t dream at Christmas, when can you?

And because we yearn to raise our expectations, to experience peace, hope, joy and love, the Great American Merchandising Machine invites us to “control our Christmas” by trying to buy love, community and healed relationships through wide-screen HDTV, joy through X-Box, hope through Barbie dolls, peace through power tools.

It doesn’t work.

So no wonder the publishing and movie phenomena of our time are two deep, rich so-called “fantasy” epics, engaging us with stories of believable people facing titanic struggles with forces of evil, in which extraordinary friendships are forged, perils faced and triumph is gained not by seizing control but by heroically letting go of the urge to dominate.

Harry Potter survives and triumphs by not wanting the Sorcerer’s stone. Frodo wins the decisive battle in The Lord of the Rings the only way it could be won – by making it possible for the ring of power to be destroyed. Either the stone or the ring would mightily tempt mortals like you and me who may sometimes think all we need is more power to set things right: one ring to enable one to rule the world – at the cost of becoming demonic! A stone which would, as wise old Professor Dumbledore said, provide “As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is”, Dumbledore continued, “Humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.”

The greatest strength can be achieved only by embracing what the world would call weakness; the greatest victory can be won only by renouncing power.

Funny, that reminds me of another story – but a different story: a true story, a story which is still unfinished, and a story in which we can all participate. It is a story surpassingly powerful and poignant, filled with memorable moments and characters, temptations and opportunities which call for wisdom, courage and love by men and women, boys and girls of all sorts and conditions from everywhere.

And this very night, we are gathered to recall, to plunge into the memory of, a crucial and dearly beloved chapter of this epic drama, to in fact dissolve the boundaries of space and time and become part of The Fellowship of the Creche.

There is a 1,200 page “prequel” to “the Fellowship of the Creche”, of course, with epic drama, wisdom, struggles and eternal truths aplenty, but this particular night we are gathered to celebrate the night when it became dazzlingly, wonderfully obvious that the only One who actually could choose absolute power as the solution to be world’s ills chose not to take that route.

The One through whom all worlds were made, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, God the Son, landed on earth not as the Commander of the Heavenly armies, not to repeal Free Will among humans and require us to do right, not yet – to be the Judge of the Living and the Dead, but as a baby.

And before that, even more vulnerable and helpless for nine months in his mother’s womb.

According to Luke, Christ’s mother spent the last few days of her pregnancy riding bumpety-bumpety-bump on a donkey over a mountainous road from Nazareth to Bethlehem only to be told she’d have to give birth in a barn “because there was no room in the Inn.” All because of the bureaucratic dictate of a far-off government.

According to Matthew, Christ as a toddler had to flee the country and become a refugee with his parents because the country of his birth was ruled by a homicidal maniac who would slaughter all the boy babies of Christ’s hometown in an effort to kill him.

And the only ones who celebrated Christmas besides Joseph and Jesus’ mother Mary, still recovering from labor 1,850 years before the invention of anesthesia, were some unwashed shepherds working the nightshift and three mysterious Orientals who had slipped past security at the border and freaked out the people in the Capital city on the way to Bethlehem.

This is how God Almighty designed Christmas?

Maybe, maybe power isn’t the point. God did, after all, have other options. But God chose to come among us to experience real life as one of us, a very real and vulnerable human being. Jesus: one-time refugee who never went back to his birthplace, whose adoptive father died before Jesus reached adulthood, whose hometown didn’t understand him and rejected him, whose brothers and sisters thought he was crazy, who wandered around the country with a group of men and women of strangely varied backgrounds, who constantly got in trouble with the authorities, who demonstrated the love, wisdom and transforming power of God in ways that took everyone’s greatest hopes and multiplied them like loaves and fishes.

Nobody thought this was inside the present of the First Christmas.

And then, just when all hope came to a boil, the ultimate renunciation of the power game: the Way of the Cross. Betrayal, abandonment, denial, humiliation, torture, execution. The only way to Easter, the only way to life. Not merely throwing the Ring into the volcano, like Frodo, but Christ letting himself be tied up and thrown into the volcano while his enemies laugh at how pointless his life has been and how completely he has been defeated.

Yes, we say we know how the story ends, with Easter, with the decisive (though not final) victory over sin and death won, but the story is actually not yet over. We, right now, are living in an age which invites us to dedication, drama, struggle with evil and yes, sometimes heroism. We are inside the story – if we want to be, living it not vicariously through a book or a movie but by turning every one of our days into preparation for the final chapter: The Return of the King. The return of Christ in glory, to eliminate sin and death and to transform the world into something far beyond our deepest, truest dreams of peace, hope, joy and love.

For the dreams of a “perfect Christmas” are, at their best, dreams of the Kingdom of God – a very fine thing to dream of.

We can be here tonight and catch a glimpse of that final triumph, resolve to be a part of those serving the Lord and surprising the world with our faith and dedication to good, and also cherish our ability through the mystery of our worship to make the past present and to enter into the greatest and truest of all tales a part of the Fellowship of the Creche. We too are here awe-struck by the overwhelming presence of angels and thrilled beyond words by their song of “Glory to God and peace on earth”. We, too, are drawn uncontrollably to travel far following a star and to kneel down and offer our gifts to our newborn King. We do so knowing some of what will come after, knowing that much else is too wonderful for us to get our minds around now, knowing only that we too want to be part of the story, to take risks, care mightily and live deeply.

Let go and let Christmas, the real Christmas, draw us deep into its mystical wonder. May tonight’s Fellowship of the Creche be just part of our journey in Christ. May we serve him and love the world and its people recklessly until we kneel, not before his creche, but before his throne, “lost in wonder, love and praise.”

(The Rev.) Francis A. Hubbard

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church