December 25, 2011
Scripture: John 1:1-14
Born of God
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching
The last time I was in church on Christmas Day was three years ago. I was serving as a ministerial intern at a congregation on the North Shore and the Senior Minister there decided to hold a worship service on Christmas morning, even though it didn’t fall on a Sunday. I remember the uproar when he presented this idea to the deacons: “No one will come,” they warned. “People should be with their families,” they reminded the pastor. And, worst of all, “We’ll have just attended a service the night before! That’s two services in just twenty-four hours!” They astutely pointed out.
“I will be here on Christmas morning,” the pastor calmly stated. “You can join me if you wish to and are able.”
The deacons were correct in their prediction. That first non-Sunday Christmas Day service attracted a startlingly low number of worshippers, especially for a congregation of more than 500 members. There were ten of us all together, musicians, ministers, student interns, and lay people combined. But, we listened to the preached Word and we sang together and prayed together and we gave thanks together. It was a beautiful morning, and one that I didn’t wish I had spent sleeping in or around the Christmas tree opening presents.
In some respects, I understand where the deacons were coming from. After all, it may seem as if the high point of this holy holiday has already been reached, culminating in last night’s reading of the nativity and singing of Silent Night by the delicate light of candles. Yet, it is precisely when all of the pomp and circumstance of Christmas is finished, when our shopping is complete, the tree put up and lights assembled, the gifts wrapped, cookies baked, and dinner prepared; then after the tree is taken down and lights disassembled, the gifts unwrapped, cookies distributed, and dinner eaten, when the real work of Christmas begins. As theologian and preacher Howard Thurman famously noted, it is,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
That the work of Christmas begins.
Gathering on this holy morning despite of and amidst the busyness of this day grounds us in the real work of Christmas:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.[1]
Faithful people of God, tried and true, on this Christmas morning would you join me in prayer…
Amen.
* * * *
Surely you have experienced Christmases when there was someone missing at the table. I know for some of you it will be this year, whether you’ve lost a loved one to age, illness, or death or perhaps have a child deployed overseas. And, maybe if it was your nagging in-laws who were snowed in at home one year, it wasn’t such a sad occasion to be missing them around the Christmas table. Nowadays it seems that with our ever-expanding family, there is always someone missing at every holiday gathering.
My grandmother used to tell me the story of one such Christmas before I was born. It was 1977 and she was living alone in West Palm Beach, Florida. She was scheduled for cataract surgery several weeks before Christmas and was planning to fly to Boston to be with her daughters. There was a little kink in this plan when, during what is nowadays a routine surgery, the doctors mistakenly detached both of her retinas. When she awoke from the surgery, she remained in the dark. She was blind. Needless to say, she didn’t make it to the Christmas dinner table in Boston that year.
Instead, she spent that Christmas Eve at home on the couch. Around midnight, she turned on the television to hear the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing the Halleluiah Chorus. As she listened, she noticed that she could begin – ever so slightly - to make out the faces of the people in the choir. In her cloudy and heavily blurred vision, each beautiful face appeared soft and angelic. Their words rang in her heart:
The kingdom of this world,
is become the kingdom of our Lord,
and of his Christ and of his Christ.
And He shall reign for ever and ever.
Over a period of time that followed, she regained partial sight in her right eye.
Now, I don’t know if this story is "true" in the conventional sense of the word, like the story she used to tell me about how she could read the color of people’s auras when they walked into a room or how she taught herself to play the trumpet while balanced on her head in some crazy yoga position. But for my grandmother, this is how she remembered the story of the moment she regained her sight. On Christmas Eve 1977, when she was walking in the darkness God sent her a great light. Perhaps this is how she needed to remember the moment she regained her sight.
After all, as the storyteller Valerie Tuston, who was just here several weeks ago explained, the truth of a great story transcends what is true and meaningful to the storyteller and the audience. A great story tells us something about what is “truly true.”
In some ways, you could say that the prologue to John’s gospel tells us what’s truly true about the Christmas story.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all the people (John 1:1-4).
What’s truly true about the great story of mystery and intrigue that we journeyed through at last night’s service, the message the angel Gabriel delivers to Mary, Mary and Joseph’s journey (on foot!) from Nazareth to Bethlehem when she is nine months pregnant (which, I can assure you, I appreciate far more today than I did a year ago), the birth of the King of Israel in a lowly manger because there is no room at the inn, the angelic pronouncement to the shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night that unto them is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, and the visitation of the Shepherds by way of a single guiding star shining in the night sky ~ is the incarnation of God in the world in form of Jesus Christ.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us (John 1:14).
Based on the wondrous and awe-inspiring story tied to Jesus’ birth, we often think of the incarnation as occurring on Christmas morning, when God took the oh-so human form of a tiny baby wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a lowly manger. However, John’s gospel reminds us that the incarnation not only occurs in the person of Jesus, but in the light that Jesus brought into the world – the light that lives on and illuminates the world long after he has gone from it.
For some, this light is elusive and intangible but for others, like my grandmother, who have seen this light, it is as real and as close as their own breath. It is what is truly true about the Christmas story. Ancient philosopher and theologian Augustine interpreted this light in John’s prologue as a natural light, but Luther later rejects this and interprets it as the light of grace.[2] I tend to agree with Luther in this. What is truly true in the Christmas story is the light of grace brought into the world through God-made-flesh among us. However it comes, however it manages to find us; in the love surrounding us at the Christmas dinner table, in a kind gesture from a friend, in a daily kiss goodbye, in the reversal of a devastating diagnosis, in looking into the eyes of the lowly, in giving of ourselves in service to those in need. However it comes, the light of grace seeps in to guide those who are walking in the darkness, grasping and grappling to find the light.
At times we are recipients of this light of grace, but at all times and in all places we are called to be its bearers. So we gather on Christmas Eve to relive the story, we sing, and we light our candles to stand as faithful witness to what’s truly true in this world – the light of grace, the light of Christ.
And now, on this great, divine, holy morning the real work of Christmas begins, to bring the light of grace, the light of Christ into the world:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.
Amen.
[1] Thurman, Howard, “The Work of Christmas”
[2] “Christ’s Titles of Honor; His coming: His Incarnation; and the Revelation of His Glory,” a sermon by Martin Luther from his Church Postil, 1521-1522, from The Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. I:171-223
Scripture: John 1:1-14
Born of God
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching
The last time I was in church on Christmas Day was three years ago. I was serving as a ministerial intern at a congregation on the North Shore and the Senior Minister there decided to hold a worship service on Christmas morning, even though it didn’t fall on a Sunday. I remember the uproar when he presented this idea to the deacons: “No one will come,” they warned. “People should be with their families,” they reminded the pastor. And, worst of all, “We’ll have just attended a service the night before! That’s two services in just twenty-four hours!” They astutely pointed out.
“I will be here on Christmas morning,” the pastor calmly stated. “You can join me if you wish to and are able.”
The deacons were correct in their prediction. That first non-Sunday Christmas Day service attracted a startlingly low number of worshippers, especially for a congregation of more than 500 members. There were ten of us all together, musicians, ministers, student interns, and lay people combined. But, we listened to the preached Word and we sang together and prayed together and we gave thanks together. It was a beautiful morning, and one that I didn’t wish I had spent sleeping in or around the Christmas tree opening presents.
In some respects, I understand where the deacons were coming from. After all, it may seem as if the high point of this holy holiday has already been reached, culminating in last night’s reading of the nativity and singing of Silent Night by the delicate light of candles. Yet, it is precisely when all of the pomp and circumstance of Christmas is finished, when our shopping is complete, the tree put up and lights assembled, the gifts wrapped, cookies baked, and dinner prepared; then after the tree is taken down and lights disassembled, the gifts unwrapped, cookies distributed, and dinner eaten, when the real work of Christmas begins. As theologian and preacher Howard Thurman famously noted, it is,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
That the work of Christmas begins.
Gathering on this holy morning despite of and amidst the busyness of this day grounds us in the real work of Christmas:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.[1]
Faithful people of God, tried and true, on this Christmas morning would you join me in prayer…
Amen.
* * * *
Surely you have experienced Christmases when there was someone missing at the table. I know for some of you it will be this year, whether you’ve lost a loved one to age, illness, or death or perhaps have a child deployed overseas. And, maybe if it was your nagging in-laws who were snowed in at home one year, it wasn’t such a sad occasion to be missing them around the Christmas table. Nowadays it seems that with our ever-expanding family, there is always someone missing at every holiday gathering.
My grandmother used to tell me the story of one such Christmas before I was born. It was 1977 and she was living alone in West Palm Beach, Florida. She was scheduled for cataract surgery several weeks before Christmas and was planning to fly to Boston to be with her daughters. There was a little kink in this plan when, during what is nowadays a routine surgery, the doctors mistakenly detached both of her retinas. When she awoke from the surgery, she remained in the dark. She was blind. Needless to say, she didn’t make it to the Christmas dinner table in Boston that year.
Instead, she spent that Christmas Eve at home on the couch. Around midnight, she turned on the television to hear the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing the Halleluiah Chorus. As she listened, she noticed that she could begin – ever so slightly - to make out the faces of the people in the choir. In her cloudy and heavily blurred vision, each beautiful face appeared soft and angelic. Their words rang in her heart:
The kingdom of this world,
is become the kingdom of our Lord,
and of his Christ and of his Christ.
And He shall reign for ever and ever.
Over a period of time that followed, she regained partial sight in her right eye.
Now, I don’t know if this story is "true" in the conventional sense of the word, like the story she used to tell me about how she could read the color of people’s auras when they walked into a room or how she taught herself to play the trumpet while balanced on her head in some crazy yoga position. But for my grandmother, this is how she remembered the story of the moment she regained her sight. On Christmas Eve 1977, when she was walking in the darkness God sent her a great light. Perhaps this is how she needed to remember the moment she regained her sight.
After all, as the storyteller Valerie Tuston, who was just here several weeks ago explained, the truth of a great story transcends what is true and meaningful to the storyteller and the audience. A great story tells us something about what is “truly true.”
In some ways, you could say that the prologue to John’s gospel tells us what’s truly true about the Christmas story.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all the people (John 1:1-4).
What’s truly true about the great story of mystery and intrigue that we journeyed through at last night’s service, the message the angel Gabriel delivers to Mary, Mary and Joseph’s journey (on foot!) from Nazareth to Bethlehem when she is nine months pregnant (which, I can assure you, I appreciate far more today than I did a year ago), the birth of the King of Israel in a lowly manger because there is no room at the inn, the angelic pronouncement to the shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night that unto them is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, and the visitation of the Shepherds by way of a single guiding star shining in the night sky ~ is the incarnation of God in the world in form of Jesus Christ.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us (John 1:14).
Based on the wondrous and awe-inspiring story tied to Jesus’ birth, we often think of the incarnation as occurring on Christmas morning, when God took the oh-so human form of a tiny baby wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a lowly manger. However, John’s gospel reminds us that the incarnation not only occurs in the person of Jesus, but in the light that Jesus brought into the world – the light that lives on and illuminates the world long after he has gone from it.
For some, this light is elusive and intangible but for others, like my grandmother, who have seen this light, it is as real and as close as their own breath. It is what is truly true about the Christmas story. Ancient philosopher and theologian Augustine interpreted this light in John’s prologue as a natural light, but Luther later rejects this and interprets it as the light of grace.[2] I tend to agree with Luther in this. What is truly true in the Christmas story is the light of grace brought into the world through God-made-flesh among us. However it comes, however it manages to find us; in the love surrounding us at the Christmas dinner table, in a kind gesture from a friend, in a daily kiss goodbye, in the reversal of a devastating diagnosis, in looking into the eyes of the lowly, in giving of ourselves in service to those in need. However it comes, the light of grace seeps in to guide those who are walking in the darkness, grasping and grappling to find the light.
At times we are recipients of this light of grace, but at all times and in all places we are called to be its bearers. So we gather on Christmas Eve to relive the story, we sing, and we light our candles to stand as faithful witness to what’s truly true in this world – the light of grace, the light of Christ.
And now, on this great, divine, holy morning the real work of Christmas begins, to bring the light of grace, the light of Christ into the world:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.
Amen.
[1] Thurman, Howard, “The Work of Christmas”
[2] “Christ’s Titles of Honor; His coming: His Incarnation; and the Revelation of His Glory,” a sermon by Martin Luther from his Church Postil, 1521-1522, from The Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. I:171-223
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