ISAIAH 9:2-4, 6-7

ISAIAH 9:2-4, 6-7

PSALM 96

TITUS 2:11-14

LUKE 2:1-20

 

 

Sermon – 12/24/01 – 12/25/01

Christmas Eve Service, 10:30 p.m.

Christmas Day Service, 10:00 a.m.

 

 

    Christmas is different this year, some people say, and not joyfully.  A nervous, cautious, down-sized Christmas, some say.  Others may be more despairing, saying that “Christmas will never be the same” or even asking how one can celebrate Christmas after such a year.  Let us listen to some imagined voices of Christmases past to see if we can find the answer.

 

    Amsterdam, December 25, 1945.  Winter grips a Europe which lost millions dead in the just-concluded war, and millions more wander as homeless refugees.  The war to liberate the continent from one appalling tyranny ended with Joseph Stalin’s troops controlling everything between Greece and the Baltic.  Hunger and cold stalk those who survived combat or the concentration camps.  The world we knew is gone and God only knows what will replace it.

 

    It is the best we can do simply to survive.

 

    Christmas.  Yes, today is Christmas.  My only Christmas present is to read this story to myself:  “And the angel said to them, ‘Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’”

 

    Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.  December 25, 1777.  All those brave words in Philadelphia a year-and-a-half ago are hard to hold onto now.  Maybe the world really was meant to be ruled by kings; “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” will be hard-won if they are ever won at all.  General Washington holds out hope, and if he does, I guess I will stick with him, though this winter is only just begun.  I have to say I am afraid:  afraid for myself, for my family, for my country, for the whole round world.

 

    But today we gathered ‘round while the Chaplain read these words to us:  “And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not:  for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.’”

 

    Paris.  Christmas Day, the Year of Our Lord, 1349.  Half the city has perished in this dreadful plague.  They say one-third of Europe has died.  May God have mercy on us before we are all gone, unless indeed this is the end of the world.

 

    I am exhausted from burying the dead.  I have given last rites more often each month this year than in any previous year since I was ordained, and some people died so quickly I could not reach them.  It is a great mercy his Holiness Clement VI granted remission of sins to all those who died of the plague unattended by priests.

 

    Will anything be left of my poor parish, my beautiful city, my beloved France, of Christendom herself?  Will I be here to see another Christmas?  I am afraid.

 

    Now, I must read the Christmas Gospel to those poor souls brave, or foolish, enough to come out of hiding to attend Mass.

 

       “Et dixit illis angelus nolite timere ecce enin

evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum quod erit omni

populo.

Quia natus est vobis hodie salvator qui est

    Christus Dominus in civitate David.”

 

    Hippo, North Africa.  December 25, the Year of Our Lord 410.  This is the first Christmas since the Goths sacked Rome last summer.  We cannot pretend to be unmoved.  The unthinkable has happened:  Rome, ruler of all lands, has been proven vulnerable and has been violated by the barbarians.  Is this the beginning of the end for the Empire which has ruled all the world since before Our Lord’s birth?  What will become of us here?

 

    Our bishop, Augustine, is valiant, and he reminds us that our first citizenship is with the city of God, which can never be stormed by any invader.  Still, I confess, I am afraid.  I told his grace, and he smiled and told me I would be the one to read the Christmas Gospel at the Cathedral.

 

       “Et dixit illis angelus nolite timere ecce

    enin evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum quod erit

    omni populo.

       Quia natus est vobis hodie salvator qui est

Christus Dominus in civitate David.”

 

    New York, December 25, 2001.  They are still pulling bodies out of the ruins of the World Trade Center.  I still look for it sometimes, not wanting to believe this horrible disaster really happened.  Just looking at the skyline hurts.

 

    Osama bin Laden has not been heard from lately, but he has not been found, either—dead or alive.  No way of knowing how many of his followers are still in business or what they may do next.  Or who is sending anthrax through the mail here—or whether that’s over, or what comes next.

 

    And the poor Afghans, who suffered so much, now have a country where you take your life in your hands just walking around, thanks to millions of land mines.

 

    All this, and the recession, too.  I wonder—is my job next?  Dear God, I am afraid.

 

    And now it’s Christmas.  I wonder if anyone has ever felt afraid at Christmas.  I hope Christmas is about more than decorations, and store-bought presents and superficial jollity, because I need more now.  Christmas will never be the same for me; it must mean more, or not mean at all.

 

    I think I remember where to find the story in the Bible—yes, here it is:

 

       “But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid;

for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for

all the people:  to you is born this day in the city

of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.’”

 

    Yes, the wrappings have changed this year.  The complacent self-assurance, smug, false security and unbalanced prosperity of a year ago in America are gone.  We have joined the rest of the world, living in a world with a level of risk and anxiety we have not experienced as a nation for some time.

 

    But risk and anxiety are part of the human condition more often than not.  And “peace on earth and good will to all” is all too rare a phenomenon among human beings.  The human condition boils down to this:  we need help.  Some years we realize it more than others.  This is one of those years.

 

    We need help.  Not just best wishes.  Help.  E-mails are nice, but… cards and letters are nice, but… phone calls are nice, but… when people really need help, nothing is quite like someone showing up in person.

 

    This is what Christmas is really all about:  God showing up in person because we need help.  We cannot save ourselves in any sense of the term.  By ourselves, we cannot reach heaven, nor make this world heavenly.  Only God can do either; God offers to do both.

 

    And God offers to do both not in response to our pilgrimage to some exotic, hard-to-reach retreat center, or because we mastered some occult code, but because we human beings were floundering around making a bigger and bigger mess of things.  God came to us:  that is Christmas.  The Savior is called Emmanuel, meaning, “God with us”.

 

    God did not stay, so to speak, in “the owner’s box” in the “stadium”, looking down at us on the field through binoculars; God got right down on the field of our lives with us, no matter how cold or muddy it was.  Or is.  God didn’t just send an “attachment” that said, “You are loved.”  God showed up in person, and showed God’s love for us, no matter how tough the circumstances.

 

    Palestine was ruled by a brutal dictator, King Herod, who shortly after Jesus was born murdered all the little boys of Bethlehem in an effort to kill the one the Wise Men called “the newborn King of the Jews”.  Later, supreme political power in Jerusalem was held by a political hack named Pontius Pilate who tortured and crucified the King of Kings to appease a mob.  Those were not quiet times, and being the Savior was no cushy job.

 

    Only thus could a decisive invasion of the world by God’s love take place.  Only by coming where God is needed most and the risk is highest could the awesome gift of God’s own self be given.

 

    So yes, God is always at “Ground Zero”, whatever that means for each generation, for each nation, for each person, for each year.  There is no disaster too great, no human wickedness too appalling, no suffering too profound to scare God off or keep him from coming.  This year is no different.

 

    No one and nothing can stop Christmas from coming.  No, not Lord Voldemort.  Not Sauron.  And not Osama bin Laden.  Christmas, the real Christmas, happens not because everything is “just right” but because it isn’t, and only God can make it so.

 

    At the first Christmas, God began making the world anew.  Nothing could stop him then, or since, or now.  And each and all of us can be part of God’s team in making the world new through our good works done in thanksgiving for God’s grace and mercy shown to us.

 

    It is indeed time for Christmas to mean more, to mean more deeply than ever before for us.  For 2,000 years, in good times, in exceptionally challenging times and all kinds of times in between, the message of God has come:  “God is with us.”  “God can make a way out of no way.”  “With God nothing is impossible.”

 

    With faith, hope, teamwork, energy and divine guidance, Christians have dealt with the challenges before them and persevered.  We will too.  Christmas has never stopped coming.  Neither have God’s gifts of himself to us.

 

    “The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:  to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.’”

 

 

(The Rev.) Francis A. Hubbard

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church