December 27, 2009 Sermon
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First Sunday after Christmas
Isaiah, Galatians, John Emmanuel, San Angelo
December 27, 2009 Susanna Brosseau
Exactly forty years ago, popular singer Peggy Lee had a song on the Billboard charts. It is sung from the perspective of a woman so jaded, so world-weary and blasé, that nothing holds any charm or interest for her. A catastrophic house fire, a visit to the circus as a little girl, even love and death are worth nothing more than a shrug, a sigh, and the question ..."Is that all there is?"
Christmas is just two days past, and a lot of us are asking the same question. The presents have been unwrapped, but there's still Scotch tape stuck to the carpet. The Christmas feast has been eaten, but the leftovers are growing tired in the fridge and the dishes are soaking in the sink. We look around our church this morning and while the greenery is making a brave show of it, we can practically hear it beginning to droop from the walls and scatter on the carpet. Is that all there is to Christmas? Is that all there is?
It's fun to celebrate Christmas, even more so when we go all out for the holidays. But sometimes it seems that we're too quick to pack away the concept of the infant Christ as we pack away his figurine with the rest of the Nativity set. The Savior is born, the Magi pay their visit...and suddenly Jesus is receiving his adult baptism and leading us into Lent. There are no canonically accepted stories of Jesus' childhood except for the precocious adolescent Jesus astonishing the temple elders in Jerusalem--the rest of his early years are shrouded in mystery.
But we know that he was born of a human woman, in human form, and perhaps we can hang on to that image for just a bit longer. Maybe we can hold on to it past Christmas and Epiphany. We have all seen babies; the parents here today know just how vulnerable, how dependent and demanding babies can be. We recognize the Renaissance paintings of the Christ Child serene in his manger or in Mary’s arms, alight with the radiance of Heaven. Would we as easily recognize a portrait of Jesus wailing for his milk, tired and frustrated during the desperate flight to Egypt? Of Mary, exhausted from new-parent syndrome, waking up yet again to bathe her son and bind him in fresh cloths? These are stories not found in our Bible, but stories that we ought to consider.
Why a helpless baby? Christ could have entered the world in any way he chose, descending from clouds of glory or in triumphal, royal entry into Jerusalem, the King of Kings as everyone expected him to be. But he came to us as humbly as any person could, born on a stranger's property to a common carpenter and his teenage bride. Vulnerable. Dependent. Demanding. We see and love and honor Christ this way, and if we can do that, can't we also cherish the vulnerability of the people that surround us? Can we recognize their dependencies and their demands with the same patience and love?
Jesus came to us and lived with us as he did, not only to save us, but also to save us from ourselves. When we are baptized, we promise that we will seek and serve Christ in all persons, with God's help. We can find Christ not only in those actions we deem particularly noble or strong, but also when our neighbors are at their most defenseless and helpless. Jesus relied on the people surrounding him as any infant must. Jesus is the Christ, but he is also fragile in his humanity. By clinging to the image of that newborn fragility, perhaps we can remind ourselves to love our own frailties--the frailties that we share with everyone. We can learn through Christ to call God "Abba", Father, and to be a child with him and an heir of his love with our adopted brothers and sisters.
"What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." What is so striking about this passage is the verb tense here: "the light shines in the darkness". Not "the light shone" or "the light will shine". The light...shines. Now, right now, the light is shining in the darkness of the greater world. Because the life--Christ's life that came into being so long ago--is the light of all of us. There is the darkness of war. But it did not overcome us. There is the darkness of fear. But it did not overcome us. There is the darkness of greed, the darkness of poverty. But it did not overcome us. It will not. It cannot. We who put our trust and faith in God are filled with light, and when your candle wavers, your neighbor is there to support your flame with her own. It's like our Epiphany pageant--the light of Christ is passed to all of us and strengthened through our lives together.
Set aside the presents, the wilting tree, the Turkey or Ham Surprise that's on the menu for tonight and tomorrow night and the night after that. That's not all there is. Christmas teaches us that we are creatures of light, filled with the inextinguishable life and love of Christ. Christmas teaches us that great courage is the courage to show our weaknesses; that great compassion is to tenderly care for the vulnerabilities in each other. Christmas is about our kinship to Jesus and our status as beloved children of God rather than prisoners of human law.
And THAT'S what there is to Christmas.
Let us pray:
O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light rises up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what you would have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in your light we may see light, and in your straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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