A Meditation on Christmas Eve 2014
1.
There’s a strange and telling
tension in the story tonight: between the shepherds’ raucous response to the
baby in the manger and Mother Mary’s contemplative choice. The shepherds return to their fields
transformed, revitalized and all fired up with praise. They tell everyone they meet about the angels
and the promise of peace and the king in the crib. But Mary chooses quiet devotion, and sweet
thanksgiving, even silence. “She keeps
all these things to herself,” the story says, “holding them dear, deep within
herself.”
There’s no doubt that
Christmas is a time for caroling in the streets and yucking it up at office
parties and blasting Bing Crosby on the stereo at home. And it’s got to be time for unprecedented
journeys and fearless visions and brave new initiatives for peace on earth. Christmas is a season for shepherds and for
letting loose and letting God do new things, holy things, daring things in our
lives.
But Mary reminds us of
another dimension, a way of cultivating mystery and grace and wonder. She’s surrounded by activity, the wild
singing of shepherds and the hovering wonder of angels and the murmuring (OK,
maybe the wailing) of a newborn. But in
that whirlwind of life and birth and responsibility and joy, Mary closes her
eyes. She closes her eyes and sees God
in the darkness and breathes God’s Spirit into her lungs and cherishes her
life.
2.
Life doesn’t get any
busier, any louder than it is for a mother in a cave, moments after giving
birth. Life doesn’t get any weirder, any
wilder than it is for Mother Mary entertaining stinky shepherds from the fields
and singing angels from the heavens, moments after giving birth. But even so, she closes her eyes. In that whirlwind of life and birth and
responsibility, Mary closes her eyes.
And she cherishes her life. And
all the other lives gathering round.
This is not the end for
Mary. Not by a long shot. She has a child to nurse and a boy to
raise. She has prayers to teach him and
visions of justice and jubilee to show him.
Mary will suffer, and the people she loves will suffer too. But this night, this holy night, she ponders
all these things, she holds them dear and deep within herself. And she remembers who she is, she remembers
whose she is. And she is glad.
She’s glad like an
exhausted mom who’s just given birth is glad.
She’s glad like a woman who sees God in shepherds and stars is glad. She’s glad like a believer who feels God’s
love, God’s grace, God’s passion beating in her own heart is glad. Gladness is all there is.
I wish for every one of you
similar moments tonight and tomorrow and throughout these twelve days of
Christmas. I wish for you moments of
sweet stillness and holy silence and deep rich darkness. I know you’ve got places to go, people to
meet, songs to sing. But I wish for you
something like Mary’s stillness in the midst of it all. And in these mystery moments, let’s call them
mystery moments, I hope you’ll ponder things as Mary does. I hope you’ll hold your life close and hold
it dear and cherish it deeply. I hope
you’ll hear the Spirit rising and falling in your own sweet breath. And I hope you’ll sense new life, new hope,
even some kind of new birth coming to be in your own heart. For the baby is not only born in
Bethlehem. The baby is born in you. That’s the wonder in all this. That’s the wonder of Christmas. It all begins again. Right here.
Right now.
Now there is all kinds of
work to be done. And this church, Peace
United Church: we’re committed and passionate about all of it. We’re going to be part of the national
conversation on race and racism and ways to heal at last the divisions among us. And we’re going to be part of the faith
community’s response to poverty and homelessness. And we’re going to be part of peacemaking in
the Middle East. But tonight we keep
watch with Mary. Tonight we kneel before
the manger. Tonight we remember who we
are, and whose we are, and we are glad. There’s
work to be done. But it begins tonight
in gladness. It’s gladness that opens
our hearts to tenderness and compassion.
It’s gladness that stirs in our hearts visions of a better world. And it’s gladness that makes our humanness
holy.
The great Spanish mystic,
St. John of the Cross, once said, “If one wishes to be sure of the road she
travels on, she must close her eyes and walk in the dark.” If one wishes to be sure of the road she
travels on, she must close her eyes and walk in the dark. Christmas is a time for walking in the
dark. Not without intelligence, mind
you; and not without courage or smarts or hutzpah. But Christmas is a time for walking in the
dark: pondering the great mysteries of the universe, cherishing the sweet
privilege of life itself, choosing to live not by calculation but by grace, not
by fear but by compassion. Like Mary,
like Elizabeth, throwing caution to the wind and partnering with the Holy
Spirit. Like Jesus, resisting bitterness
and forgiving his captors, praying for their salvation. And like all the other saints who live by
tenderness and a stubborn confidence in the promise of peace.
So close your eyes tonight,
my friends. Close your eyes and unplug
and feel damp December on your cheeks. Close
your eyes and see in the darkness the face of God. Close your eyes and know that Jesus the
Christ is born in you, is born to give you a second birth. Jesus comes to take your hand. Jesus comes to make your life new again. So close your eyes and walk tonight with him.