A Christmas eve reflection (from long ago) based on Luke 2:1-14 . . . this is from my files . . .Blessings!
Once upon a time -
around this time, I had to have the battery in my watch replaced. So I went to
my favorite jewelers, and while I was waiting, the saleswoman asked if she
could share with me the story of her seven-year-old son. It seems that their
church had just selected the cast of characters for its annual Christmas play,
and her son had been chosen to be Joseph, an obvious honor for this young boy.
Then, imitating her
son’s enthusiastic reaction upon hearing this wonderful news, she placed her
hands upon her heart, and smiling, shared his precious exclamation: “Oh, thank
you. I have waited all my life for
this!”
God, too, had waited a
lifetime, in fact, for an eternity to become flesh within Mary’s womb and
within the world of humanity! Tonight we
are invited to share in the story of Luke’s account of the nativity, a
narrative that is highly charged with social, religious, and political
overtones.
He wrote this
specifically for his Gentile/Christian audience and emphasizes that this divine
child has humble origins, with no royal trappings surrounding his birth. He is
born during the course of a journey; the first guests to his birthday party are
the marginalized shepherds. He is a child for all people, of all nations.
In our Gospel, we further contemplate the scene that is
depicted so vividly: “Mary and Joseph are transients, equivalent to the
homeless of our city streets. She is a young woman in a patriarchal society,
living in an occupied nation, and brought her child into the world in the
manner of enormously disadvantaged people, that is, without the security of a
home.”
Mary and Joseph have
traveled some 7-10 days to Bethlehem, so as to be counted like sheep and
registered according to the dictates of the government. Bethlehem was an
arduous 94-mile journey from Nazareth, and Mary, in the last weeks of
her pregnancy, rode on the back of a donkey. Scholars assert that one could not travel this journey except in the twilight
or early hours of the morning, as both the heat of the day and the darkness of
the night drove people to cover. There were no hotels, restaurants, or
waysides, and sojourners carried water, perhaps some figs, olives, and a loaf
of bread, and slept on the side of the road.
It was a
difficult, dangerous, and grueling journey for anyone, but in particular, for a
young woman in the last stages of her pregnancy. Indeed, it is quite reasonable
to assume that no health care provider would ever recommend either the journey
or the primitive mode of transportation for a woman preparing to bring her
child into the world.
Bethlehem is crowded with others who have made a similar
journey, and the expectant parents seek shelter, but to no avail. Finally, they
are directed to a cave, where they shelter with village animals. Upon the birth
of her child, Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes, the traditional
Palestinian way of securing a newborn, and laid him in a manger.
Meanwhile, the first to hear the message of the miraculous
yet humble birth were shepherds tending their flocks in the fields, laborers of
low economic and social rank. They hurried to Bethlehem and found Mary and
Joseph and the child just as the angels had said.
There, within the simple cave, the displaced couple, the
manger, and “the shepherds came together to form the clear image that our God
comes to the world through the poor, the marginalized, the powerless, and the
oppressed.”
However, if we listen
between the lines of Luke’s account, we will hear a foreshadowing of who this
divine child will be as told through the images, intimations, and figurative
language in this sacred story.
This child, too, will
one day ride a donkey into a crowded city, seeking an inn with an upper room to
celebrate the Passover. There will be no straw-filled manger, but his whole
life will be a sacred table of welcoming and mercy, and he will name himself as
bread, wine, the Way, the Life, and a shepherd who is good.
Raised as a carpenter,
he will be familiar with the feel of the wood beneath his beaten body,
remembering the smell of Joseph’s small shop. He will be laid in the arms of
his loving and faith-filled mother once again, as he is removed from his cross.
He will be wrapped in a
linen cloth, much like his swaddling clothes from his moments of birth; but
now, they will embrace him in his death.
He will be laid in a cave-like tomb, not warm with the breath of animals
nor shielded by the loving protection of Joseph as he was in the stable at
Bethlehem.
Then, with an
inconceivable and unfathomable mysterious movement, God will bring forth a
cosmic energy that will move away stones and break through boundaries and
fears, and God will raise Jesus as the Christ born again in every heart of
humanity.
Yes, even angels will
gather once again upon his rising from death to new life and will sing of his
glory as Messiah, Savior, Emmanuel, Wonder-Counselor, and Prince of Peace.
Jesus will have waited for this all his life!
This night’s story is
known and re-enacted in almost every country throughout the world, children
dressing up as shepherds, wise ones, Mary and Joseph, angels and innkeepers,
sheep and camels. Yet, what does it mean for all of us?
Each of us this evening
is invited to reflect on our own nativity story, recalling the images, details,
visitors, and celebrations. We each have been given the task of carrying
forward the dreams, the vision, and the mission of our God.
Our faith does not
depend upon an empty tomb or a lowly stable. Our hope does not cause us to look
to the heavens for angel choirs or cosmic convergences of planets or celestial
constellations.
But let it be known,
“that the mystery of the nativity is that love is made incarnate every time it
deepens in us.” As we grow in love individually, as a community, and as a
people of God, we make love more present in the world.
“As Christmas is born
again in each of us, it comes forth again into the world.” No matter where we
live, work, play, grieve, or celebrate, the message and mystery of the
Incarnation cannot be brought out once a year like the nativity set decorations
under our tree.
It is our everyday
challenge to accept our call to carry on God’s dream and vision for all
humanity. . . And in the words of Pope Francis . . . We are “to go forth and
preach the Gospel to all: to all places, on all occasions, without hesitation,
reluctance or fear. The joy of the Gospel is for all people: no one can be
excluded.... That is what the angel proclaimed
to the shepherds in Bethlehem: ‘Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good
news of a great joy which will come to all the people.”
Finally, since this is
the season and night of story, let us be people of the story . . . stories of
faith, hope, resilience, and love, as we continue to share in the Word, the
breaking of the Bread, the cup of Wine, the sign of peace; and, shortly
hereafter, as we take leave following the light of the stars . . . for God has
waited an eternity for us this night.
And so we pray:
“Light
looked down and saw darkness. “I will go
there,” said light.
Peace looked down and
saw war. “I will go there,” said peace.
Love
looked down and saw hatred. “I will go
there,” said love.
So
the God of Light, The Prince of Peace,
The
King of Love, Came down and crept in beside us.”
(Rev.
John Bell)
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