The Rev. Josh Shipman
Christmas Eve, Year C, 2015
Luke 2:1-14
The sexton, or custodian of the church,
had not set about to create a
so-called live-nativity,
as he prepared the church for Advent.
He simply set up the crèche,
and took his lunch break.
Imagine his surprise,
when he returned to his work
after lunch.
Perhaps, some straw on the church floor
around the manger scene,
No Magi,
No Mary or Joseph, yet,
not even any animals—
with their
worn ears or tails
from years of use.
But there in the manger, itself,
a real live baby.
The sexton thought he’d heard a cry,
and the source of it was a living, breathing,
five pound boy—
swaddled in blue towels,
right there in the now live nativity,
The sexton, a Mr. Moran,
went searching for the
first priest he could find.
Father Christopher Heanue (HEN-you)
happened to be it.
Father Heanue had only been
ordained for five months—
welcome to ministry,
Father Heanue!
Father Heanue, of course,
notified the proper authorities.
The baby was taken to a local hospital
and was found to be in perfect health.
New York State has
what they call a “safe haven law,”
where a parent can leave
a newborn infant in a
hospital, a firestation, a church, etc.
without being charged with a crime.
About the surprise bundle of joy,
28 year old Father Heanue said,
“I think it’s beautiful,
A church is a home for those in need,
and she felt, in this stable —
a place where Jesus will find his home —
a home for her child.”[1]
Surveillance footage shows a young woman
entering the church with the baby,
and leaving without him.
The safe haven that she found—
the manger where she laid
her infant child—
wasin the Holy Child Jesus Church.[2]
(pause)
I wonder what was going
through this mother’s mind.
I wonder what her situation was.
Did she live in poverty—
was she hoping that some other
loving family, perhaps a church family,
could give him a better life?
Was she in an abusive relationship?
Did she fear that her significant other
would harm her baby?
What does it take
to drive a mother
to walk into a church with a baby
and walk out without one?
(pause)
The comments about this human interest story,
written by NPR’s Scott Simon,
immediately began pouring in.
One person wrote,
“So glad the baby is so well loved
and yes, my heart also goes out to the mother.
However, this points to larger social problems
that were pushed to the margins by
Scott Simon's pious homily.
This is not the first time Simon
has preached religion on public radio.”
Another person wrote:
“I can't believe this story
was even published in anything
other than a religious publication—
and a simple-minded one at that.
I kept waiting for the punchline.”
(pause)
Because we wouldn’t want
to mention religion in an article
about a baby being left in a manger
in a Catholic church…
(pause)
Not all of the comments
were antagonistic,
of course,
but aren’t the angry ones
the ones that stick out:
Take for instance, this one:
“Maybe the church could
sell one of those shiny things
and help her [the mother] out.”
or
“How will they determine who gets him?
Are they going to raffle him off?”
(pause)
What is the line between
cynical and bitter?
What is it like to carry
such resentment
within one’s self?
Is this what it means
to live in some kind of
secular utopia?
(pause)
The people of Jesus’ day
had plenty to be skeptical about,
plenty of things
to make them cynical,
and perhaps, even,
to embitter them.
Octavian, the adopted son
of Julius Caesar was in power.
After the assassination of Caesar,
he formed an alliance with Mark Antony,
but they inevitably, had a falling out.
Octavian defeated Antony
and his consort Cleopatra in 31 BCE,
ending thirteen years of Civil War,
and he took credit for the peace,
and was known, actually,
as “the savior of the world.”
Luke writes that this
Caesar Augustus
called for a census.
That sounds fairly benign, right?
Many of you have lived
through a census--
some person wielding a pen
and a clipboard,
showing up at your house.
You have to remember, though,
that the Jews (yes, that includes, Mary, Joseph and Jesus),
were an occupied people.
Joseph was made to do
whatever the occupying Roman powers
wanted him to do.
One author notes,
“Whenever Caesar,
or local governors like Quirinius,
ran censuses,
there would be uprisings and revolts.
The tax burden was already excessive,
and people lived in a grinding poverty,
under the bootheel of Rome,
that was getting worse,
and not better.
Some historians trace the
emergence of the zealots--
we could call them pro-Palestinian terrorists--
to the uprisings against the census of Quirinius.
The zealots, in turn,
were part of a chain of events
that led to the Roman-Jewish War of AD 66-70.”[3]
(pause)
It was a deeply troubled,
complicated time,
not unlike our own.
And people, I imagine,
were often given to despair.
Not unlike some people,
many people,
today.
(pause)
But there were shepherds,
abiding in a field.
Now, these weren’t
sweet children in a pageant.
They weren’t people like
you see on Christmas cards:
peaceful, wise, almost angelic.
These were the dregs of society.
One writer notes,
“By the time of Jesus,
shepherding had become
a profession most likely
to be filled from the bottom
rung of the social ladder,
by persons who could not find
what was regarded as decent work.
Society stereotyped shepherds as liars,
degenerates, and thieves.
The testimony of shepherds
was not admissible in court,
and many towns had ordinances
barring shepherds from their city limits.
The religious establishment
took a particularly dim view of shepherds
since the regular exercise of shepherds' duties
kept them from observing the Sabbath
and rendered them ritually unclean.
The Pharisees classed shepherds
with tax collectors and prostitutes,
persons who were "sinners"
by virtue of their vocation.”[4]
It was these shepherds
who were given a sign:
A child, wrapped in bands of cloth,
lying in a manger.
This sign didn’t go to
Caesar Augustus.
This sign didn’t go to
Quirinius, governor of Syria.
This sign didn’t even go
to the Temple,
the religious establishment.
It went to the margins,
to people living on the margins.
People in most need
of a good Word.
(pause)
I’m thinking about
that desperate mother,
who found sanctuary
for her son, in a manger,
at the Church of the Holy Child Jesus.
I’m thinking about Mary,
who gave birth,
outside of a hospital,
outside of modern medicine,
outside of wedlock.
I’m thinking about those shepherds,
abiding in a field--
how did they find that baby,
lying in a manger,
in a town probably
teeming with mangers.
Did the glory of the Lord
shine around that place?
How did that mother,
who for whatever reason,
needed to find a new home
for her baby boy,
find that particular church,
that particular manger?
Did the glory of the Lord
shine around that place?
(pause)
My brothers and sisters,
on this most holy night,
heaven and earth have kissed.
Angels bend near the earth,
and touch their harps of gold.
(pause)
Take some of that radiance
with you, wherever you go.
There is much to by cynical about
in the world today.
Don’t be.
Don’t listen to the false narratives
of hopelessness,
of fear,
of death.
Listen to the message
of the angels.
Be like that mother,
who despite
whatever challenges she faced,
found sanctuary,
the healing presence of God,
in a manger.
Be like Mary.
[1]
[2] Story from and
[3]
[4]