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SERMON P73 FOR DECEMBER 20, 2015
The first Christmas was a mess. Chaos reigned supreme. It was a tangle of agendas on every level. It was a muddle of fear and anxiety. It was a jumble of expectations. The first Christmas was real mess. It was not a picture-perfect silent night. It was not so still that locals could hear the falling snow, if indeed any snow fell. O Little Town of Bethlehem was not the peaceful town we see depicted on Christmas card fronts. The place was chaos, overflowing with strangers who all needed somewhere to sleep. That first Christmas was a mess.
It was a mess because the world was a mess. The Roman Empire, the most powerful war machine of its day, was ruler of Judah and Israel. The Empire is the context for Christmas 1. Rome had invaded what would be Jesus’ homeland. They had expropriated land from small-hold farmers who made a living on their tiny plots of land. People had few ways to make ends meet. On top of that, those same people who were denied a livelihood, were taxed to the max, so that Rome could fund its empire-building and support its leaders in fine style. And, on top of that, the temple had become home for the Roman gods: Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Diana, and all the rest. Giant statues of the Roman panoply were rolled into the inner courts of the temple, occupying Yahweh’s home and the Jews’ once-sacred space. Rome had not conquered the known world by being nice guys.
And when Caesar Augustus ordered the registration of all Judeans and Israelites in order to update the tax rolls, it was in everyone’s best interest to obey. Life at that first Christmas was no bucolic paradise. Rome was a regime, the same word we use to describe Bashar al Assad’s modus operandi. Al Assad is dropping barrel bombs on his own people. He is destroying culture and collective memory. He is responsible for 4 million Syrians of all ages and allegiances becoming refugees. We hear about al Assad. We see pictures of the brutal chaos he has created. Rome was bigger than Bashar. Rome was worse. The first Christmas was chaos.
Of course, Bethlehem was chaos. The city was the destination for those in David’s line who had to register there. We are talking about a small town suddenly flooded with travelers. All those travelers had the same needs for shelter, food, water, and safety. The infrastructure was not there to provide what they needed. People scrambled for the basics. A few might have lucked out with a roof over their heads. Most lost out. It was a mess.
And to bring things down to a personal story, the place where we find the sacred, Mary and Joseph added their unique circumstances to the chaos of the macro-political landscape, and the local landscape. They were expecting a surprise-child to their barely established relationship. They were as poor as the rest of Judah. They were obeying their oppressors because they were powerless to rebel. Their political freedom had been co-opted. There personal freedom was long gone. Their spiritual freedom was bound by the actions of Gabriel and God. In every human way, their lives were a jam. The first Christmas was a mess, a muddle, the chaos brought on by the collision of the political and personal.
And into the mess is born a child. This is how holiness comes into this world of pain and despair. This is how hope is born. This is how the politics of transformation meets the politics of power. This is how love arrives with the capacity to resurrect promise and compassion. However you image God; holy energy or sacred mystery or evolving love or merciful compassion, however you name the divine, God touched down in the mess as vulnerability, as fragile defencelessness, and a human child. Love did not clean up the mess. It did not overpower the legions of Rome. It did not sort out Bethlehem’s chaos and limits. It did not take away Mary’s wonder and Joseph’s responsibility. It only arrived. Love simply was born, right in the mess.
I suspect that is what will happen this Christmas. The holy will find us, just as we are, me with my chaos and you with yours. The sacred will show up in the imperfect world we live in, among the tragedy of war and rumours of war. It will show up as promise, and only as promise. The work of realizing the promise belongs to other humans who, too, share the divine. The work of Christmas belongs to us.
Of course the mess is here, however we name it for ourselves and however we experience it. But so is the promise. The child born for us tells us that the human is where it is at. We humans are the promise-keepers, the ones who can and must love one another into wholeness. We are the source of justice that can bring and maintain peace. We are healing compassion for one another because we care in so many ways. Christmas reminds us that we are the God-source of love, and it is our work to take on the mess.
Christmas does not need us to be perfect, perfectly prepared, perfectly organized, perfectly open, or perfectly giving. It asks us to be simply who we are and to wait for it. It will come into our own particular lives with our own particular sorrows and regrets and longings. Christmas will not be shut down by our world’s chaos or our brokenness. It will come to those who want it, right in the middle of life’s upheaval and hurt.
This is the true miracle of the season, wonder of wonders. This is all the hope our planet needs. It is all the love necessary to assist chaos’ evolution into peace. It comes to us and is in us. And it draws us beyond the mind we have into holy possibility. May it be so for you. May it be so for our world. Happy Christmas.