Christmas Eve 2023
Full service can be viewed HERE.
My mom used to teach kindergarten, and each year, she did a unit about The Nutcracker. They learned the whole kindergarten curriculum using this beloved story, from literacy to math to art. They also learned about ballet, and about the beautiful music written by Tchaikovsky. Mom’s favorite day of the unit was the day they got to the part of the story where the tree grows. They had a large bulletin board with a paper Christmas tree on it, and the characters, made by the children, of course, were all dancing on stage around it. The night before “the magic happened,” she would add a few layers to the tree – enough that it went off the bulletin board and popped right up through the ceiling! And then she added Christmas lights all around the board. Now, none of the 5-year-olds noticed this when they came in the next day. When it came time to learn this part of the story, they’d turn off the lights, and the kids would sit in a circle with their eyes closed, and she’d play the wonderful music that makes the tree grow. (See it here.) You can practically see the tree growing in your mind’s eye, right? The teacher’s aid would sneak over and plug in the lights. When it was done, they would all open their eyes and look at the tree, and – lo and behold! – the tree had grown! They were flabbergasted. “Our tree grew!! How did that happen?!” It was magical!
Of course, there were always some skeptics. Some kid would always say, “Oh, you did that while our eyes were closed.” She would remind them that she was sitting with them the whole time, so how could she have done it? They’d work through it, but eventually, even the skeptics would come around. Maybe they really did start to believe, or maybe they realized it was just more satisfying to believe that the impossible could happen.
I remembered this during a recent conversation with my own child, now a very mature 8 years old. She is astute, and does not miss much. And at 8, her logic brain is kicking in and she is very interested in figuring out what is real and what is fantasy. You can imagine, this has resulted in some important conversations about some beloved secular Christmas traditions, if you know what I mean. One day recently, she looked me in the eye and said, “I really want to believe this, but I also really want to know what is real. Can you just tell me honestly: what is happening here?” (More reflection on this exchange HERE.)
These sorts of conversations with my bright, inquisitive children always shed such light on the most essential human traits. I was so moved by her stating so plainly this tension: we want to believe in something, but we don’t want to be duped. We don’t want to be made a fool. We have well-developed logic brains, after all, and we put them to good use. So yes, we want to believe in something, but we want it to be something that is real. We want to understand what is really going on here.
Well, hate to tell ya: the Christmas story blows this desire out of the water. Each year we are confronted with this mysterious story about a God who for some reason decides to become human. It’s an absurd prospect. What kind of all-powerful God would want to be viewed as vulnerable – and what is more vulnerable than a baby? Who could possibly take seriously such a God, who comes not with the might of a warrior, but with the clumsy, soft, and squishy body of a newborn babe, unable to feed himself, or wipe himself for goodness’ sake!
We sometimes talk about “the mystery of the incarnation.” I love that word, “mystery.” It makes me think of candle-lit sanctuaries, and cozy novels I might read in front of the fire. But a mystery is also simply this: something that seems to have no reasonable explanation.
Now don’t get me wrong: the story we come here tonight to hear and share and celebrate is decidedly good news, and I believe it to be true. As absurd as it may be, the fact that God would become one of us, to walk among us, to feel our pain and ultimately to redeem us, is really loving and lovely. It is a story worth believing!
And, at the same time, I admit I sometimes feel like my daughter: I’m looking around this world, so broken and war-torn, and wondering, “Can we really believe this good news?” With war in Ukraine and the Holy Land; with poverty all too prevalent even in this, the richest country in the world; with fractures in our democracy filling the news cycle; with illness and addiction and fear and loss… It makes it pretty hard some days to believe in the good news of Jesus’ birth. We really want to believe, but we also want to know what is real. And sometimes all that pain that’s right in front of us is what feels far more real to us than a savior born some 2000 years ago, an almighty God mysteriously become human and laid in a manger.
So, what is real?
I heard a story this week of a pastor whose brother was not a Christian. So whenever this pastor would visit his young nephew, he would regale him with the fantastic stories of the Bible. Once he told him the story of Jonah and the Whale, the incredible story of a prophet getting swallowed up by a big fish after being thrown overboard, only to be spewed out on the beach after three days so he could deliver his prophecy. The pastor’s nephew relished in the story, but at the end he was, like those kids in my mom’s kindergarten class, skeptical. “Is that story real, Uncle?” And the pastor uncle said, “That story is so real, that even if it never was, it always is.”
You see, mysterious as the Christmas story is, there is still so much of this incredible story that is undeniably real, as it has played out with different details many times throughout history. It is the story of a scared but courageous young women carrying out God’s will; of a man conflicted about what is the right and faithful thing to do when he is faced with impossible options; of these new parents, managing emotions and experiences they had never before imagined, even as God is undeniably with them. This is a story about a poor family being at the mercy of the government and abuse of power, but trusting God just the same. It’s about encountering the living God, like the shepherds, and being changed. It is a story about light shining hope into the darkest part of night.
This story is so real, that it has been told and retold for 2000 years. The details and circumstances of its telling have changed in two millennia, yet it continues to resonate, continues to be real to people.
And it is real to us this night, December 24, 2023, in Pittsford, NY. I don’t know what part of it feels the most real to you at this moment, but I can speak for myself. As I look around at the pain and fear in the world, and as I reflect on my own struggles, here is what is absolutely real to me about this mysterious night: that God loves us so much, that God chose to come down into the often dark hole of our broken humanity and be in solidarity with us in our pain, even going so far as to take on a vulnerable human body to do it. That God saw the pain and longing of the world – yes, then, and also now – and did not want us to be alone in it.
This love feels real to me because I experience it even still: I never feel so loved and cared for as when someone is willing to sit with me in my pain, not to fix it immediately, but just to witness it with humility, compassion and authenticity. The fixing can come later – and it does with Jesus, that’s what Easter is for! But first, I long to be seen and known.
And that is precisely what happens on this Christmas night. On this night, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in this babe in the manger. On this night, God is “pleased as man with us to dwell,” laying aside his glory to abide with us, and witness our broken hearts. On this night, God enters into our lives in the most intimate and vulnerable way possible, to show us the great depth of his love.
If you really want to believe in something that is real… then that is about as real as it gets.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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