In the beauty of this night, our celebration of Christ’s birth, is there one simple declaration that we might draw out of this event, described in such detail in tonight’s Gospel? A child is born in a rough stable, probably a cave hewn out of rock, to a young woman; rough shepherds come to adore him and angels praise him in song; a strange star (or constellation of stars) hovers overhead and magi will come from the east to adore him. The birth emerges as the fulfilment of Messianic prophecy and the Child will change the course of human history, indeed, the Child will change humanity itself.
Perhaps that declaration might be this: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, is God’s ultimate declaration of his absolute love for our humanity, God’s absolute CHERISHING of our humanity, both in its glory and in its brokenness. This declaration of divine love of our humanity is not through mere statement (as with the prophets) or ritual (as at the Temple) but accomplished through divine participation: “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”; or (in the words of the early church) “God has become human, that we might become divine”.
Christ’s birth came at a time of violent empires in flux, of a Judaism sometimes corrupt and legalistic, of mystery religions and Gnosticism that despised the body or led to its moral degradation, of many different cultures vying for dominance and authority. In many ways, the world was a lot like our own today. The words of strong prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah were not enough and they were confined only to the world of Judaism. Great powers were on the move and little people were being trampled.
Into that world God became a participant (“God pitched his tent among us”, to quote John’s Gospel literally), taking on our humanity in the small child Jesus, and in the process hallowing all that is human and good; and, indeed, beyond humanity, hallowing our created and material world, which received and sustained the human and divine Child.
And what of humanity is hallowed? Conception and childbirth; vulnerability and weakness; childhood, growing into adulthood; the work of human hands, in the case of Jesus, simple carpentry; learning and study (one of our stained-glass windows shows the child Jesus learning from the scribes and elders); prophetic leadership and teaching; self-discipline and self-sacrifice, reaching out and loving those on the margins of society; marriage, friendship and parenthood; prayer and worship; music and the arts; human creativity; travel and staying at home.
And even the more painful side of humanity is hallowed: dealing with sickness and death (both our own and others’), terrible suffering, even enduring torture; struggle for human liberation; loneliness, grief and loss. As the life of the Son of God and Son of Man moved, over years, from the manger to the cross, so our human lives, in all their complexity and detail, are hallowed (taken into God) as we move from our births to our deaths, and as our lives intersect with those of others, whose lives are also hallowed by this night.
God has not taken on our humanity, or lifted our humanity into the divine, out of some divine duty or simple divine power but because God loves and cherishes us; God cherishes our broken human bodies, our flawed human minds, our fractured human relationships; because God is Love, we are created in God’s image, and God wants us to be restored to that image.
The Advent themes of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love culminate in this night, in God becoming hope, joy, peace and love in our lives in Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh.
Sometimes this central message of Christmas is hidden in the busy-ness and commercialization of the season. Or we try to equate it to an emotion, trying to feel happy because it is Christmas. That may be quite difficult if we are dealing with personal suffering or grief in our families or among friends; or we may feel alone and think back to happier Christmases. Or we may think that we need snow.
The message of Christmas is deeper: God loves us, our very human selves, deeply; and, through God’s participation in humanity in Jesus, God knows our pain and offers us encouragement in it; indeed the pain is an opportunity to love and be loved, as Mary loved her Son on the cross. Glory and pain are mixed in Jesus’ life, as it is in ours. But in the end, this night returns us to peace, hope and joy, as we are taken into God’s love.
There is no need for a false joviality at Christmas, or great excesses in spending, or denial of the grief and pain we may feel. Rather we pray for a certain insight about Christmas: that God has been where we are, that God will not put a heavier burden on our shoulders than we can bear, that we have friends and family to help us (just as Jesus had friends and family), and that simple kindness, self-control, respect, empathy and encouragement are the best gifts we can offer: “gold of obedience and incense of lowliness”, in the words of the hymn. Christmas is about encouragement: encouragement of our humanity in all its goodness, mercy, brokenness, forgiveness, patience and self-sacrifice. And all that should result in a certain hope, peace, joy and love.
Another word for what we are talking about is Grace. Christmas is about Grace, given through God’s loving participation in our humanity.
As Christianity interacted with the various religions and cultures of the Mediterranean world of the time one that was especially appealing was Stoicism. Stoicism emphasized detachment from the passions, suffering quietly, patient self-discipline and self-effacement. We can see its attraction as Christians lived in fear of the chaos around them and retreated into quiet acceptance of their fate.
Yet this Christian stoicism blunted the message of Christmas: that God also entered into our passions, our desires, our despair, our deep loneliness, our sufferings – not to calm them but to transform them into the divine image: passion for love and justice, expressed in action; the transformation of our despair into active hope and joy; the provision of friends and family to heal our loneliness; the gift of being friends and family others; and healing and relief of suffering and grief, though there will also be tears and a real sense of loss.
Sometimes Christian life is a kind of moving between the poles of Christian stoicism (accepting what we have to accept for the sake of the Gospel) and Christian freedom (loving with the participatory passion of God). When I became a bishop in Solomon Islands, one of my first problems was Christmas services. I found that the tradition of families gathering together for Christmas celebrations (not one or two days but two or three weeks) was so strong that many of the parish priests and their families went home for Christmas and many parishes had no clergy for Christmas services and maybe a week or two on either side of Christmas. So, I sat the clergy down and explained that it was our responsibility to be present (dare I say, incarnational) in our parishes over Christmas (the very season of celebrating God’s presence among us) and most agreed. They began staying in their parishes for Christmas (though sometimes their families went anyway). Other desires, family desires, had to be put aside for the sake of ministry: the pole of Christian stoicism, but still for the sake of being a loving presence. And, as bishop, I made sure I visited parishes at Christmas to be present too, and not just relaxing at home.
However, about eight years into being bishop, I received a summons from home. My mother was not terribly well and she sensed the upcoming Christmas might be her last and she wanted a family Christmas with everyone present while she could still enjoy it. So, after decades of not attending family Christmases I decided I better go to this one and begged leave of my clergy, explaining the situation. They were gracious, I went, and we had a good family celebration. The pole of loving participation and leaving some work to others. After that, I was perhaps a bit more flexible with my clergy.
Because God has lovingly participated in our lives, we are called lovingly and sensitively to participate in the lives of others, especially their suffering, pain and grief. All of that is sanctified in the glory of this night, the birth of the Christ, the Messiah, Jesus, who brings us into his reign of love and justice. Christianity is about being PRESENT in love, not being absent, though the contexts may often be shifting. God absolutely and totally loves and cherishes our humanity and we are called to love it too.
And so, we join with the angels, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours”. God has loved us and our broken humanity. We are called to love one another. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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