Sermon preached by The Rev'd Nicholas Lang

St. Paul’s on the Green, Norwalk, Connecticut

The Eve of the Nativity of our Lord - December 24, 2007

In the Name of God, the Creator, the Son, and the Spirit. Amen. .

This is a magical night. Whether we are seeing it through the wide eyes of a child, the lethargic eyes of someone who is glad the hustle and bustle is over, or the faint eyes of one who has seen many other Christmases, tonight is a time when the membrane between heaven and earth is so thin that you can almost see right through it. Basking in the glorious music and the splendidly adorned church, it would be hard for even the greatest cynic not to feel something of the sacred tonight; for this is a magical night.

We come here with a plethora of Christmas dreams and memories—some of them we cherish dearly and some may haunt us like the ghosts sent to reform Ebenezer Scrooge. Christmas has a way of becoming a time machine—raising up memories of every other one we have celebrated. And, truth be told, don’t we all want that fairytale, perfect Christmas—whatever that means for us?

This morning’s news told of the thousands of travelers faced with delays caused by wintry weather, all struggling to get to their destination. The one thing I would bet we all have in common is the desire to feel that we are home for Christmas. So, wherever you may be staying tonight and tomorrow and the next day, right now, at this hour, our home—your home—is right here. This is our Bethlehem, filled with the hopes and fears we all bring to a stable where a baby lies in a manger.

Tonight we leave behind all the tasks of getting ready and all the regrets of what never got done and we nestle into a pew to encounter again the mystery, to follow a star to Bethlehem and join the rest of those crowded around the manger scene listening to the joyful, hopeful message of an angel. Tonight is a night when we leave our skepticism aside and muster up as much belief as we can that God is truly born among us and that even in the darkness of a war-torn, poverty-laden, embittered world, the impossible is still made possible and miracles can and do happen.

Artists throughout the centuries have painted this night with deep sentimentality and royal elegance. Yet the truth of this night is that God came down to us in the form of a baby who hungered for his mother’s milk, soiled the swaddling clothes, bed, and may even have had a case of colic. Yes, Jesus was born in a stable, a real stable, which was the prison of animals. Most likely, it was four rough walls, a floor of dirt, a roof of beams, mud, and straw. It was dark and cold and stank of manure.

Not very romantic is it? Surely this is not the kind of Christmas marketed by Madison Avenue moguls. But isn’t that refreshing? That God would come into our world in such poverty, such simplicity, such messiness?

And there’s more. When the experts of Christmas marketing are trying harder and harder to target the right persons to purchase just the right gifts, look what God does at Christmas. Instead of delivering the baby in their own home among family and friends, Mary and Joseph have this child in a town they don’t know among people who have no clue that the Messiah for whom the world waits is lying in a smelly barn down the road.

And then there are the shepherds—the first humans to be invited to worship the new born Savior (remember, the animals were first!) Shepherds were the lowest of the low in that culture. Who would believe them when they began to spread the news about angel choirs singing and this awesome event? Yet it was these poor, simple folk, not the wealthy or elite, to whom God first entrusted the good news that God had come to us in the flesh and would live among us.

So if our Christmas plans have gone even a little askew, if life is for us right now a bit untidy, even somewhat tattered, if we wonder why God gave has given us the life we have, we have only to look at the drama of that first Christmas to know that God often works that way. Tonight a star shows us a real child, a belching and crying infant. Here is the God who in choosing to enter our world in such an ordinary way, has hallowed flesh and blood, dirt and sky, and every aspect of life as we know it. For tonight is a night when right before our eyes the ordinary becomes holy.

Do not let the consumerist world beyond this home of yours tonight rob you of the fullest and deepest meaning of this Christmas. The trees and decoration will all come down in a matter of days and we will be cajoled into getting ready for the next Hallmark holiday, but the story we hear tonight does not end in the stable nor the day after tomorrow. Remember that this baby grew up and became a man who taught a radical ethic of unconditional love and who overturned cultural and religious norms by welcoming the marginalized and excluded. The baby we regard tonight grew up in wisdom and grace and got into trouble for preaching that we should love our enemies and for living out the reality of what God’s Kingdom is like—a realm where barriers and boundaries are removed and all are welcome at God’s banquet table.

The magic of this night is not lost in or confined to Bethlehem but is here with us. The story we here tonight tells us that God is alive and at work in our world, that Christ is born again and again and again when our lives are transformed by his love, when people are reconciled with one another, where peace is given at least half a chance, where the poor are fed and clothed, the homeless are given shelter, outcasts are invited in, the despondent are offered hope.

God chose to come among us as a poor child. This little bundle about as heavy as a sack of flour is what God decided to look like and all for the love of you and me. Tonight is a time when the membrane between heaven and earth is so thin that you can almost see right through it. Can you feel it? God is with us no matter how far from or close to home we are, however joyful or not this Christmas may be, however little or much our lives look like the idyllic greeting cards we send. Tonight the Eternal Love seeks yet another manger upon which to lay its head—in the Bethlehem of our hearts where God is still born, angels still sing “Gloria in excelsis,” miracles still happen and dreams come true.

On this holy night, a voice is speaking—can we hear it? “I know the cares and the anxious thoughts of your hearts. I know the hard time you often given yourselves. I know the hopes and ambitions that you have for yourselves and for others. I know your doubts, too—even as you seek to express your belief.”

On this sacred night, I want you to know: You are deeply, deeply loved, just as you are, forgiven, loved and challenged to be the very best you can be. So I’m speaking to you in the only way I know—from a stable, as a child born into poverty, soon to grow to maturity, born to show you, in a human life, the love of God.”