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When it comes to understanding
the true meaning of Christmas, Linus is right. Linus,
Charlie Brown’s blue blanket bearing buddy, gets it right.
The true meaning of the season is embedded in a story.
Christmas is not about having the right tree or the right
decorations. It is not to be found in the busyness or in the
presents, in the Santas or sleigh bells. Want to know the
true meaning of Christmas? Then listen to Linus and listen
to the story:
In that region there were
shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their
flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord appeared to them,
and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were
so afraid. But the angel said to them, “Fear not; for I am
bringing you good news of great joy which will be for all
people: to you is born this day in the city of David a
Savior, who is the Messiah, he is Christ the Lord… And this
shall be a sign unto you: you will find the babe wrapped in
swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”
We have journeyed with this
story these past weeks. We have looked at its words. We have
considered the promises of the angel who proclaimed to the
shepherds the coming of the Christ child. We began with the
first words of the angel’s promise: “Fear not.” We
remembered how strange these words must have been to young
Mary—the poor, pregnant, peasant girl who, truth be told,
had much to be afraid of. And yet the words were spoken,
“Fear not, for the Lord is with you.” Mary had much to be
afraid of and yet she had nothing to fear, for God promised
to be with her, God promised to never leave her, God
promised that somehow in the end all would be well. It is
because Mary took the angel at his word that Christ was able
to enter into the world. In a world where there appears to
be much to fear, with Christ we need not be afraid.
The second words of the angel’s
proclamation that first Christmas night were: “I bring you
good news.” Christmas is a season of good news. In a world
where headlines seem to tell nothing but bad news, Christmas
seems to offer us something different. Good news. We
discovered that the good news of Christmas is something we
can only receive. Unlike the commercialized Christmas that
tells us that the good stuff of the season is for sale, the
message of the angel that first Christmas was that it was
God who had something to give—something that wasn’t for
sale, a gift that was ours to receive. What was that gift?
God gave us God’s own self—Immanuel, God with us.
Good news indeed.
Last week we burst into song. We
remembered the angel’s words that this good news would be of
great joy, such joy that it couldn’t help but break us into
song. Joy, the season’s deepest and most true emotion. Joy,
different than happiness. Joy runs deep within us. It is an
assurance that despite what is happening around us, God is
still active within us. We can have joy even when there
isn’t much to be happy about.
And so we come to the end of
this Advent journey. Christmas is right around the corner.
We are approaching the stable and we see the manger. Christ
coming into our midst is celebrated once again. As we
approach the light of the stable, we hear the words of the
angel once again: “Fear not, for I bring you good news of
great joy which is for all people.” All people. The last
words of the angel’s promise are big. They are huge. They
are all-encompassing. All people. The baby born to the poor,
pregnant, peasant girl (a girl who is a virgin,
nonetheless), the baby born in a barn, in a remote village,
in a remote region of a small country—in this child is the
promise of Christmas, the promise of God with us. And it is
a promise for all people.
All people. There is nothing
ambiguous about the words. All means all. There are no
qualifications. No exceptions. No hesitations. All means
all. The angel did not say that this good news of great joy
was for some of the people. He did not say it was meant for
many of the people. And he did not say it was meant for most
of the people. Good news of great joy for all people—and all
means all. Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God he points us
towards are for all people.
There is no way around it. All
means all. It is a radical notion that should set us back a
bit. Jesus Christ, Christmas, and the Kingdom of God this
season calls us to establish, aren’t just for people who
look like me, talk like me, dress like me, live like me,
worship like me, vote like me, believe like me or even agree
with me. All means all. All races. All genders. All economic
classes. All ages. All orientations. All nationalities. All
ethnicities. All languages. In Jesus Christ, God came among
us to make the Kingdom of God available to all of us. The
promise of that first Christmas is one of radical
inclusivity and hospitality. Christmas is a call of welcome.
It is an invitation to be included. It is an unabashed
summons for everybody to come. And I contend that any
community that dares to celebrate Christmas, who dares to
read the words of the angel this season, must be prepared to
open its doors in such a way that all may experience the
miracle of the manger, the miracle of God with us. All means
all. There is just no way around it.
If we look at the Christmas
story for a moment, everything in it points us towards this
radically inclusive God. Everything about this God is
approachable. God comes to us in the form of a baby. Sure,
there were lots of other ways God could have entered our
world—ways that would have made a bigger splash, maybe
gotten the point across more clearly or forcibly. But a
baby? Not the loudest. Not the most direct. But talk about
approachable. Talk about welcoming.
Have you been in a room lately
with a newborn? I don’t care if you are a “baby person” or
not, there is just something about a baby in the room that
draws people in, that connects them together. And babies
don’t care much about who you are, what color you are, how
much money you make, who you are married to, what happened
in your past, or any other credentials you might carry.
Babies are among the most accepting creatures in the world.
They want to be held and nurtured and cared for, and the
story tells us that is how God came into the world.
Consider also not just how God
came into the world, but to whom this God came. Jesus was
born to Mary and Joseph, persons who held no place of
privilege or power within the society. Again, this is a
signal to us that God’s message also comes not for the
privileged few but for the populated masses. If you want to
communicate an inclusive message, if all really means all,
you have to go to great ends to make sure it can be heard
and is accessible to those who are often left out or
forgotten.
It becomes even clearer when you
consider where Jesus was born. Think about it for a minute.
Don’t get all caught up in the familiarity of the Christmas
cards and the nativity sets. Jesus—the King of Kings, the
Lord of Lords, the Messiah, the great I AM—is born in a
barn. But it has to be that way, doesn’t it, if all people
really means all people? The stable in which Jesus was born
didn’t have any annual fees or membership requirements.
There was no guest list or dress code. It was a place where
anybody could come.
It is probably not how we would
have written it. If Jesus was going to be born somewhere—the
Son of God, the Savior of the World—and we got to choose the
place befitting the birth of such a baby, we would probably
have him being born in the finest room of the finest hotel
or in the grandest of cathedrals. We would invite only the
most learned religious figures there to comprehend his
arrival. We would invite only the finest doctors to make
sure this baby is well cared for. And we would probably make
sure that the place of delivery was well guarded to ensure
the Savior’s safety. But Jesus, the very Son of God, was
born in a barn. Born in a place where there was no jacket
required and no membership fee necessary. I guess that is
what you have to do when you are truly going to bring good
news of great joy to all people. I guess you have to be born
in a barn.
I have never had the opportunity
of worshipping on Christmas Eve at Cass Community Church,
our sister congregation located in the heart of the inner
city. But a friend of mine who has worshipped there says it
is just like visiting the stable. He told me that on
Christmas Eve, Cass Church is filled with the people who
have found “no room” at the inn, who have no other place in
our society. I have been told that Christmas at Cass is a
mix of the homeless and the addicted. There are prostitutes
and pushers. There are seekers and searchers. It is a place
that opens its doors and says, “Ya’ll come. There is some
good news of great joy and it is meant for all people.” What
would it mean for us in Birmingham to make sure that our
church feels like the stable this Christmas? I guess it
would mean making sure that when we say all are welcome, we
mean all are welcome.
There is something uniquely
universal about the word all. All means all.
The entire world. Every corner of it and every person in it.
That is the all who Christ comes to this season and
every season. All is uniquely universal. But all is also
deeply personal. Think about it for a minute. If all really
means all, then all also means me. All doesn’t just include
them, it also includes you and it includes me. All really
means all. It is amazing that in the over six billion people
who populate this planet, the good news of great joy that
Jesus has to offer is available to us, sitting right here
tonight. We can have this incredibly personal relationship
with the Savior of the World because all really means all,
and we are a part of that all.
And this is so easy to miss this
time of year. Christmas can so easily be just about them—getting
them the perfect presents, getting them the perfect meal,
getting them the food they need, or getting them the clothes
they need—that we can forget that Christmas is also for you
and it is also for me. Christmas isn’t just for the kids and
it isn’t just for the poor. It is also for you and it is for
me. Have you made room for Christ this Christmas in your own
heart?
I know. I know. It is difficult
to believe it sometimes, the personal side of this promise
for all people. It is difficult to truly receive the good
news that I am a part of this “all people” the angel is
talking about. I mean, if Jesus knew me like I know me, then
Jesus wouldn’t really be all that interested in me. But
remember the story. This baby born in the manger would grow
and he would show with his life that all people really meant
all people. So if you are here tonight and you feel too much
loss and loneliness, remember that this baby would one day
weep at the death of his dear friend Lazarus and would feel
completely abandoned at the cross.
If you feel too old to receive
the promises of God, remember Simeon and Anna. They were
well on in years, and yet they were among the first to hold
this promised Savior. The promises of God are not bound by
the age of retirement.
You might be here tonight
feeling like the traditions of the church shut you out from
the promises of God. Maybe somewhere someone has told you or
someone you love that there was no place for them in the
family of God. Maybe someone told you that you need to be
someone other than who you are in order to come to the
Lord’s table. Remember that this Christ child would grow up
and spend his ministry bumping up against the religious
traditions and leaders of his day. He healed on the Sabbath
and loosened up the restrictions on God’s mercy. When
confronted with the choice between breaking a rule and
healing the person, Jesus chose the person every time. When
the angel says “all people,” the angel means all people. The
angel means me and the angel means you. By his life, death
and resurrection, Jesus shows us that we are among the all
of all people.
“Fear not, for I bring you good
news of great joy which is for all people.” And all means
all. It is both universal and personal. So often Christians
want to make this promise of Jesus into an either/or kind of
promise. Jesus is either the Savior of the World or Jesus is
my personal Lord and Savior. Sometimes we Christians become
so concerned with Christ’s work in the world, of Christ’s
work on behalf of them, that we never let Christ into
our hearts to do any work on us. Conversely, there
are times that we invite Jesus only into our hearts,
entombing him there for our benefit alone, ignoring Christ’s
call to the world and to be in ministry with them. But if
all really means all, then the promise of Christmas has to
be both. It must be an invitation to both a public and a
personal faith. It must be a call to both personal holiness
and social justice. It must combine acts of piety with acts
of service. If all really means all, then this invitation to
come to the manger and behold the Christ child is an
invitation to the all-encompassing work of God in both our
lives and in our world.
I had an interesting experience
this past week. The Preschool children came caroling through
the halls of the church. You haven’t experienced the joy of
the season until you have seen Mrs. Kileen lead three and
four year olds through singing “Away in a Manger.” I was in
Pastor Jack’s office when they came to sing to him. When
they had finished their songs, Jack went over to his window
where he had his nativity scene set up. He picked up the
baby Jesus from the manger and held it up for all the kids
to see. Just like kids that age should do, they rushed over
to see what he was holding and reached out their hands to
touch the baby. But as is so often the case, the
well-meaning adults cautioned them not to touch the baby
Jesus in fear that he might get dirty or broken. I
understood why they did this, but I worried. I worried that
too often this time of year the baby Jesus becomes
untouchable, something we put up on shelves to admire, only
to put back in the box when the season is over. And I worry
that many will miss out on the fact that God came to us in
the baby Jesus precisely so we could touch him. In Jesus,
God came among us to get dirty and to be broken. I worry
that many of us will leave this season never having touched
the Christ child and never letting the Christ child touch
us.
Note: I am grateful for a
sermon entitled “Strange Begetting” found in Barbara
Lunblad’s book, Transforming the Stone, for helpful
insight into this text.
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