God of the living word, give us the faith to receive your message, the wisdom to know what it means, and the courage to put it into practice. Amen.
Son
of God, light that shines in the dark, child of joy and peace,
help us to come to you and be born anew this holy night.
Amen.
There is
a breath-taking moment in J.M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan” when the
audience is invited to revive the dying fairy, Tinker Bell.
I recall our family sitting around the television set,
watching the Mary Martin version.
“If you believe in fairies, clap your hands,” we are
urged by Peter.
“Close your eyes, believe with all your might, and clap your
hands,” Peter calls to us.
I can still see my family spellbound. My parents, my older brother, each of us, eyes wide open, clapping hands louder and louder, keeping that fading light of Tinker Bell from disappearance into oblivion, Our energy did flow from den to television set, all the way to theater stage. Tinker Bell must live! Her light must be revived, and I can help that happen!
I also recall my reflections somewhat later in life. With typical adolescent skepticism, I thought: silly…wasn’t it? What were we thinking? What were my parents, my adult parents doing, playing right into the silliness of unreal fairy tale and mythology?
There is something in the mystery of the Christmas season evoking mythological story and fairy tale. We know from heart: Father Christmas, St. Nicholas, Santa Clause, Rudolph, “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” “The Littlest Angel,” “The Drummer Boy,” “Amahl and the Night Visitors.”
Each woven story, each colorfully-drawn character has a message challenging us to faith beyond logic. And we are enchanted, every time.
Alexander McCall Smith, a contemporary author, reflects on a childhood conversation with his Dad. Smith was at an age of figuring things out: what is real, what is imaginary, what to keep, and what to set aside.
“‘You don’t believe in Father Christmas anymore, do you?’ Smith’s father says. I freeze. I stand quite still, looking at the evening sky. A shooting star flashes across the heavens. I remember that star. It seems like a portent. I was in an agony of indecision. If I say, ‘No, I do not believe,’ then...what happens to all the presents I am hoping to get? If I say as my soul says, ‘Yes, I believe,’ then I am caught in a silly lie.”
“If you believe in fairies, clap your hands,” Peter says, and everyone watching their television sets--as well as every audience around the world!--claps their hands. We clap in a leap of faith, out of the warm goodness in our hearts, not in rational thought.
“…The word became flesh and dwelt among us.” We live into this story fervently with all our might – all vigorous debate and absolute proof aside. We have never and will never fully understand the mystery of divinity becoming flesh, God becoming one of us.
Some of us carry heavy loads this season. Sadness, grief, anxiety, loneliness are brought into more sharp relief as much of the world pauses to celebrate. I may feel no miracle in this dark night. Joy? Where is the comfort if I have recently sat by the deathbed of a beloved member of my family...if the family and friends with whom I usually celebrate Christmas are far away, perhaps at risk in war, perhaps estranged or just unable to make the trip? Where is the light in a darkness of unemployment, a pink slip, bills unpaid?
John’s poetic version of God breaking through our muddled, chaotic lives seems to float untethered from daily reality...in contrast to Luke’s version of pregnant women, kicking babies, an emperor’s decree, weary travelers, a swaddled baby, visiting shepherds.
John offers: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.”
An elderly parishioner of Holy Comforter spends Christmas in her hospital room, struggling to recover from the second surgery in two months on a deteriorating knee. Her husband, suffering chronic back problems, tends to her needs, making multiple daily trips to the hospital.
In obvious pain, our parishioner friend says, “David, it could be worse. My mama always told me: if your feet hurt when you walk, then remember the person who has no feet at all. I have to be positive. It will get better. Please pray with me.”
I visit another patient, also a member of our church family, and I happen to go into her room at the same time as her doctor. After checking her heart and lungs and talking with her a few minutes, her doctor says, “Let’s pray together!”
This is a doctor of medicine, a student of science who must be maintain vigilance and objectivity in providing the best possible health care. “Let us pray.”
The three of us pray for understanding and healing. We ask, in hope, for a light in darkness.
Believe in this moment, my friends. We come into this sacred space on a wintry Thursday night in faith, beyond understanding, in celebration of a sacred miracle of Word become Flesh. The miracle is the essence. In our humanity, we tell stories through what we know--wonderful, extravagant mythologies of Peter Pan and Father Christmas which guide us to unspeakable cosmic truth, that intersection of human and Divine, ourselves and our Lord.
We come to this sacred place tonight, our hearts full, and our voices awakened and ready to sing, “Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.”
The musicians and choir guide us through the liturgy. We open our hearts to the ancient story of God and humanity as One bringing light to a dark world. We are fed with the holy sacraments of our Lord’s incredibly gracious presence. His Body and His Blood offer hospitality, bring comfort, speak Love.
Christmas Eve, our glorious worship service, beautiful trimmings and bountiful stories fill the moment with expectation. The joy of it all permeates the air. We hear the Good News as genuine even if we cannot explain the mystery. We believe.
As one theologian says, “Each of us decides if Jesus is to be the special one, the unique one, the one who makes all the difference, the one who provides the ground of deepest meaning in our lives. If this is true, then no wonder this yearly festival can make us glad. It can be what snatches that gladness from the grasping and demanding hands of sorrow or pain or loss. We will know that we are celebrating again the birthing of everything that holds meaning in life for us.” (Herbert O’Driscoll, “Prayers for Breaking Bread”)
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. To all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.”
With all of our hearts and all of our minds, we gather, we sing, we pray, we give praise, we believe – for unto us a child is born, who is Christ the Lord.
Amen.
