Sermons

December 24

Among the joys of the Christmas story is people dropping in to say hello. Shepherds knocking on the manger door. What’s this about a baby being born? Wise Men, too. We got invited by a star! St. Andrew’s is always blessed with guests on Christmas Eve and we say to all who’ve come today, braving roads and forecast: We’re VERY GLAD you’re here. We hope you find the welcome somewhat more hospitable than did Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem, coming all that way, only to find there was no room in the inn.
I might explain to newcomers that my wife and I are blessed to give shared pastoral leadership to St. Andrew’s. You’ve met the Reverend Nancy Davis in the course of this evening. She and I divide the preaching. My name is Bruce Davis, and I get to preach on this, our night of nights in the Christian year!

Our Christmas season started with Nancy preaching a sermon that set light bulbs going off in my head, as in I Want To Explore This Myself. INTERIOR DECORATING, as she called it, was a short simple sermon, built around the traditional Nativity scene: shepherds and wise men gathered with Mary and Joseph in the manger. Manger scenes have been a big theme at St. Andrew’s this Christmas, including last weekend’s Live Nativity.

As Nancy pointed out in her sermon, the historicity of the traditional picture is suspect, as the Wise Men couldn’t have possibly been there concurrent with the shepherds. The shepherds arrive on the night of our dear savior’s birth, whereas the wise men are just setting out from Persia. That does not detract one iota from my appreciation of the traditional picture.

I was raised on the Nativity Scene at Christmas, having donned multi-colored bathrobes myself to play the respective characters of shepherds and wise men (I don’t think my father, the Reverend Richard Davis, ever cast me as Joseph, but I can’t say I blame him); going down to the church basement afterward where us kiddies were handed little brown sacks of Christmas treats, including candy orange slices.
Which is to say that while the chronology of the manger scene may not be entirely accurate, in this heart, at least, it represents the transcendent truth of the Christmas story.

Back to Nancy’s sermon: The first figure she put in the manger was Mary. Mary’s getting there is a story in itself, of course. When the angel announced Mary would be blessed with the birth of a child, conceived not of man, but of the Holy Spirit, Nancy suggested Mary might have said, Thanks, angel, but I’m not sure I need quite this much blessing. Don’t you know what people in this society might do to a woman pregnant out of wedlock? As my sweetheart pointed out, quite correctly, Mary could have been stoned to death.

I’ve always been particularly interested in Mary’s road trip to Bethlehem, necessitated by the Emperor’s census. Some people find the census part of the story implausible; I see it as an example of big government gone amuck. Anyway.
My mind’s eye fixes on images like you see on the screen: Mary and Joseph plodding from their hometown in Nazareth to Joseph’s ancestral city of Bethlehem, traveling at the speed of camel. You ever been on a camel? Suffice to say, it would not have been a smooth ride. For a woman in the advanced stages of pregnancy, it would have been a long, rough road.

I’ve been re-reading the Cormac McCarthy novel, THE ROAD. It’s been has been made into a feature film now, playing in select cities (translate: not Omaha), receiving good reviews. McCarthy tells the story of a father/son road trip through post-apocalyptic America, described as “a creation perfectly evolved to meet its own end.”

A short Biblical digression: Much of the imagery of Christmas can be traced back to the Old Testament book of Isaiah, including chapter 7, the prophet writing, “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.” (It means God with us.)   And then chapter 9, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness, on them light has shined….”
It fascinates me that these hopeful prophecies are made in the context what is otherwise a pretty bleak view of the immediate future and coming judgment. A short sample from Isaiah 24: “The earth shall be utterly laid waste and utterly despoiled; for the Lord himself will do this….” There’s a lot of that sort of thing in Old Testament prophecy in general and Isaiah in particular. The potential for darkness is never underestimated.

McCarthy’s father and son are traveling a barren road through a despoiled world. Their journey is made at the speed of grocery cart; all their worldly good are in that cart.   There are no automobiles on this road; the only vehicles are wrecks and ruins.   Father and son come across gold coins, but these are of no use, for there is nothing to buy.   There is no sun, not that father and child can see, anyway; the sky has been ruined, nothing can grow in such a place.   We’re talking deep darkness in more ways than one.   What people father and son do encounter have reverted to a state of primitive nature, the strong preying on the weak. It’s a bleak picture.

Grownup Jesus occasionally spoke in apocalyptic terms himself, at one point saying, “Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing infants in those days,” adding, “the one who endures to the end will be saved.”
I have wondered if Jesus heard stories from his parents about being on the road to Bethlehem during Mary’s pregnancy and if this in turn contributed to his apocalyptic imagery.

In the McCarthy novel, the mother figure does not endure. She was pregnant when the world exploded and the sky went dark. Having delivered the child, she exits the scene, telling her husband, “My only hope is for eternal nothingness and I hope it with all my heart.” (49) We’re here tonight because Jesus’ mother had a better hope. And by faith, Mary endured.

I know this has been a challenging year for some of us, a long hard road.   Economic anxieties. Some have lost jobs.   I read an article recently where a man who had lost his employment said: I always heard that job loss was like a death in the family. But I feel like the people I worked with were my family, and I’m the one who died.
For some of us, it’s been a tough year on the home front.   You like to think, in uncertain times, families will be drawn closer together, but it often works just the other way, exposing cracks in the family.
foundation that may seem easier to walk away from than try to repair.
Others of us have suffered grievous loss, loss of our own health, loss of loved ones.   My sister Annette and her family are having a hard Christmas. Annette’s daughter, my niece Jessica gave birth to a premature baby earlier this year. The little guy died after a life of only a couple of weeks.   Last week, niece Jessica wrote on her blog:

I haven’t been able to write for a long time, but I feel like I’m finally coming out of a dark fog. There are still lots of bad days, and there’s a lot I’m still struggling with, but good days show up a little more often…. As we move through this Advent season, I can’t help but think that God is using our story to illustrate his power over death, over pain, over suffering.

I give thanks for those among us who’ve had the faith to endure, who’ve kept plodding along through 2009, overcoming whatever was in front of us, one step, one day at a time. Much later in the McCarthy novel, the boy will ask his father, “What’s the bravest thing you ever did?” and the father will answer, “Getting up this morning.”

There may have been times for you, this year, when just getting up in the morning, taking that first step into a new, uncertain day was itself an act of courage. Back to the Bible story: There was no other way for Mary and Joseph to get to Bethlehem, but to get up in the morning and follow the road, believing their destination had somehow been chosen by God himself. Likewise, I invite you to believe the grace of God will be sufficient to your needs on the road in front of you—and the Lord will get you where you need to be, when you need to be there!

Nancy then put Joseph in the manger, telling us about his “justice.” By the letter of the law, upon learning his fiancé was pregnant with a child who could not be his, Joseph could have reported Mary to the authorities, with calamitous results. But the scripture tells us “he was a righteous man and resolved to break this off quietly.” That’s when the angel appears to Joseph in a dream, telling him to take Mary as his wife, “for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” It’s interesting that what Nancy termed Joseph’s “justice” precedes the visitation of the angel.

As we’ve said, the McCarthy novel is about a father and his young son. This is one of the great father figures in all of literature. (I don’t know that Joseph looked anything like Viggo Mortensen; on the other hand, I don’t know that he didn’t.) The world has turned to smoke and ashes, but the man has a purpose in life--a single, all encompassing reason for living: Protect the child. Writes McCarthy, words that seem appropriate to the Joseph of scripture: “He only knew that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke.”

I want to jump ahead in the gospel narrative to the road leading out of Bethlehem. There will be bad guys coming after the child, organized by King Herod, who heard talk of a newborn “King of the Jews” and wanted him dead. There was only room for one king in Herod’s Palestine. Joseph will be warned in a dream to leave Bethlehem and “flee” to Egypt. The little family escapes in the night.

We’re not told much about the road trip to Egypt, but it’s easy to overlay images from the McCarthy novel, dad so discouraged that at one point he thinks now is the time, in the imagery of Job, “Curse God and die”--but he doesn’t. And never, ever, does he let his son see his own discouragement.
At a particularly low point, father says to the boy, “This is what the good guys do. They keep trying. They don’t give up.” Father tells son they are “carrying the fire”; their very existence is among the last remaining lights in a world gone dark. And I think of language in the Gospel of John, which we’ll be reading in a few minutes, imaging the birth of the Christ child as light that shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

I think Joseph would have appreciated McCarthy’s image of carrying the fire. I know this: Joseph never gives up. He believes the best about Mary. He gets her safely to Bethlehem. When there’s no place to stay there, Joseph improvises. With all the king’s men after the boy, Joseph gets the child safely to Egypt.

To any who are discouraged yourselves, write this on your heart: This is what Christians do: We keep trying. We never give up. We pray the prayer Jesus taught, Give us this day our daily bread, and live each day trusting in the promises of God. Along the way, with the help of the Lord, we protect others given to our care.
I want to say a word to those of you who’ve been protectors this year: Who’ve protected your marriages and families in what strike me as predatory times. Who’ve guided and guarded children. Who’ve cared for aging parents. Who’ve helped others who can’t help themselves. Who’ve cradled the fire of human decency, blowing gently on the embers, to keep the flame going in a culture where the lights seem to be blinking off one soul at a time.

Next, Nancy brought the shepherds to the manger. The shepherds, said my sweetheart, represent JOY! We know this: Of the people going to and from the manger, they had the shortest road.

I underlined this exchange between father and son in the McCarthy novel, the boy saying:

There are other good guys. You said so.
Yes.
So where are they?
They’re hiding.
Who are they hiding from?
From each other.   (155)

As we’ve said, Mary and Joseph will run into some bad guys on their road.   The shepherds, in contrast, are good guys. Their presence at the manger is a great encouragement to Mary. They share what they’ve seen in the heavens and heard from the angels.   “Mary,” we’re told, “treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” The shepherds in turn are encouraged by Mary’s encouragement. They go back to their flocks, “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”

Grownup Jesus would image himself as a good shepherd, who would lay down his life for the flock. That mightily informs my image of what the church is supposed to be.   We want to be a community of good guys, a safe place for people of all ages, including the most vulnerable--especially the most vulnerable.
It’s not so important to me that we’re the biggest church in town, or anything like that; but I would hope St. Andrew’s ranks really high on the Joy-O-Meter and the Hospitality Index; a place where encouragement is dished out in heaping helpings, and we never-ever take advantage of other people; a place where the sheep of Jesus’ flock are spiritually fed instead of being fed upon.   That’s what we’re trying to do here. That’s the church we want to be.

The pictures are from our Christmas Cantata, earlier this month. If you’re looking for a church home, we would love to have you here, in our manger scene, teeming with children and youth, people of all ages and stages of life, songs of joy being sung year round.   We’d like that a lot.

Then Nancy put the Wise Men in the manger, representing Devotion, as evidenced by their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. These may seem like strange gifts to bring to a child. I’ve heard Nancy speculate that Joseph sold the treasures to finance the trip to Egypt. What we know is that this part of the story contributes mightily to the charitable spirit of Christmas.

In the McCarthy novel, father and son cross paths with a starving old man. The boy wants to give the old man something to eat. Father argues they don’t have anything to spare—and they really don’t. Finally, the boy prevails on his father to give the old man some cans of vegetables and fruit. As the old man puts these things in his knapsack, father says the old man should thank the boy, “I wouldn’t have given you anything.” Old man says:

  Maybe I should and maybe I shouldn’t.
  Why wouldn’t you?
  I wouldn’t have given him mine.
  You don’t care if you hurt his feelings?
  Will it hurt his feelings?
  No. That’s not why he did it.
  Why did he do it?
He looked over at the boy and he looked at the old man. You wouldn’t understand, he said. I’m not sure that I do.
  Maybe he believes in God.
  I don’t know what he believes in.
  He’ll get over it.
  No, he won’t.

Father has told the boy they are carrying the fire. Father means it in survivalist terms; in the boy’s heart, however, the fire takes the form of the God idea, and is expressed in generosity.

One of the joys of being a Christian pastor is witnessing countless acts of gracious generosity. The phenomena is not limited to Christmas, either, but is part of our culture year round! Given my immersion in the McCarthy novel, I’ve been particularly mindful this month of our Canned Food Drive, led by our Children’s Department. A can of food may not seem like much in the big picture, but in the McCarthy story, father and son’s existence depends on cans of food. A can of beans means more to them than gold krugerrands.

There are people in Omaha who will have something to eat today, tomorrow, because of what Saints of Andrew have brought here in the course of this month. The gifts are as precious as gold, frankincense and myrrh, because they are given in the same spirit—a spirit of devotion. And if you’re thinking, “Gee, I wish I’d brought some cans of food tonight,” be of good cheer.” You can put a cash donation or check in the basket as you receive communion and we’ll get it to the Food Pantry. People are still going to be needing food after Christmas.

More fundamentally, though, I see the Wise Men as what our generations call “seekers.” My mind’s eye sees them traveling that long road, described in the song, “o’er field and fountain, moor and mountain,” looking for something they’d pay a treasure to have, following the star…

I’ll often hear it said, “It’s the journey that matters, not the destination.” I invite you rethink that. Whatever’s brought you to this place tonight, whatever you may be searching for, I invite you find your destination here, at the manger and the advent of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I love the line from the hymn sung earlier, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”
What I’m trying to say is this: There is a time to seek and there is a time to find. My Christmas wish for you, for each of us, is that this may be a time to find, that our searching may be transformed by faith to devotion.

In the last pages of the McCarthy novel, father will say to son:

You have to carry the fire.
I don’t know how to.
Yes you do.
Is it real? The fire?
Yes it is.
Where is it? I don’t know where it is.
Yes you do. It’s inside you. It was always there. I can see it.

And so, finally, we place the baby Jesus in the manger…. It’s our turn to carry the fire….

One last line from the McCarthy novel, father looking on a ruined landscape, seeing: “The frailty of everything revealed at last.” The frailty of things is hardly news to people of faith. Not to those who believe God’s definitive revelation has been made known in a tiny baby born in a manger to refugee parents.
None of us knows what tomorrow is going to bring, much less the new year. We’ll be entering a new decade! I wonder what will happen these next ten years? Could any of us have imagined these last ten! Whatever’s on the road in front of us, though, we have this promise, born at Christmas: Emmanuel, God is with us. And there are other people out there, holding candles in the night, singing songs of hope. More good guys out there than you might think. I give mighty praise and thanks I get to travel this road with you.

BRD