December 24, 2008 - Christmas Eve (RCL)
The story is so simple, isn’t it? A young woman, pregnant, arrives with her husband in his ancestral home. It’s the busy season, and all the rooms are taken,
so they find a place to sleep, as travelers often did,
in a barn,
drafts stopped by bales of straw
and the air warmed
by cattle breath.
It was almost better than being inside,
there the raucous sounds
of new friendships sealed with wine and smell of unwashed bodies;
here just the heavy breath of the donkey and occasional bleating of goats,
and country smell
of manure and hay.
And then
the tang of blood
and cry
of a newborn.
Babies
are born every day. The United Nations estimates
that something like 136,000 babies
have been born into this world
this year alone.
Some in hospitals, surrounded by technology,
some in homes with the help of a midwife,
some in fields, or alleys, or even
stables.
And each and every time a child is born
it is a wondrous, even miraculous
event.
It’s that question that children ask
“Where was I
before I was born?”
A question
that we can’t really answer.
Because, of course, the answer is,
you weren’t.
You were no more
than a hope,
a dream,
a possibility.
And then you were born
and you became
our child.
Unique,
precious.
But this child
even more so, though they probably didn’t realize it at the time.
But I suspect that when Mary first held
the baby Jesus in her arms,
rocking him gently,
whispering words of love to him,
praying
that he would grow and be strong
and follow in the footsteps of his father,
a good and grace-filled man,
when Mary first held him,
she forgot about the angel Gabriel and his announcement;
all she knew
was that this was her child,
hope, dream, possibility
come to life.
But this child was different.
Because this child
had been with God
from before time began,
this child was the one
through whom all things were made,
through whom everything on earth
has its being.
This child was the one
foretold by prophets,
a Messiah
who would save his people,
this child was the one
that the angel announced as Emmanuel,
God with us.
And this child
changed the world
for ever.
We know the story so well,
it’s easy to forget
how different our world would have been
without Jesus,
and the faith that bears his name.
Imagine what it would be like
if there had been no monasteries in the middle ages,
with their scriptoriums
where they copied ancient manuscripts
and so preserved the writings
of Greek and Roman
poets and playwrights and philosophers.
And imagine
if there had been no monks or clergy
to pass on the knowledge
of how to read or write,
or to provide medical care in the very first hospitals.
We no longer rely on the church alone
for those things,
but even so, where would we be without the food banks and counsellors and aid agencies
run and supported by Christians
to help those in need.
Let alone the incredible influence of our faith
on literature and art and music,
on our laws,
on our values.
That little baby...
could Mary have ever imagined all this?
Jesus came
to change the world.
And not just the world out there, the world of
education and health care and moral guidance.
Jesus came to change the world
in here,
the world of our hearts.
He came
to make peace for us
with God.
Because like it or not,
we humans are a contrary lot.
I’m reminded of that
every time I try to call my two year old nephew in England.
And I hear on the other end of the phone, “Laughlin, come and talk to Auntie Raewynne.”
And then I hear, much louder,
“NO!”
He doesn’t want to talk to me. Ever.
And the only way around it
would be to get on a plane
and show up
He’d probably still say no sometimes,
but I’m pretty sure
I’d get a few hugs as well!
The whole of the Old Testament
is littered with stories of God reaching out to people
and those people saying, “NO!”.
And so,
finally, God decides
that it’s time, if you like
to get on the plane.
To show up, in person.
And that person
is Jesus Christ.
That little baby, rocked by his mother,
placed in a manger.
But of course
he didn’t stay that way. He grew up, as babies are want to do.
Grew up,
and called disciples,
and preached and healed and lived among people
just like us.
And then
he died.
Died for our sake,
died for our forgiveness,
died
to bring us close
to God.
And then, and then
he did
what no one else
had ever done,
what no one else
has done since then.
Then
he rose from death.
And because death
was not the end for Jesus,
nor is it
the end for us.
Christ is risen,
and we will rise with him.
It’s God’s promise
and our hope.
And even then
the work of this child
was not done.
Because then, knowing he couldn’t be with us in person
he sent his Holy Spirit,
the breath of God
breathed into us
so that we would know him and love him
and want to talk with him
each and every day
of our lives,
and learn to live like him
as people of mercy,
grace
and love.
That little baby...
could Mary have ever imagined all this?
And now, even now
we are like him.
Because of him,
born for us,
this very night
it is God who holds us in his arms.
Holding us close, rocking us gently,
whispering words of love.
Praying
that we would grow and be strong
and follow in the footsteps of our father in heaven,
and Jesus the Son,
good
and grace-filled man.
God holds us close,
God’s hope, dream, possibility
come to life.
It’s a simple story,
the birth of a baby
in a stable
in Bethlehem.
But a story
that touches us all.
For yes, Jesus was the hope of his parents.
But not just that;
he is the hope of the world,
and our hope
too.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2008