December 24 - Christmas Eve, Year B (RCL)
The approach to Bethlehem
is hardly what a pilgrim would expect.
You travel down a road
that looks like any other
before pulling over suddenly, beside a park.
The driver and guide get off,
the ones who have looked after you all week, finding the best views and the tastiest falafel and the safest days to be in the city in this Arab Spring.
A new driver gets on,
and you move forward a few hundred feet.
Suddenly you see beside you a wall,
concrete as high as the sky, marked with traces of graffiti,
and ahead a sand colored concrete booth and red and white barrier, and behind it
chain link fences topped with barbed wire,
and by the side,
teenagers dressed as soldiers with cellphones and machine guns.
A new guide gets on and introduces himself;
you move slowly through the barricade,
and into a city
like any other in the Holy Land.
The streets are narrow,
running along the side of the hill,
the houses jostling for space.
When you stop to buy souvenirs,
olive wood nativities and silver jewelry and gilt encrusted icons,
the walk from the bus to the shop entrance is alive with voices:
“Buy this bag!” and “Do you have a husband?”
O little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
Manger Square itself
is surprisingly empty;
late on a February afternoon
is obviously not
peak time for tourists.
A lone man
tries to sell postcards,
then you are left alone to enter the tiny door into
the Basilica of the Nativity, which dates back almost 1500 years.
It’s vast and empty, this church space,
four rows of columns leading your eyes toward the sanctuary;
but first you walk across stone floors
in the footsteps of generations of pilgrims,
perhaps even
the footsteps of Mary and Joseph themselves,
under the layers of paving and mosaics.
And then down a narrow staircase
into a cave, hung with lamps,
where the second century Christian Justin Martyr wrote,
“Joseph took up his quarters in a certain cave near the village; and while they were there Mary brought forth the Christ and placed Him in a manger, and here the Magi who came from Arabia found Him.” (Dialogue with Trypho, chapter 78)
There, in the floor, draped with an embroidered curtain,
a fourteen pointed silver star marks the place
where, it is said,
our Savior
was born.
For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love
O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And Peace to men on earth
The pilgrim journey to Bethlehem
in this early twenty-first century
seems a long way away
from the journey that Mary and Joseph took
that brought them to this place.
They came from way up north,
where the land is green and fertile,
down to arid and rocky Judea.
Perhaps they came the shortest route, down through the hills,
avoiding the major roads
where the occupying forces would stand sentry.
Or perhaps they took the risk of running into soldiers,
and headed instead
south along the Jordan Valley,
to make the travel easier on the pregnant Mary.
Finally they arrived in Bethlehem,
the place where Joseph's ancestors came from,
arrived ready to be counted in a census,
perhaps entering through a barrier
not unlike the one you enter through today;
it would have been the easiest way to count.
And with so many people on the move,
and heading to their ancestral homelands,
no doubt there would have been souvenir sellers, and beggars,
and people hoping to make a quick buck.
And finally they found their way to shelter, not particularly fancy, but safe, there in the town,
and there, the baby was born.
And like every parent seeing their newborn,
Mary and Joseph looked at their baby boy
and loved him.
They took him into their hearts,
and their lives were never the same.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
That star, set into the floor in a cave where, perhaps,
our Savior was born,
is an invitation.
It is an invitation to kneel,
to pray,
to worship
the newborn king
and take him into your heart.
But the invitation is not confined
to those who show up in Bethlehem.
It’s an invitation that reaches out to all people,
all places, all times.
Even here, this Christmas Eve, in Saint James.
The journey here tonight
has been different for each of us.
Some of us come
for the first time,
wondering what it will be like.
Our pilgrimage
has been long,
and sometimes slow.
There have been twists and turns,
and barriers on the way.
But we have finally arrived,
and what have we found?
A beautiful church? Yes,
and traditional music, and a familiar story.
And a baby in a manger
inviting us
in,
waiting for us
to invite him in.
Others of us
have been brought here by someone else.
they have led us here,
willingly or unwillingly.
They have, in years past, seen the baby in the manger,
recognized him,
come to worship.
And have invited us to join them.
We have taken a few steps in this direction,
and then, somehow
found ourselves on a bus
taking us into the heart of Bethlehem.
And so we go along with it,
taking photographs out the windows,
checking out the souvenirs on the way, hoping the beggars
don’t come
too close.
And now
we have arrived,
have taken those final steps down to the manger.
Where Christ waits for us,
inviting us
to join him.
Some of us are visitors, far from home.
We miss it,
miss the way
that we have come to know this story,
this savior.
Being here, it’s not quite
how it’s supposed to be,
at least in our memories
and in our
imaginations.
The journey has been tiring,
cutting into the time
we had to prepare;
forcing us to be early with shopping and wrapping;
now we have arrived
and yet there is something still missing.
And the baby says to us,
“Come, it’s me, the Christ Child.”
Come,
and I will be with you here too.
And for some of us, this is a familiar place,
one that we come to
week by week
to worship Christ
not only as newborn king,
but also as crucified savior and risen Lord.
But even we
have taken a journey.
Past the clamoring
of holiday sales
and the busyness of preparing
for the family.
And still, we are not quite ready.
And Christ invites us
to join him,
not only as the baby
and also as the savior
who by the bread and wine of the Eucharist
is present with us
and within us.
In Bethlehem
in the floor of a cave
is a star. And it invites us to kneel,
to wonder,
to worship
the newborn king
and take him into our hearts.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010