I am so excited! I am just back from a rehearsal with Aldersgate’s amazing music department for the Christmas Eve musical that we are presenting as part of our offerings for that Holy Night. I’m excited about all of them, really. We have a 6pm service focused on children and the story of Christmas through the song “Do You Hear What I Hear” (It’s our theme song for Christmas Eve.) Including ending with communion served by the children and then instead of candles, we’ll sing and hold up glowing stars, to help the world find their way to Jesus. How cool is that?
Then at 11pm we have our traditional Christmas Eve Watchnight service, carols and communion and choirs and candles and Silent Night. And if it all works right, we end at the breaking in of Christmas Day at midnight. It know it is late, but on Christmas Eve aren’t we all up late anyway? Why not greet the day with praise and worship and letting our light shine? Then you can go home and sleep in. Right?
But in between, at 8pm, we have a worship experience with a Christmas Musical as the proclamation. An original musical. Part cantata, part musical drama, part act of worship, it will be a wonderful experience for all who come. I’m certain of this. There is enough tradition to feel like you’ve been to Christmas Eve worship (don’t worry, you’ll get your candles!), but there is a retelling of the story in a more contemporary mood than we might have been used to before. But our choir is amazing! They are putting their hearts and souls into this. Chuck and Mike and Phyllis are shepherding the whole process. It is stretching them and all of us, to be sure. This isn’t easy stuff. But they are working with it.
Because I asked. Actually, I don’t know if they know I asked. Maybe I shouldn’t have told them. Chuck asked. Their church asked. They were asked to take this step, to make this journey, to leap this ... leap. And it’s going to be great. I just know it. I promise not to mess up my part. And you who come, who are able to come (I know this is teasing some of the readers of this study - sorry. Not sorry, I don’t mind you feeling like you are missing something, because you are) will find yourselves warmed and moved and transformed this Christmas Eve. You think you’ve heard it all? Heard the story so many times it can’t be new any more? Give us a try. Eight pm, Thursday, December 24th. Be there.
Or be somewhere. I know not everyone can make it. I met a couple from our church who heard me talk about all of this before, and they said “We’ll be with family. And we’ll miss it!” And they seemed genuinely sad about it. I know in the past, and in other communities, this would have been done earlier, to make sure more could come. And maybe that would have been a good thing. Yet, the community gathering together on that night, to worship, to give thanks, to be the body we are called to be, to set aside the things we disagree on, the things that divide us, set it all aside for one night while we gaze in wonder at the amazing thing that God has done, well, that’s worth something. Worth making an effort. Worth taking a risk. Worth recognizing that some will miss it. Some will be elsewhere, some will be distracted, too busy, following traditions of their own. And that’s ok. That’s the way it is, the way of this world. Don’t feel bad if you miss this special Christmas Eve celebration. Sad, a little bit sad, that’s ok!
But God had trouble getting people’s attention from the beginning. God didn’t send a delegation to ask everyone to check their calendars and save the date. Oh there were announcements, but they were all easily missable. Those announcements were more like the song “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story. Remember that? “Could it be? / Yes, it could / something’s coming / something good / if I can wait. / Something’s coming/ I don’t know what it is / but it is / gonna be great.”
How do you follow that kind of announcement? The people who lived in darkness have seen a great light. We have? Where? On them has the light shined. Really? It has? For unto them a son is given. A what? Unto them a child is born. A child? Wait, I don’t know about this. And the government shall be upon his shoulders. Ah, this is a government plan. Count me out! And they missed it. Announcements came and went, proclaimers proclaimed, heralds heralded. And they missed it. It was too long coming. It was too obscure. Not enough press, not enough bright lights. Sure there was the star thing, but there are stars all the time. Angels? Well, everybody and Charlie has angels. No big deal. Foreigners showing up? Keep them out, too risky. They missed it.
We miss it. Sometimes we miss it because it is old news. God with us? Yeah, I got a bumper sticker. I’m good. It’s old news. We forget to be amazed. We forget to be humbled. We forget to be grateful. What have you done for us lately? A baby over two thousand years ago? OK, got it, thanks. Next?
Except that baby grew up to say “I will be with you always. Even to the end of the age.” Always. All ways. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Your best days, he’s there celebrating with you, being proud of you, clapping you on the shoulder, giving high fives and atta boys, atta girls. Your worst days when even your mother is disappointed in you, when even you are disappointed in you, and you want to dig a hole and crawl in, pulling it over you. The days of emptiness and brokenness, the days of fullness and of joy. They days of love overflowing and the days of loneliness that suck at your soul. I am with you always. This baby, didn’t stay a baby. But he stayed. Stayed God with you. God with me. God with us.
But we’ve got to make room. In our busy lives, we’ve got to make room. Because this baby, this savior is polite, has the manners his mom taught him. He’ll wait. He won’t force himself on you, won’t horn his way into your busyness and demand attention. He’ll wait. Until you turn. Until you stop running. And turn, and give a hint. That’s all, just a hint. Just an opening. Just a tear shed or a smile offered. Just a hand held out hoping, wishing, wanting someone to take it and hold on for dear life. And then he’ll come. He’ll fill you. He’ll want you. He’ll remind you that you are one of the special ones, one of the chosen ones. He’ll lift you up until you think you can fly. He’ll bandage your wounds until you forget that you even had them, even the scars will be forgotten. He’ll turn you around, until your head is spinning and you find your feet on the path you wanted all along, even if you didn’t know it.
We’ve got to make room. For the story, for the song. For the hope and the fulfillment. For the here and the not yet. For the dreams you still dream and longings of your heart, even as you claim contentment with what already is. For the love you have and the love you need. We’ve got to make room. For a child, that’s all. Just a tiny little baby. Like all babies, this one seems so small, so helpless, so simple – feed me, clean me, love me – yet who takes up more room than you thought possible.
We had room, my wife and I, twenty some years ago, we had room, and we had no idea how much room he needed. And a few years later, we still had room. And once more were surprised at the room taken over. More room than we thought we had, more room we didn’t know we had. He comes to fill the emptiness that you don’t even know you have, because you’ve filled it with so much else. But none of that really fills the emptiness like you thought it would. Until Him. Until God with us. Until the Firstborn. The Word made flesh.
And Luke takes that flesh and turns it back into Word. And we love the story he tells. Love it enough to not worry about the detail, about the timing. I mean Quirinius was not governor when Herod was on the throne, the dates don’t match up. But who cares? It’s the story that matters. And Luke gets that right. We’ve got to make room he says.
Luke 2:1-7 NRS In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3 All went to their own towns to be registered. 4 Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5 He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. 7 And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
We have to make room. No, wait. We get to make room. So ... make room. This blessed Christmas season, make room.
Shalom,
Derek
No comments:
Post a Comment