Christmas I, 2024

THE REVEREND E. WAYNE HOLLINS

Every year we hear the same story. People walking in darkness see light. A few
words about grace. Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus. And, as part of that and along
with the Psalmist, lots of singing.

And that’s appropriate, because there’s lots to sing about. But there’s a
somewhat overlooked reason why, and that’s what I want to consider with you this
night.

Luke takes great pains to place his lead characters in specific time. When John
the Baptist begins his preaching, Luke names political and religious leaders whose time
in office is well-documented. He does the same for the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem,
although we know that a couple of those weren’t in office at the same time, so Luke
obviously didn’t Google his sources.

Historical accuracy isn’t his goal anyway. When it comes to John, Luke names all
those important persons only to point out that the word of God came instead to a
relatively unknown preacher standing along the Jordan River. With the birth of Jesus, it
takes on cosmic proportions. The eternal has broken through and joined human time,
with all its limitations—and infinite possibilities.

And like the later story about John, Jesus’ birth doesn’t occur in an important
place of power and prestige. His birth comes about as close as it can get to the creation
narrative of humanity. He isn’t formed out of the dust of the earth, but he’s pretty
much laid in it as his cradle.

The same holds true for those who first hear the news of his birth. Shepherds,
usually the youngest of the family, who are not the principle heirs and therefore
somewhat disposable in case a hungry wolf comes by, suddenly hear messengers telling
them news that ought to be reserved for leaders of all types.

Since Luke’s whole Gospel is about Good News coming to outsiders, to those
deemed unworthy or unimportant, it’s no surprise that it begins this way. After all, the
eternal taking on finite characteristics is not how things usually work, even if we
remember Greek mythology that was known in that time. But this reversal has more
lasting implications for us.

Just as the eternal becoming human changes so much that we’ve been taught up
until the birth of Jesus, his life, death, and resurrection changes everything that we’ve
taught since then. This is the feast of the Incarnation, our name-day feast as Immanuel,
meaning “God with us.”

Since his birth, Jesus invites us to alter our own perceptions of time, even as our
lives become increasingly measured by fractions of minutes and seconds and we get too
busy to notice even the light around us. In the events that will lead to the ending of
Luke’s Gospel, Jesus invites us to exchange our hurried and harried time-bound lives
for the life that is eternal. And he shows us how to do that now, and not just after time
is no longer measured by our breathing.

The eternal enters human time so that humanity might share a glimpse of the
eternal in our time. You may have noticed that happening as this day moved toward
the evening, and a sense of quietness settles all around us. Yes, there may be a few
frenzied drivers still trying to get things done yesterday, and we’ll need to be aware of
their presence. But that stillness is a sign of the eternal that continues to break through
into human time as God’s gift of a breath of fresh air to nourish our souls. Those who
have experienced it first hand may tell of that moment of eternity between the
emergence of a newborn infant and its first cry of “I’m here!”

That gift of eternal time is ours to share each time we enter this place. We leave
human time at the threshold as we seek to enter the presence of the eternal. We seek
the face of the unknowable, praying for it to once again come in human flesh, only to be
surprised that the invitation means that it is enfleshed in ourselves.

That is why we celebrate this night. It’s why angels still sing, and shepherds still
wonder. It is the light in our own darkness, inviting us to sing new songs of grace and
mercy and love. It is God coming to us, inviting us to return the same Love that we find
in the lowly mangers of our own lives, and that continue to exist all around us so that
we can share it.