Christmas Day 2016

Christmas Day 2016

John 1:1-14

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.

As I told the congregation last night, it is every few years that we have the joy and the opportunity to worship both on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in a Saturday/Sunday combination. This is my first Christmas as your pastor and I look forward to many many more-it’s been great traveling through the Advent season with you.

I came across a Christmas story this past week from Reverend Doctor Scott Johnston reminiscing about a trip to Santa Fe and his vision of light breaking in upon the darkness.

“You may know that, during December, the tradition in Sante Fe, New Mexico is for residents to line their walkways, walls and rooftops (really, any flat adobe surface) with small paper bags filled with sand and a candle-luminarias. Walk outside on a cold winter’s evening-when occasional gusts swirl the powder and hundreds (probably thousands) of luminarias provide a soft, flickering glow to the cityscape-and Santa Fe turns from beautiful to magical.”

A few years ago, my wife, Keeli and I were traveling together on the Greek island of Santorini in the middle of the Aegean Sea. It was a coincidence that we were on the island from Palm Sunday through the week after Easter. As we walked past the front of churches, we could see large crosses that were erected covered in palm fronds. During the course of the week, as we got our bearings and begin delving deeper into the uniqueness of the area, I stumbled upon a treasure with the help of TripAdvisor and our hotel owner! We happened to be on the island at the right time because on Good Friday, a little village, Pyrgos, which was nearly one of the highest points on the entire island, had a special candle lighting after sunset.

The candle lighting was not confined to a church, rather the entire city would become ablaze as every homeowner and shop owner lit candles throughout the city. You see, on every flat surface, rooftop, window sill, railing, portico, or sidewalk, there were metal coffee tins (or at least that’s what they looked like) full of wax, sawdust, and a wick. As we walked around the town during the day, every nook and cranny of the city was covered in these cans.

After sunset, we drove a few hundred yards outside of town and parked on the side of the road and waited for the darkness of the evening to set in. As a dark sky lingered overhead, the highway and the fields beside the highway became jammed full of cars with people making this pilgrimage up to Pyrgos. Someone said the lighting would begin at 8pm and then the clock said 9, and then 9:30. A faint sight of a torch came into view and slowly the people of Pyrgos began the holy task of lighting each one of those cans until an orange glow surrounded the entire city.

Light broke into the darkness driving it away for a time for that night.

I’m sure you’ve seen movie clips, probably from Indiana Jones or one of The Mummy movies in which the protagonist grabs a conveniently located piece of wood, rips a piece of cotton from his shirt or pants leg creating a torch just in the nick of time as he races out of a dire situation. The torch provides just enough light to illuminate a few steps ahead of him as he races away from danger. Darkness lingers just on the horizon of the glow emanating from the torch, not completely driven away; even though darkness lingers, wherever the torch bearer goes, he or she brings light into dark places even if for a passing period of time.

As Reverend Doctor Johnston continues in his reflection on those luminaries in Sante Fe, he aptly describes how we experience the effect of darkness while in close proximity to the light of God that has come into the world. “It is not a simple piece of Scripture. I struggle with these words because they do not say what I want them to say. I want them to declare that when the light comes into the world it obliterates the darkness. It takes the bleak mid-winter with every sadness, every despair, every raw deal, every horrendous tragedy, every evil plan, every god-awful, life-sucking disease, and tosses the whole mess into the cosmic trash bin. I want the light to arrive and to win, and I want it to win big. I mean I want the light to deal with the darkness in a way that is so overwhelming, so completely devastating, that I can switch channels at half-time because there is no way, no possible way, that the darkness is even going to come out of the locker room to play the third quarter. Instead of total victory, we get something much more “modest” in John’s Gospel.” (http://day1.org/1022-luminarias)

Like Doctor Johnston, I want a cosmic Christ to bury evil, strip sin and death of every last bit of power, and end the suffering of our brothers and sisters, no matter what lot in life is causing their deep pain. Even in the bows, carols, greenery, and presents exchanged, there is deep suffering amongst the body, grief that has not waned years later and violence and greed rearing their ugly heads at the most inopportune time. We’re at the height of the Christmas season, overwhelmed with joy, full of hope, relieved that indeed God has fulfilled God’s promises to come into the world for redemption’s sake. Yet somewhere in a corner of our soul or the back burner of our mind, we know that this elation is tempered a bit by news that is far less than good, actions and schemes that are far less than just.

We find ourselves in a both and situation-reveling in the good news that Christ the Lord is coming into the world and wondering who we will be and how will live amidst lingering darkness until Christ comes with finality and we feast at that heavenly banquet?

I think we find some guidance to those questions in Mary the Mother of Christ our Lord. The Christian tradition, especially in other parts of the world, has called Mary, mother of Jesus, Theotokos, the bearer of God, for in flesh and blood, she carried the Christ child into the world. I’m in love with the image of being a bearer of God, a bearer of true light because we know the power of taking just one candle, a dancing flame into the darkest night and even there the light we bear will drive the darkness away.

This is the Christmas hope and invitation for each of us-to bear the grace of God in our flesh and bones, to bear the light of the world wherever darkness encroaches in our family and community. This light-bearing will often be done in ordinary ways, unbeknownst to many, as love and compassion is extended to the lonely heart and hot meals and shelter are prepared for the sojourner. I see and hear of your light bearing often and I believe you do it because you know John’s proclamation to be true. The true light came into the world and until Christ comes in final victory putting an end to darkness, the ministry of those who follow Jesus the Christ is to bear light in shadow places.

Go forth this Christmas day, feast with your friends and family, rejoice in God’s good news, and bear light for all to see. Amen.