“Christmas Eve Message”

Scripture – Luke 2:1-20

Sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Gregory Knox Jones

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

I suspect most of you have had a hearty Christmas dinner this evening and many have enjoyed a glass of wine. You may be getting cozy next to a loved one and in danger of nodding off if the preacher goes too long this evening. Hang on as best you can. It’s not yet time to sleep in heavenly peace.

Each year on Christmas Eve we gather to hear the heartwarming story that Luke tells of the birth of Jesus. And I suspect that as Randy and Jill told the story, we did not hear much in the way of surprise. “In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered.”

However, if the author of the Gospel of Luke were sitting at the back of the sanctuary tonight, I suspect he would rise to his feet and interrupt our service. I can hear him asking “Did you genuinely hear what I wrote? Do you comprehend the context in which the birth of Jesus took place?”

Although Mary was nine months pregnant, she and Joseph were forced to travel 80 miles on foot and the back of a donkey because the Roman occupiers were keen to levy a heavy tax on them. A tax that was especially harsh on the poor. Herod, who had plenty of blood on his hands and was not hesitant to execute anyone he didn’t trust, was king. A seminary professor writes, “In short, life was hell; a perfect storm of misery…Luke is letting us know that the incarnation had a lot to contend with at that moment. It was a terrible time for a messiah to be born. Which is to say, maybe it was the perfect time.”¹

The author of Luke raises his voice. Do you understand what it was like when Jesus was born? Instead of making everything silvery and sunny, instead of setting a perfect stage for a Messiah to be born, Jesus was born when darkness was not simply present but prevailing.

Do you remember what King Herod did when he caught word of a newborn king? He ordered the slaughter of all children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and under.

Lest we forget, when John wrote his gospel, he did not say that Jesus was the light that enhanced an already glowing world. He said Jesus was the light that pierced what? The darkness.

During these days around the winter solstice, when there is far more darkness than light for those of us in the northern hemisphere, even nature reminds us of the long shadows that might possibly envelop us.

We who live in a world of school shootings and an overheating earth and amoral wars know a thing or two about darkness. We who live in times where children are trafficked, and discrimination wins votes and lies are spread with split second speed and vulgarity becomes normalized understand darkness.

Further, Jesus was not born into a wealthy family that was insulated from the harsh times. He was born into a working-class family and laid in a cow’s feeding trough. And once his parents caught wind of Herod’s infanticide order, they had to flee the country like many refugees of our day.

Although all of this may sound a bit grim, although darkness and despair hover nearby, hang on because there is good news here.

Phillips Brooks was a well-regarded Episcopal priest in the nineteenth century, and the sermon he preached in 1865 at Harvard’s commemoration of the Civil War dead attracted nationwide attention. But he is better known for something else – a Christmas hymn he composed – “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” He fully understood the world into which Jesus was born and the world in which we live. He wrote “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

Could it be true that God meets both our hopes and our fears? Could it be that the formidable darkness which often appears unbeatable, will not ultimately win the day?

The author of Luke would be appalled by any attempt to twist the message of Jesus into a sentimental Disney production about escaping reality. He declares that God comes to those places where injustices exist, and sorrow abides and despair prevails.

The point of celebrating the birth of Jesus is to remember that he was not shielded from the struggles of human existence. He was born to a poor couple in a smelly stable for animals. He grew up without a single luxury, he faced temptations, he dealt with difficult people, he was ridiculed, and he was betrayed by a friend. And yet, he pierced the darkness. He pierced it with a revolution of love.

Luke’s description of the birth of Jesus underscored his belief that this event marked a pivotal point in history. Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah who initiated a new world order that was based not on power and privilege, but rather on justice and mercy. Throughout his life, Jesus would move among the poor and all who had been pushed to the margins of society, while challenging the wealthy and those who held earthly positions of power. Why? Because God is madly in love with the people of earth and God’s love is not reserved exclusively for any single group of people.

Many cling to the belief that the greatest power in the world is coercive power: the kind of power that Roman emperors used to force people to gather up their things and march miles to some destination so that their names could be placed on the tax rolls. But Jesus was born to show that God rules by another kind of power. The power of love. And love has the power to do what brute force cannot do – transform hearts. Love has the power to do what brute force cannot do – give life meaning. Love has the power to do what brute force cannot do – heal deep wounds. Love has the power to do what brute force cannot do – inspire hope.

A colleague in New York shared the story of a fellow New Yorker, a woman named Isabel Walcott. Ms. Walcott wrote, “I was headed downtown on the number two train when a college-aged girl sitting nearby began to sob. I moved over to sit on her right side as the woman sitting on her left began to comfort her. The girl said she was overwhelmed with anxiety and on the way to see her therapist. A man sitting across from her offered her a cold unopened soft drink which she accepted.”

“There we were on the train, the four of us together; one of us in crisis. The situation seemed so precarious that I did not get off at my stop so that I could stay by the young woman’s side. We offered her encouraging words in low tones, and it seemed to help. Then we reached Wall Street, the last stop in Manhattan. Preparing to get off the train, I asked the young woman if she was going to be okay. As I did, the woman on her left, said she also needed to get off. And the man sitting across from her said he felt badly because he also needed to get off the train.”

“We all asked the young woman if she was going to be all right. She nodded, but sniffed. The three of us stood, hesitating as the doors opened. Then, suddenly, a woman swooped in from somewhere down the car and sat in the seat that I was vacating. The woman said, “I got her.”

“Those strangers on the train did not wipe away the young woman’s problems and make everything perfect. But they kindled candles of hope amidst the darkness.”

“We are here tonight, because we know the One who refuses to stay at a safe distance. It is the One who will not – who cannot – avoid (entering a precarious world). It is the One who swoops into the midst of our fragile and (sometimes troubled) lives softly, saying, “I got you – all of you.”³

NOTES

1. Anna Carter Florence, A is for Alabaster, (Louisville: John Knox Press, 2023), p. 180-181.
2. Scott Black Johnston, “Christmas at God’s House,” December 24, 2023.