Bishop Gregory Brewer’s Christmas Eve Sermon 2014
Let us pray.
Gracious Lord, we thank you that in the midst of all that goes on in this very dark world, we can gather here and hear the lyrics, hear the melodies, hear the words of the Scriptures, and know that you call us into a place of genuine peace and joy. Open our hearts, oh Lord, to that very peace, to that very joy, the things that you give us, the gifts that come from your son; that we also might know that same peace and joy. Speak to us, Lord. Your servants are listening. For it is in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord that we pray. Amen.
I have to tell you that as Ben Lane was doing his interlude on the organ, as I was making my way down the aisle, a part of me wanted to actually dance a little jig down the steps. There’s a kind of lyric sparkle to this evening. I don’t know about you, But I need that sparkle.
It has been, for me, a dark, dark Advent. You can name the dark things that are going on outside — Ferguson, New York City, Brooklyn, ISIS beheadings, the continuing threat of terrorists, international persecution of Christians, and a very out-of-touch culture that continues to demand that we be distracted by the glamorous, the gossip-worthy, and all who occupy, at least for this moment, their 15 minutes of fame, center stage for this week, this news cycle.
Both the horror of what’s going on and the kind of entertainment-oriented distraction act like blinders to keep our eyes in a direction that is entirely away from the manger in Bethlehem – its meaning, its import, and, in fact, its call to us. We’re too easily dazzled, too easily cynical, and, in fact, given all that’s happened, have developed a kind of thicker skin to human pain and suffering just so we can get by. I don’t know whether that’s true for you, but, gosh, it’s sure true for me. I’m not the same as who I was this time last year and I’m not exactly sure it’s all for the better.
I want to be dazzled because life is hard. Therefore, to actually begin to look for something more hidden, but far more precious, is not just counter-cultural, but it’s counter to my own habits.
You see, it would be different if Time Magazine had named Mary and Joseph people of the year, but you know as well as I do that’s never going to happen. Those aren’t the people our culture is interested in. Tragically enough, they aren’t, as a result, the kind of people we’re interested in.
We don’t care, except — and this is what’s important, and maybe that’s why we’re here tonight — we know enough to know that both the horror and the dazzle don’t hit the geography of the human heart, that while we’re continually distracted, entertained, shocked but only momentarily, there are things inside of us that are never satisfied by any of those kinds of events.
Something that I picked up on my Twitter feed recently from the British magazine The Spectator, was their Christmas picture for the year. The background was a blown-up city. It could have been Kabul, it could have been Mosul under ISIS, name any place where there’ve been shelling and bombing. That’s what this looked like. It was just a whole series of blown up and burned out buildings. There, right in the center of the street, superimposed on those burned out building tableau, were Mary, Joseph, and the baby in the manger.
It was a disturbing image, I have to tell you, but it was poignant. It was actually appropriate because I feel like, in many ways, that picture is what we’re being called to do: Not to ignore the backdrop of all that we are going through, both as a country and as a world, but instead to see in the midst of it something that God is doing. That’s what it means, it seems to me in this day, Christmas 2014, to hear the Isaiah reading, “The people that have walked in darkness have seen a great light.” If there was ever a time when we need to see that great light in the midst of this darkness, it is right now. Isaiah trumpets it as incredibly good news. In other words, Isaiah is addressing a people who are under foreign occupation, they’re in exile. Life could not be more bitter.
Yet, in the midst of all of that, a clarion call is going out through the prophet Isaiah to say it will not always be this way. In fact, it’s not just the kind of future of hope, but God is, in fact, at work right now, pulling things together to make everything new. I want you to know if I didn’t believe that, I couldn’t be up here tonight. If I didn’t believe to my very soul that God was actively at work, and not just at work in this world, but in my life, where there is probably just as much darkness as you see in the world, I couldn’t do this. God is at work in the geography of my heart and in the geography of human events because just as God made those promises to take us all the way back to the Book of Genesis that a Messiah would come.
Do you remember the line between Adam and Eve, where God says, in the midst of that distraction, that one is coming who will crush the head of the serpent? At the very beginnings of human history, God had determined that in the fullness of time, to quote the Scripture, “He would send his only son.” That, in fact, happened. That’s what we’re here to do tonight: To commemorate a historic event that took place in space and time. An introduction to the Gospel reading for us this evening is so clear — a regime is named, governors are listed by name. Luke is very careful to say, “What I’m not doing is telling you the story of Zeus on Mount Apollo. What I’m trying to talk to you is about something that actually happened in history that, in fact, changed the course of human history.”
There is an oft-quoted saying in Christmas sermons that I believe with all of my heart, and that is, “The hinge of human history swings on that stable door.”
You and I would cause darkness to win, if we chose to just blandly coast through this service and not face the fact that God acted in history and that he is acting right now in the geography of your heart. You are not immune, nor are you left out.
That’s why I prayed the prayer that I did, the collect that we had been born again by adaption and grace would be, what? Daily renewed by the Holy Spirit because what we need in this hour is for the Holy Spirit to take those truths, to break them into our souls so that we, right now, understand that the Prince of Peace has come, that we are invited to live under his reign, and that we can do so in a way that actually makes a difference in human history, and that you and I, in this time, even in the midst of the bleakness of this burned out world, can right now know the kind of victory, the kind of joy, the kind of sweet presence that the angel sang about.
To you is born this day in the City of David a savior who is Christ the Lord. You see, it is quite possible to look at Christmas, but not look into Christmas in a way that allows a connection to happen between the events and your heart. That’s why the exultation in the opening hymn, it’s a choice, you see. “Oh, come let us adore him.” You can sing about it and then think about what you’re going to do after the service. I’m not sure that’s what we should call worship.
This is huge. Will you — do you — know enough of the darkness that exists in your own heart as well as in the world to call upon this Prince of Peace Savior to reign in you in a new way? Are you willing, in the midst of a decay in culture, to be men and women who are willing to serve for the renewal of God’s earth? Are you willing to be people who are of peace, not just those who believe in peace, and, therefore, who speak peace and live it in a way that builds up other people and serves them, who prays for them?
You see, according to Leo the Great here, “No one is shut out of this joy. All can share the same reason for rejoicing. Our Lord, victor over sin and death, finding no man free from sin, came to free us all. Let the saints rejoice. Let the sinners be glad. Let the pagan take courage as he is summoned to life. For in the fullness of time, chosen in the unfathomable depths of God’s wisdom, the Son of God took for himself our humanity in order to reconcile us to his creator.”
That’s what is at stake here. I want you to know I want to be a part of that. I don’t want to be one of those people who continually gazes into his smart phone, hoping to get distracted by something new. I don’t want to shake my head in the midst of the horrors that are going on in the world, and act as if somehow that doesn’t matter, or, if it does, it sure doesn’t matter to me because nobody’s blowing up my street yet. We don’t need to be people like that, brothers and sisters. This is our world. God made it, and he gave it to us.
What are we going to do? For us to live the way we should takes tremendous courage. It takes a level of fortitude, it takes a kind of power that can only be given to us by God himself. Any other reason for doing it results, in the end, in humanitarian burnout. I want you to know, in the midst of this darkness, my heart is turning. It actually began last Sunday here at the Lessons and Carols Service Sunday afternoon, where I’ve been wrestling with the darkness of advent for four weeks. As we began to turn the corner in singing the carols of Christmas, something in my heart began to lift. It was like, “Yes, this is home base.”
Oh, come let us adore him. Joy to the world. Not just to me, but to the world. The Lord has come. That’s the Christmas message. Will you be a part of that? Will you let the Savior into your heart, not just to help you feel a little better, but to actually give you new purpose in life? Are you willing to be one of those people who, in fact, do not just say they’re Christians and show up occasionally? That’s better than nothing, but is that what you want, that kind of baseline mediocrity when it comes to faith? Leave that for people for whom it doesn’t matter. It should matter to you. We, together, might be men and women who are committed to be people through whom the light of Christ shines.
You can only talk about the latest thing in the news or what’s happening in entertainment or what the next clothing fashion is or who’s not going to win the Grammy or the Oscar or are they actually really going to release The Interview on Christmas Day after all? It’s so superficial. Be those who can say with great joy, “I was in darkness, but God had mercy and I have seen a great light.” That’s Christmas. The door of human history swings on this stable. What will you do? I implore you to say yes. How do you do that? If you’re Christian, the way to do it is when you come to the table right here at the rail.
I have a friend who’s gone through a terrible mess in his life. He’s beginning to come back to faith. He came to the rail and he was crying as he was receiving the Eucharist. He said, “I just can’t believe they’d give away this eternal banquet for free.” It just struck him all over again, the magnificent grace and mercy of God to someone who knew in the depths of his soul that he deserved none of it, but yet so glad to be received. If you’re not a Christian, if you’ve not said yes to Christ, if the waters of baptism have never gotten you wet, I would ask you to make a decision this evening to say yes to the Savior, to be one upon whom, by God’s mercy, the light shines. It will change everything about your life.
It will not make you necessarily a better person at first. In fact, what it will probably do is blow up your world. You didn’t expect me to say that, did you? It will so reorder it that you will never be the same and you will live with the joy, the eternity in your heart that no one can ever take away. Tonight, as we gather at the manger, please don’t just look at it, look into it and come in, that you might be one of those who says, “I have seen that great light. I will adore. Thank you for the joy.” You’ll dance with me up here and around the aisle.
Amen.