The bells of waiting Advent ring,The Tortoise stove is lit againAnd lamp-oil light across the nightHas caught the streaks of winter rainIn many a stained-glass window sheenFrom Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.
The holly in the windy hedgeAnd round the Manor House the yewWill soon be stripped to deck the ledge,The altar, font and arch and pew,So that the villagers can say'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.
And is it true? And is it true,This most tremendous tale of all,Seen in that stained-glass window's hue,A Baby in an ox's stall?The Maker of the stars and seaBecome a Child on earth for me?
These words from Sir John Betjeman get to the heart of the matter don't they?
Tonight we have come blinking out of the dark into this place of altar, font and arch and pew wondering... wondering "is it true?"
Could it be true that the maker of the stars and sea became a child on earth for me?"
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I love this Christmas Eve service. Each year, I love climbing up here into the pulpit and seeing all of you here.
While the rest of our culture is either sleeping, or three cocktails deep, you have chosen to be here - your faces aglow in candlelight, siting amongst strangers, to sing the old songs, and to tell the tremendous tale once again.
The angel has tapped each of us on the shoulder, and it is strange, maybe even a bit frightening because we don't fully understand, but we have chosen, nonetheless, to become those shepherds of the field like so long ago willing to abandon "normal" rhythms and responsibilities and say "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place."
Oh sure, you could chalk it all up to nostalgia or family tradition, but I think something else is going on here.
I think it is our longing.
It is our longing that gets us off the couch and into some sensible shoes and down to the church on Christmas Eve - our longing to go and see if it's actually true.
And not in some factual historical, empirically measurable capacity that gets us debating the years of the Roman census, or the plausibility of virgin births, or any of the other "well actually" memeable gotcha details of the story that are simply distractions… distractions to keep us from dealing with the heart of the matter.
I'm talking about longing.
I’m talking about that aching that we feel for meaning, for more, for that deep kind of knowing that may mystify the head but can melt even the hardest of hearts.
I'm talking about longing.
The longing to know if it is true.
Could it be true that the maker of the stars and sea became a child on earth for me?"
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I read an article last week about the sale of Bibles and how they are booming these days, mostly fueled by first-time buyers. Apparently, comparing this year over last, Bible sales are up 22%, and you can likely guess the reasons why.
As one publisher put it:
“People are experiencing anxiety, or they’re worried for their children and grandchildren. It’s related to artificial intelligence, election cycles, [climate change]… and all of that feeds a desire for assurance.”
One young person was quoted saying:
“I felt something was missing [in my life]. It’s a combination of where we are in the world, anxiety, and the sense that meaning and comfort can be found in [scripture].
Another young mother said she started reading the Bible this year after feeling unfulfilled by years of advice on self-care and advancing a career.
She was seeking some stability as:
“things just went off the rails throughout society. We’re kind of holding on to the edge of the ship. Like, we’re not sure what’s happening here.”
We are talking about longing.
We are talking about longing - and I see it here in our ministries at Metropolitan every day. People longing for hope to hold onto, for beauty to aspire to, for community to belong to.
This is true for longstanding members of our church, and it is just as true for those at the very start of their spiritual journey.
I did not read the Bible or even step foot into a church for worship until I was in my thirties. So, I know because I lived it, that there are people here tonight, or participating online - maybe it's you - who have virtually no experience of church, or have drifted away from church, or have been hurt by church, and are not even sure where to start with the Bible, or are even sure if they should really be here tonight, but have nonetheless felt the angels touch on their shoulder, and have picked up their shepherd's crook, and have taken the courageous step to follow their longings into this most holy of nights saying:
”Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place."
Let us go and see if it is true that the maker of the stars and sea became a child on earth for me?"
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I've been thinking about this for a while... and I don't think I believe... in atheism.
I just don't think it's actually a real thing. We're just not wired that way. We will always believe in something, we will always deify some thing and serve a god of some sort.
These days, maybe it's technology, or a celebrity, or money; maybe it's food or alcohol or drugs, maybe its a political or cultural affiliation - some term that ends in "ism" - maybe it's our job, maybe it's ourselves, but we will always kneel at some at some sort of alter.
And the gift of free will means we get to decide which one.
We get to choose which stories to tell, and which story our life shall be part of.
And it matters… it matters what we choose because our story shapes our worldview, which forms our identity, which impacts our actions, which dictates the kind of world we live in, and will leave to our children and grandchildren.
So given these disruptive days dominated by A.I. election cycles and climate change, I don't find it at all surprising that more and more people - maybe you are one of them - are recognizing where the story of our modern, consumeristic, polarized, hyper-individualistic society is taking us, and are turning to the old stories of scripture once again.
But, when we are reading the bible, the "good book" as it is sometimes called - it is actually a misnomer to see it as a "book" at all.
It’s more like a library, containing many different books, many different stories, written by hundreds of human hands over the millennia. There is history, and myth, and prophesy, and poetry, and wisdom literature, and pastoral letters, and gospels.
It is beautiful and disturbing and constantly contradicting itself because it tells the stories of our longings - our longings for God, for community, for justice.
The Bible also contains testaments of our mistakes - our almost constant propensity to get it wrong, and to kneel at the alters of our own making.
But what we also see when we read the scriptures, why the old stories still hold so much weight today, is that us getting it wrong is never the end of the story.
What we see when we read the sacred texts is that God does not leave us when things "go off the rails." God does not abandon us just "holding onto the edge of the ship."
We see that Noah was not left floating in the arc forever. The Hebrew people were not abandoned to slavery in Egypt or in exile in Babylon. Worshiping the golden calf was forgiven. The line of David was allowed to continue. The scales were removed from St. Paul's eyes.
Again and again and again we see God as mercy, as forgiveness, as the one who says through the prophet Isaiah:
"Comfort, O comfort my people... Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God,the Creator of the ends of the earth."
And on this night... on this Holy Night the angels echo the prophet's proclamation and come to those with a shepherd's crook in their hands and say: Have you not known? Have you not heard that the wheel of mercy and forgiveness continues to turn - that now God's everlasting love has been born into the world?
Have you not known? Have you not heard that salvation has come for you as one of you?
There are different pathways to the holy, and ultimate truth cannot be contained in any one tradition, but the contribution of the Christian faith to the rich tapestry of human spirituality is that THAT which we long for is not a "that" at all, but a "who".
That a child, born just as we were, with blood and sweat and push is also the long foretold "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."
What an audacious claim that is...
That a human babe at the breast with a soft spot on his head is the root of Jesse, the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end, the Christ.
The one, through whom, as St. John says, "all things came into being", "the true light which enlightens all people", "full of grace and full of truth" - a child of the stars here on earth, his face that night illumined by candlelight, just as yours is this night.
What an audacious claim this is.
That THIS is how God wants to be known, as a child. As a child who then learns and grows and is tested and is tempted and encounters the best of what it means to be human, and who's love is so great and so vast and so deep that he does not abandon us when he also encounters the worst of what it means to be human: our selfishness, our scapegoating, our capacity for violence.
Indeed, the child of the manger becomes the man on the cross - the one who takes the pain of the world into his own flesh, and does not strike out in retribution, but raises up in resurrection. And the wheel keeps turning so that mercy and forgiveness and compassion are how he is known forevermore.
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We will always kneel at some at some sort of alter - and the gift of free will means we get to decide which one.
We get to choose which stories to tell, and which story our life shall be part of.
And it matters… it matters what we choose because our story shapes our worldview, which forms our identity, which impacts our actions, which dictates the kind of world we live in, and will leave to our children and grandchildren.
And so, it matters that you are here tonight, that you have listened to your longing and have come to encounter for yourself that audacious claim of faith, that yes, it is all true.
The maker of the stars and sea became a child on earth for me, for you, for all children of this good and glorious creation.
And even if at this point on your spiritual journey, the claim is just too audacious, and you are just not ready to believe it, I wonder what might happen if you started acting like you did anyway.
What would happen if the story you choose to be part of is one of mercy, and forgiveness, and compassion, and a love without end?
How might that shape your life, the life of your family, your community, the life of the world?
What might happen if you continued to listen to the angles, and week after week, year after year, you kept picking up your shepherd's crook and setting out with others, strangers who become friends, on the great journey together saying "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place."
Maybe you will find that THAT which you long for is not a "that" at all, but a “who" - and he has come.
He has come in flesh and in spirit, in manger and in cross, for us as one of us. He has come.
Hallelujah! Allelujah! Hallelujah!
Merry Christmas to you.
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