First Mass of the Nativity

Isaiah 9:2-4,6-7
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-14

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

At last, we're here. In the weeks before Christmas, there's tremendous bustle everywhere – not least in this parish. I'm always grateful to the many dear people who labor mightily preparing for our celebration of the birth of Jesus. And, I'm grateful to all of you for being here for it. It is wonderful to have you here.

Every priest I know looks out at the congregation on Christmas and Easter and prays everyone will be there the next Sunday. That it'll stick. We fret and fret about what we might say to bring you back. Part of that, of course, is vanity. Our egos crave lots of ears, but our foibles aside, we do have something to say, a message to be treasured more than anything – because it's not from us, but from God, to every person: You're loved. You're important. You're not alone.

I expect that many of you come here this evening with questions and suspicion and cynicism, and I believe that is honest and authentic and even justified. We all have qualms about the Church, and about this feast, but despite these qualms we come. In each of us flickers a sense of God's love and power. My prayer tonight is that this flicker of light, of hope, grows stronger, that everyone experiences at least a glimmer of the vitality and power of Christmas, that Jesus grabs you and warms you – if only a bit, that he unsettles you, leaving even more questions, deeper questions.

Before I was a Christian, I hated Christmas – crass, cheap, greedy, commercial, phony sentimental. In recent weeks, my toddler has learned to say two new words: kitsch and tawdry – the very qualities a child revels in, but adults want more. We are here tonight because we sense, at least the possibility, that Christmas is ultimately about what is most important in life, that our lives can be richer, more complete. So, is all of this talk of joy and rejoicing real, or just another marketing jingle?

Christmas exacts a hefty price. It's accompanied by more stress and anxiety than any other time of year. It's the time of year when our disappointments and losses and failures are most poignant and hurtful. Those who are lonely and troubled suffer; those whose lives are not what they'd like suffer. Family hostilities and resentments easily overwhelm the season's good cheer, despite the enormous pressure to have a happy holiday.

And there's so much pain in our world. The news is full of sadness and suffering. Where's the Prince of Peace in Mosul? There's more fear and anxiety in our public life than in decades. People are angry and divided. There's less tolerance of differences and less desire to understand one another. There's less listening and more lines in the sand. There's sort of a holy war in our own society. Where's this Christmas joy?

Last Sunday evening, a friend had a party for a reading of Dickens' ‘A Christmas Carol.' He asked me to read the second stave, the part about the Ghost of Christmas Past, who shows Scrooge his former self. It's a hurtful thing seeing who you are, what a mess you've made of things. Despite his pleas to see nothing of his past, Scrooge watches in agony his callous rejection of tearful, beautiful young woman. She gently tells him, "You fear the world too much. All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you." During their courtship, Scrooge had changed, becoming smaller, more inward, seeking security in his own efforts, trying to have a life through narrow ambition for himself. Dedicated to gain, he lost love.

‘A Christmas Carol' is Scrooge's recovery of himself, of his humanity, and his discovery of joy. The visitation of the three spirits, Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Future, leaves Scrooge a changed man. He sees what matters in life. He awakes on Christmas morning glowing with gratitude and holy intentions, praising heaven, his heart laughing. "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." He learns that joy comes from opening ourselves up to others, from the risk of being generous, from trying to make amends for our shortcomings rather than counting the offenses against us. Scrooge finds that contributing to life, emptying himself, not counting cost, was the way to gain himself.

At the party, I read this moving, captivating story in front of a roaring fire, and it was snowing lightly outside, but this was no quiet, Hallmark scene. It was not a solemn reading. The house was Pandemonium. There were about twenty adults and even more children, from six months to about eight years. People were preparing dinner and spilling drinks; children were running in gangs through the house and playing with toys and screaming in excitement. A mother, trying to keep her two year old content, suddenly yelped and bolted across the room to retrieve her baby crawling up the stairs. When an older child crashed on the stairs, her dad held her, comforting her and reassuring her, saying "Everything will be alright." Ultimately, isn't that what we believe about reality? It's a truth we base our lives on. It's Santa bringing gifts, even though we've been naughty.

My favorite distraction was three year old Olivia. She'd just been to ‘The Nutcracker' matinee, and she helped us share the pleasure by reenacting highlights of the ballet, dancing and doing pirouettes in the middle of the room while holding a plastic chainsaw. Nonetheless, I dutifully bellowed out the story, trying to be heard over the din. I thought the exercise was futile: no one would get the message.

It struck me that the apparent inattention to Dickens' delightful rendering of the gospel was so like the reception of our Lord. All of history up to that night in Bethlehem is a preparation for the coming of the Messiah, for "the desire of the nations," for the source of life. And when he arrives, there's no room for him in the inn. The Son of Man has no where to lay his head, except in a stable, the prison of animals, who toil and suffer to sustain human beings.

Human negligence toward our loving God is a grim truth, but it's not the whole truth. Mary and Joseph both said ‘Yes' to God. The shepherds came to welcome him. The shepherds were poor outcasts, generally considered irreligious. Their meager livelihood made it virtually impossible to observe religious practices, but God is there for all who need him. God called out to the shepherds, and they heard the good news and responded.

And we do as well – though certainly not always and not perfectly. That Dickens party was what Christmas and this life is all about. Our lives are messy, loud, chaotic, risky, hurtful, clumsy, but still saturated with the unconditional love of our heavenly Father, whether we acknowledge him or not. For the most part, those children – with their constant needs and whims and hurts – live in the steady, reliable love of their parents. Every day, if we are open to it, we can experience the love of God in our lives. His love does not make things neat, tidy, quiet, and orderly. Even with the love of God, life remains confusing and painful, and perhaps especially so. Scrooge's former life was orderly, clock-like, but shriveled and empty. The good news is that we are not alone in a cold, dark, unfeeling universe, but cherished by a forbearing and forgiving Father.

Christmas joy is not merry-making and feasting. It's not having a perfect, ideal life, as if there were such a thing. It's not the world being in peace and harmony. The world never has been and never will be. But joy is possible to all. We can't go to the store and buy a package of joy. There's no alchemy or secret knowledge to conjure it. It's not a substance or something we can own. It's not pleasure. Joy often involves pain. Because joy comes from sacrifice. Joy comes from being whole, complete, knowing our purpose in life and striving to fulfill it. Joy comes from committing ourselves to God, to something other than and far larger than ourselves. Joy comes from allowing God to possess us. Joy comes from making a gift of ourselves.

Scrooge's transformation is happening all around us. It's happening in me. I see it happening in many, many parishioners here. It's happening all of the time, and it is a possibility for each one of us, all of the time. The question is whether we recognize it in the din of our lives and whether we have the courage and humility to be open to change. No doubt, often the Church seems pre-occupied with pettiness and very worldly agendas, but her essential mission, her timeless mission, is to give joy. That is possible for every person. Because tonight God came to us in Jesus. The more we orient our lives to him, the more we allow him to be in our lives, the more joy is in our lives.

Merry Christmas, and God's joy to you!

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.