Sermons

Fri, Dec 25, 2020

'And so this is Christmas'

A sermon for Christmas Day
Series:Sermons
Duration:13 mins 42 secs

“And so, this is Christmas”!

 

Twelve months ago… 

who would have thought that we would be where we are now!

As we stood to sing our carols on Christmas Day…

or sat to stuff ourselves with turkey and plum-pudding––

or whatever it is that you and yours indulge upon––

who would have thought that––

twelve months later––

we would be regularly using expressions like:

“social distancing”…

“community transmission”…

“contact tracing”…

or “Covidiot”––

and, sometimes, even in the same sentence!

Of course, we have fared better here than most.

For example, in America, more people are dying each day from Covid…

than died during the September Eleven attacks.

Meanwhile, Germany, Holland, Italy, the Czech Republic… 

as well as parts of Canada and Mexico… 

are all in lockdown over Christmas.

And tough restrictions are in place for parts of Britain and Sweden.

And while we haven’t had to face that

the recent outbreak in Sydney has probably affected some of us…

and, no doubt, many of us have had to amend plans for our Christmas celebrations.

Many of us can’t gather with some of our loved ones in the way that we would like.

And, no doubt, too, many of us are finding it hard to feel “Christmassy”…

with all of the restrictions…

and the anxiety that, at any time, everything could change––

we’re really only one medi-hotel slip-up away.

It’s a far cry from how we would like to celebrate Christmas.

It’s a far cry from how we think that we ought to celebrate Christmas.

And, of course, it’s a far cry from the sort of snow-covered…

pristine, picture-perfect mental image… 

which most of us have conjured of the first Christmas—

of a placid newborn asleep…

watched over by tired, but overjoyed parents…

bathed in starlight…

while, at a distance, angelic choirs are serenading humble shepherds…

with songs of peace and joy.

 

But there’s something “off” with that whole picture.

 

For a start, we miss the strong sense of irony…

which the author of Luke’s Gospel has infused into his story.

Indeed, the angelic songs of peace and joy…

are incredibly ironic in a world that was anything but peaceful…

a world where, for the average person…

struggling around subsistence level––

like Joseph or Mary––

there wasn’t much room for hope or joy.

So, let’s just pause for a minute…

and consider what it would have been like for them––

as the author crafts his story;

or, more specifically, what it would have been like for her.

What would this whole scenario have meant for her?

How would Mary have experienced this?

 

Despite the tradition that suggests that she gave birth in the stable of an inn…

in the original Greek…

instead… 

the author describes it as the downstairs part of an ordinary house…

where the animals were kept at night.

This was no meticulously cleaned and sanitised maternity ward.

There was no hand-sanitiser…

nor even any sterile water.

Mary gave birth surrounded by––

and probably even sitting in––

sheep and goat and chicken poo.

It was mucky.

And it was messy.

The infant mortality rate––

in part from infections acquired in birthing––

was high.

And there was no team of highly trained and skilled professionals helping.

At best, she may have been attended by an older woman or two…

who had some experience.

But they knew nothing about pain relief.

Indeed, there was no pain relief!

And they certainly knew nothing about surgical interventions––

even very basic ones.

So… 

as you can imagine… 

there was little that could have been done if there were any problems.

As a result, the maternal mortality rate was also high—

especially for girls younger than fifteen;

which Mary would have been––

given her station in life.

A retained placenta…

or a simple infection…

could prove fatal.

And that’s not accounting for any long-term injuries––

even permanent ones––

that she might sustain in the process of giving birth.

For a young girl like Mary, this was innately risky.

It was inherently dangerous.

What’s more…

despite what she was told by the angel before she conceived…

about how special this child would be––

that he would be a king…

a saviour…

God’s own son––

at no point was Mary offered any words of reassurance.

While God, in a sense, was intervening to make this conception happen…

God wasn’t promising to intervene in any other way.

In a sense, she, and her child, were left to the vagaries of fate.

She simply had to take her chances.

At no point was she offered a miracle fix…

or a magical guarantee––

that nothing bad would happen to her…

or to him.

If he were to survive…

if he were to grow into the man whom God intended him to be…

and to do what God intended for him to do…

then it was basically up to her.

All of the risk…

and all of the responsibility…

fell onto her young shoulders.

And while…

in a sense… 

all new parents take on a level of risk and responsibility…

there were added dimensions, here, that none of us would have experienced.

It could not but have changed her outlook on life.

It would have changed her whole life.

And yet, in Mary’s case…

this whole experience was…

at heart…

an experience of intrusion.

The angel intruded into her young life upending her expectations about getting married.

God intruded into her life…

and she found herself pregnant before she should have been…

and, probably, before she was ready to be.

The government intruded, meaning she had to travel when she should have been resting…

and she had to give birth far from home.

And, having just given birth…

in the middle of muck and mess…

and possibly still surrounded by dirty water and assorted bodily fluids…

exhausted…

anxious…

and fearful…

there’s the added intrusion of a bunch of dirty strangers…

fresh from tending their sheep…

shattering any last vestige of privacy or dignity,

wanting to see the baby.

I’m surprised that she didn’t tell them all to “f–off!

 

“And so, this is Christmas”.

 

If we stop and look––

if we unpack this story from Mary’s perspective––

then this is the story of Christmas.

This is the story of the incarnation…

of the way that God comes into our world…

of the way that God comes to us.

 

And what does it tell us?

 

God comes to us in the middle of the muck and the mess of our everyday life.

God comes to us in our pain…

but God’s coming to us can be painful.

God’s coming to us can be inherently risky…

even dangerous.

God comes to us without any reassurances or guarantees.

God’s coming may well be experienced as an intrusion…

a disturbance…

an upsetting of our dreams, aspirations, or expectations.

And God’s coming demands our all––

we cannot remain unchanged.

But God’s hopes for the world cannot be fulfilled without us––

who bring them to birth and who nurture them.

 

As the author of Luke’s Gospel crafts it…

Mary’s experience of the birth of Jesus…

is a parable or a paradigm…

for our experience of ‘incarnation’––

or, it ought to be.

Even if it’s not a picture that would make for a nice Christmas card.

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