Christmas Eve
Luke 2:1-20
During the PBS Mystery series, "Grantchester," Sidney, the priest-detective, remarks in the face a death penalty case, "Where does it end? Someone is killed, then we kill someone. That is not justice, that is simply the ongoing cycle of retribution and vengeance."
That got me to thinking about Christmas Eve.
We tend to do with the Nativity what we have done with Noah and the Ark--turn them into safe children's stories that we can decorate the nursery with. But as with Noah--the destruction of the earth because it was simply too evil to continue--the Nativity is a grown-up narrative of God's intervention into our very human world.
Colbert I. King, a columnist for the Washington Post, reflects on how Christmas Eve has changed for him as an adult. It was the vigil waiting Santa Claus when he was child, the wondrous night of expectation. But this year, as he worshipped in his Episcopal Church, he realized each candle of Advent was accompanied by a series of worldly atrocities. He missed the expectancy, but then saw that it was still there in the profound interruption of the good news in the darkness of the Roman world ("The World Is Full of Horror, so How Can We Hang onto Hope?," Washington Post, Dec. 24).
Is it there for you and me?
I fear our world is indeed caught in the web of retribution. I fear our own election season was simply a manifestation of some demand to set things right by punishing perceived takers who are ruining our status quo. If you pay attention to the terrorist's rationale you see the same thing--they feel justified in lashing out because the West has ignored them or run roughshod over them. That was the cry of the assassin standing over the Russian diplomat in Turkey. There is that sense in the Dylan Roof case--he killed, so now we kill him.
I remember a famous quotation from the Civil Rights era--"You blow up one of our churches, we blow up one of your rallies, 'til none of us have nothing left."
Is that really the best we can do?
In the middle of the night, so the story goes, the night was shattered by a tremendous tumult. But wait, it was not accompanied by sirens, police in riot gear, screaming children, cries of anguish, or tanks rolling in the streets. No, it was good news of great joy for all people. It was peace on earth and goodwill toward the world. It was simple joy for shepherds that then went and shared with everyone they could find.
This interruption revealed the power of love to transform and transcend all interactions. It was redemptive. Remember a woman caught in adultery? She was supposed to die to set the record straight. Jesus interrupted. He rewrote the script. He left everyone in a place where they could be redeemed--woman and crowd alike. They could all meet a new day, one where they could actually go and sin no more.
So, I walk into this Christmas Eve with that thought.
The child is born anew.
The slate is cleaned.
There is the real and actual possibility that we can lay down whatever stones we carry, and we can try a more excellent way.
But we have to hear the good news. We have to hear it as our own. We have to commit to reorienting our reactions and responses. We have to be willing to set aside the very human need for equalizing vengeance as justice.
We have to become Jesus.
If we can do so, then we can truly and actually bring good news of great joy to all the people.
Glory, alleluia!
During the PBS Mystery series, "Grantchester," Sidney, the priest-detective, remarks in the face a death penalty case, "Where does it end? Someone is killed, then we kill someone. That is not justice, that is simply the ongoing cycle of retribution and vengeance."
That got me to thinking about Christmas Eve.
We tend to do with the Nativity what we have done with Noah and the Ark--turn them into safe children's stories that we can decorate the nursery with. But as with Noah--the destruction of the earth because it was simply too evil to continue--the Nativity is a grown-up narrative of God's intervention into our very human world.
Colbert I. King, a columnist for the Washington Post, reflects on how Christmas Eve has changed for him as an adult. It was the vigil waiting Santa Claus when he was child, the wondrous night of expectation. But this year, as he worshipped in his Episcopal Church, he realized each candle of Advent was accompanied by a series of worldly atrocities. He missed the expectancy, but then saw that it was still there in the profound interruption of the good news in the darkness of the Roman world ("The World Is Full of Horror, so How Can We Hang onto Hope?," Washington Post, Dec. 24).
Is it there for you and me?
I fear our world is indeed caught in the web of retribution. I fear our own election season was simply a manifestation of some demand to set things right by punishing perceived takers who are ruining our status quo. If you pay attention to the terrorist's rationale you see the same thing--they feel justified in lashing out because the West has ignored them or run roughshod over them. That was the cry of the assassin standing over the Russian diplomat in Turkey. There is that sense in the Dylan Roof case--he killed, so now we kill him.
I remember a famous quotation from the Civil Rights era--"You blow up one of our churches, we blow up one of your rallies, 'til none of us have nothing left."
Is that really the best we can do?
In the middle of the night, so the story goes, the night was shattered by a tremendous tumult. But wait, it was not accompanied by sirens, police in riot gear, screaming children, cries of anguish, or tanks rolling in the streets. No, it was good news of great joy for all people. It was peace on earth and goodwill toward the world. It was simple joy for shepherds that then went and shared with everyone they could find.
This interruption revealed the power of love to transform and transcend all interactions. It was redemptive. Remember a woman caught in adultery? She was supposed to die to set the record straight. Jesus interrupted. He rewrote the script. He left everyone in a place where they could be redeemed--woman and crowd alike. They could all meet a new day, one where they could actually go and sin no more.
So, I walk into this Christmas Eve with that thought.
The child is born anew.
The slate is cleaned.
There is the real and actual possibility that we can lay down whatever stones we carry, and we can try a more excellent way.
But we have to hear the good news. We have to hear it as our own. We have to commit to reorienting our reactions and responses. We have to be willing to set aside the very human need for equalizing vengeance as justice.
We have to become Jesus.
If we can do so, then we can truly and actually bring good news of great joy to all the people.
Glory, alleluia!
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