Silent Night, Holy Night
One of the regular worship services during Advent in my last parish was one named The Longest Night, which, as you might guess, occurred on December 21, the longest night of the year. It began out of recognition that for some folks, the holiday season's gaiety and almost forced exuberance left them empty. Loss knows no season. Family dysfunction can manifest any time family is suddenly together a lot more than usual. Some folks just get weary of the marketed giddiness of buying each December. Others want to experience the quiet and peace that ironically resounds in the Nativity narratives of Matthew and Luke. And still others want only a true and real experience of the light that John describes as the hallmark of the Word made Flesh.
I have never found such a service depressing. Rather, it has always been a profound moment of contemplation on the most powerful message of Christmas--God is with us, in full communion with us in our utter weakness and frailty, not to disparage, but to redeem.
In this regard, Matthew tells his version of Christ's birth--God enters human existence in the midst of humanity gone a bit berserk and a little mad. We don't use Matthew's nativity much because of its violence when a mad king seeks to eliminate all rivals in the most heinous of actions--the wanton murder of little ones. Yet, the miracle of Christ is precisely that it is into the most extreme of human reactions that God comes. God unites with those most deeply hurt, abused, and neglected so God's grace can be known to any and all human beings in whatever predicament they find themselves.
Think for a moment about some of the most popular Christmas movies abounding on TV at the moment. "Christmas with the Kranks"--one man decides to opt out of the mad dash with nearly disastrous results. Jim Carrey's version of "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" positively revels in the dysfunction of the modern Christmas. "Christmas Vacation" is a riot of familial dysfunction. It seems we all know there is a little broken in all of us.
God is with us.
Which brings us to the simple, minimalistic beauty of "A Charlie Brown Christmas." The light begins to shine in the darkness when Linus retells the Christmas story from Luke. But notice that it doesn't fully enter the stage until nearly the last breath. Charlie Brown, heartened by the good news of great joy for all people takes his miserable little tree home, but then almost destroys it when he adds a Christmas ornament to it--the infusion of Christmas as it is nearly snuffs out Christmas as it should be. Then comes the miracle. Linus, the greatest of all 20th Century theologians, brings Christ to the moment, resurrecting the little tree with what he calls "a little love," inspiring the kids to all transform and transcend the little tree into a glorious light for the world on a cold, cold night.
And we all shed a sympathetic tear because we know what it's like to feel overwhelmed, overwrought, and overdone by it all.
We need times like the Longest Night to reveal again and anew to us the transformative power of Jesus. It is into our darkness--private and public--that the light of Christ shines most fully. Jesus is no less than God's own dose of "a little love" that allows our true and essential nature to come forth.
Don't be afraid of the dark.
Remember the repeated words of the angel in both Christmas narratives, "Fear not!"
If your church or a congregation near you offers a Longest Night, Blue Christmas, or Service of Hope and Healing this Advent, don't be shy. It will be within such a service that the love that is Christ will blaze most gloriously.
Let it shine in you and through you as you meet with compassion, grace, and mercy, the greatest gifts of this season.
I have never found such a service depressing. Rather, it has always been a profound moment of contemplation on the most powerful message of Christmas--God is with us, in full communion with us in our utter weakness and frailty, not to disparage, but to redeem.
In this regard, Matthew tells his version of Christ's birth--God enters human existence in the midst of humanity gone a bit berserk and a little mad. We don't use Matthew's nativity much because of its violence when a mad king seeks to eliminate all rivals in the most heinous of actions--the wanton murder of little ones. Yet, the miracle of Christ is precisely that it is into the most extreme of human reactions that God comes. God unites with those most deeply hurt, abused, and neglected so God's grace can be known to any and all human beings in whatever predicament they find themselves.
Think for a moment about some of the most popular Christmas movies abounding on TV at the moment. "Christmas with the Kranks"--one man decides to opt out of the mad dash with nearly disastrous results. Jim Carrey's version of "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" positively revels in the dysfunction of the modern Christmas. "Christmas Vacation" is a riot of familial dysfunction. It seems we all know there is a little broken in all of us.
God is with us.
Which brings us to the simple, minimalistic beauty of "A Charlie Brown Christmas." The light begins to shine in the darkness when Linus retells the Christmas story from Luke. But notice that it doesn't fully enter the stage until nearly the last breath. Charlie Brown, heartened by the good news of great joy for all people takes his miserable little tree home, but then almost destroys it when he adds a Christmas ornament to it--the infusion of Christmas as it is nearly snuffs out Christmas as it should be. Then comes the miracle. Linus, the greatest of all 20th Century theologians, brings Christ to the moment, resurrecting the little tree with what he calls "a little love," inspiring the kids to all transform and transcend the little tree into a glorious light for the world on a cold, cold night.
And we all shed a sympathetic tear because we know what it's like to feel overwhelmed, overwrought, and overdone by it all.
We need times like the Longest Night to reveal again and anew to us the transformative power of Jesus. It is into our darkness--private and public--that the light of Christ shines most fully. Jesus is no less than God's own dose of "a little love" that allows our true and essential nature to come forth.
Don't be afraid of the dark.
Remember the repeated words of the angel in both Christmas narratives, "Fear not!"
If your church or a congregation near you offers a Longest Night, Blue Christmas, or Service of Hope and Healing this Advent, don't be shy. It will be within such a service that the love that is Christ will blaze most gloriously.
Let it shine in you and through you as you meet with compassion, grace, and mercy, the greatest gifts of this season.
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