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Christmas Day Meditation
Sermon by Cynthia A. Jarvis December 25, 2005, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill Isaiah 35:1-10 Luke 2:1-20
“O God what curious praise is ours for Jesus Christ” prays Arnold Kenseth. “A red tricycle for small and busy feet, skis for a boy to ride the wind, some perfumes for the body’s delight, a large check for sweet charity, two hundred Christmas cards signed ‘love’ by hand, letters to friends long lost in years ago, much weariness and ribbons and short tempers.” What curious praise on this Christmas morning is ours for Jesus Christ, most of us fresh from opening treasures left under the tree, wrapping paper strewn now wall to wall, presents presented with great anticipation and received here with delight or there with polite acknowledgement, Santa lauded for his uncanny insight into our wants: but what of our needs? All of this falderal, you may remember, is for the fact that in Jesus Christ God has given us the gift we have needed most from the moment we were born, has packaged in flesh the forgiveness we are unable to give ourselves--not to mention one another, has delivered us from the ancient loneliness no holiday party can address…and yet…and yet, God’s is the present we know least how to receive on Christmas morning. For how shall we receive the gift of being so loved, of being loved without condition when our every present, the truth be told, has some string attached, some expectation for the feeling returned with interest? How shall we believe that the God who has given us life and breath and set our feet on this ground as hard as stone has refused also to let us be, to let us go, to let us die forever without him? How shall we receive the love that the Christ child brings short of kneeling at his manger in the light of Christmas day and beseeching him now not according to our wants but according to our true need. Because, you see, in spite of the fact that though we may just have been given what we thought, throughout the season and according to the culture, was our heart’s desire, our hearts remain restless and still at a distance from the One who has been born for us this day. So in the first place, I recommend a silent moment or two in the hours before us be found to speak to this child we have forgotten in our rush to his manger. I suggest a searching of the heart that only he can scan to find the child in us who longs to be known truly, who would die to be found out in all our brokenness, in all our fears and so who would be known beneath the bravado, the arrogance, the anger, even the diffidence; who would be known so that we might live in the light of a love which sees us and accepts us just as we are. Dietrich Bonhoeffer in a letter to his best friend Eberhard Bethge on Christmas day reminds us that the angels summoned the crude shepherds to the manger “just as they were” in all their need and not knowing…and the angels summons us in the same way too. On bended knee in your mind, then, beseech this child not for the tangible things, but speak to him of the hope that is in you because he was born; whisper to the heavens now close at hand of the faith you cannot seem to muster in your reasonable mind; with sighs too deep for words ask him, simply ask him for the love our every conditioned gift to one another has failed to secure: the love which never quits, the love that knows no end. Love, you see, came down at Christmas and is, even now, seeking room in the inn of your heart. Give him, then, your heart in all of the heart’s not- knowing, not trusting, not believing, for it is the gift on his birthday he most desires. “I was always taught” writes Elise Patkotak, “that at a birthday party it was the honoree who got the presents and not the guests.” She then goes on to note that “There was no Christmas tree or snow in Bethlehem. There was no jolly fat man in a red suit riding on a sleigh. There were no reindeer or elves. There was a baby who came with a simple but powerful message about love and redemption and living a life dedicated to making the world a better place.” That is to say, the gift of your heart to him is not sweet sentiment—the sentiment that at most issues in a red tricycle for small and busy feet, skis for a boy to ride the wind, some perfume for the body’s delight, a large check for sweet charity, two hundred Christmas cards signed with ‘love’ by hand, letters to friends long lost in years ago, much weariness and ribbons and short tempers. No, the gift of your heart is the gift of a life given away for love’s sake, of the hours spent not counting the cost on behalf of the forgotten, the outcast, the prisoner, the poor, the hungry; the gift of your heart is the act of following this child into a world whose need requires of you the humanity He came to redeem for love’s sake. Therefore “If you want to hear the words Merry Christmas,” concludes Patkotak, “and have them hold the true meaning of the holiday, go down to your local shelter or soup kitchen and say it to all the people there. Then roll up your sleeves and pitch in to help. You will be closer to Christ and the meaning of Christmas there than you will ever be anywhere else in this town.” Patkotak’s town is Anchorage, Alaska where clearly the local café remains open even on Christmas day. So “when you are done,” she commands, “head to Café Loco and wish Bobbie a Merry Christmas while she warms you with a latte so she won’t be so lonely on the holiday.” Or try, instead, going down to your own kitchen table with all the relatives you have unsuccessfully tried to love but who need that love no less, need the love come down at Christmas as much as you. Try the sister-in-law who is trying herself, if you get my meaning; try the uncle who, through his stupor, in his heart once meant well; try the father whose critique is but cover for his longing to be relieved of all crustiness; try the mother in whose hold you first learned to trust; try the child whose tantrums testify to the restlessness within us all; try the neighbor who, like the poor, is always with you. For Christ’s sake, try to love one another, said John, knowing that all of our trying is in vein without Him. “O find in this” Kenseth prays at the end, “O find in this, dear Lord, our human hearts, our hope for [the world], our praise for thee! For we stumble in these busy ways and have a lonely carol to sing before the holy places. In Jesus’ name.” And I pray as well this Christmas day saying, O find in this, dear God, our poor lives unwrapped and offered up to thy throne of grace, on the birthday of thy son, just as we are. Merry Christmas! |