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It feels strange to be celebrating Christmas away from All Saints' Cathedral. I just realized today all the things I'll miss...the beautiful space, the glorious singing, the rich vestments, I'll miss kneeling in the near-dark, illuminated only by candles, singing Silent Night (or at least the first verse, until I get too choked up to sing). And I'll miss the people who were such a huge part of my spiritual development and such good friends...family, really. Of course St. Anne's has become family, too, and we'll be doing many of the same things. But I'll always have strong memories of ASC as the most perfect place for Christmas Eve. I'll be preaching in a couple hours...here's my sermon. (I think this is a first for me...y'all will see my sermon before it passes my lips. I hope it's not lousy.) You might recognize some of the themes from an earlier entry. The text is, naturally, Luke 2:8-20. I don't know about you, but I have to admit that this past Advent season has been anything but peaceful and contemplative. I've been rushing to finish the school term, writing papers and studying for exams. I had interviews for internships and various applications for various positions. My mother visited, so I knew that I had to buy her Christmas presents early, plus shopping for everyone else, and on and on. Your life is probably just as hurried and just as stressful. It can be difficult enough dealing with our own troubles, yet all of this happens against a backdrop of concern for the world around us; continuing violence in Iraq and the Holy Land, the prospect of Canada left to stand alone in Afghanistan, earthquakes and hurricanes that have devastated communities and shattered lives, and here in our own city we're about to close the book on the most violent year in recent memory, a year that saw the chaos of street warfare raging right up to the doors of the church. In such a world it can seem as if there is no hope, no love left that can overcome our self-destruction. Where is the good will toward men? In the midst of this, as I said, my mother visited. Amy and I went to meet her at the airport, where we discovered that her flight had been delayed. There's little to do at 9pm in Terminal Two, so Amy and I spent a lot of time watching passengers emerge from the arrivals gate. As we watched I remembered some advice I heard in a movie � when you feel like the world has become entirely cruel and heartless, when it just seems like people don't love each other any more, go to an airport arrivals gate and watch people greet loved ones. You see people you don't know, who normally would exist only on the fringes of your notice, but when they walk down that ramp they're the centre of someone's universe. The love is amazing and obvious. Excited children, open arms, kisses and hugs, backslaps and smiles. There's something very beautiful in the sight of a reunion, be it family, lovers or friends, and the arrivals gate is the perfect place to watch it happen. If you have any empathy at all you'll leave there knowing that the world isn't such a bad place. Tonight we're gathered at another sort of arrivals gate; it's not an airport terminal, but rather a humble manger. Here we'll witness the most important arrival in human experience, the long-awaited arrival of Jesus. He comes as King, Saviour, Son of God. His ministry, death and resurrection will forever shatter the powers of earth and forever change our relationship with God. This is an arrival of the highest importance, the coming of a King so mighty that you'd expect trumpets and festivals and lavish gifts. There should be crowds awaiting the moment when the Prince of Peace steps into his kingdom. Indeed, in many places today we see just that � the king's followers gather in triumphal celebration to honour his arrival. But at that first arrival, in the humble manger, there was no crowd. Only the child, his mother and her husband. It wasn't a grand affair; it was held in what would today be the barn. They were off to the side, where the animals were fed and housed, the leftover space at the fringe of human life. And who visited the new king? One account says that magi, wise men from the east, off the edges of the map, came to pay their respects. We'll get to them in a few days. Tonight there is only the family, mother and child in the fist breathless moment of life, and a group of simple shepherds. Due to the very nature of their work, shepherds live on the fringes of human society. They inhabit the wide, open spaces left over between cities and towns, as the gospel says "living in the fields." They are somewhat apart, caring for their flocks outside the normal traffic of human life. It is these shepherds from the fringe that God invited to be first witnesses of the new born king. When the shepherds arrive at the manger, they're overjoyed. They begin to excitedly describe how the angel told them about this new king. Their reaction of joyful praise and proclamation reminds me strongly of a family we saw at the airport. A young couple came down the ramp, the woman with a newborn baby in her arms. From off to one side the waiting family erupted in cheers and shouts of joy. They had never before seen the child. Of course, in this internet age, they must have seen pictures, heard her cooing and crying over the phone�but now they could see and touch her themselves, hold her and kiss her. They were living first hand the joy that they'd felt when they heard the news � a new baby in the family! The child had moved from the edges of their knowledge to be the centre of their attention. Likewise the shepherds, told in advance what they would find, hurried to the manger to see and touch first hand the newborn king. Like the family at the airport, the shepherds rejoiced "for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them." We're here tonight for much the same reason. We're here to witness the birth of Christ into the world. No, there's no manger or pregnant virgin, though we do have plaster representations of them. And there's no chorus of angels, though our choir does a very good job of approximating the angelic host. We're looking for the king in a different sort of manger. When Jesus first entered the world he was off on the edge, tucked away in the barn, pretty much unknown save for the holy family and the few witnesses that God called. Those few who were present at his birth, and those he later taught and healed, were invited to place this new king at the centre of their lives. They were invited to move the manger from the fringes of human life to the centre of the human heart. We are the spiritual descendants of those shepherds, invited also to place Christ at our centre and to become, in essence, a manger for the baby. You're looking for the newborn king? You're looking for the Christ? Look around you � he is here, born anew in every one of us. We are all mangers; we are all arrival gates for Christ. Nobody knew this better than Our Lady, Jesus' mother. Of all the people invited to place Christ at the centre of their lives, Mary was the first. She had carried the child willingly, nurtured him in a relationship so profound that only a mother could possibly understand, and when he was born she carefully wrapped him in bands of cloth, nursed him and loved him. And when the shepherds showed up, rejoicing and praising the child, she remained calm. When the family at the airport was shouting and carrying on, celebrating the new child, the mother simply smiled. Grandparents and parents, and brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles all gathered around her, hoping for a glimpse of the child in her arms. Meanwhile she was serene, perhaps amused at their fervour, perhaps a bit amazed. Likewise Mary, hearing the outpouring of praise for her son, "treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart." So it is for us. As we celebrate the birth of Christ, the miraculous incarnation of Emmanuel � God With Us � we respond like the shepherds with hymns of triumph and praise and rejoicing. We are called to emulate those shepherds who left the manger "glorifying and praising God." And if we have truly placed Christ at our centre, if we are ready to be Jesus' manger, then we also respond with Mary's quiet pondering. What does this mean for me? How will I serve as Christ's arrival gate? How will I present the Son of God to the fringes of our world? If we can do this, if we can stop in the hurry and stress of our lives and ponder our role as messengers and bearers of Christ, if we can stop and treasure the arrival of Jesus into our lives, then we'll see that the world is not past saving. We'll see that God's love is present and recognized every time two old friends greet one another, and every time a little girl greets her father at the airport. Christ is with us now, born into us at the centre of our being. |
