So this year I am faced, as a minister, with the daunting task
of coming up with a message of goodwill and hope that does not sound trite or stupidly optimistic or has
not been said a hundred times before.
In one of the resources I have been using this Advent, it
advises that preachers should just let the story tell itself. The Christmas
story is certainly one of originality as divine incarnation finds its
expression amongst an occupied nation, and it sits within the history and
expectations of a people who have known great heights and terrible lows in the
preceding centuries. While pointing to the future, the authors of the Christmas
narratives contextualise them for their present and use the past to help
interpret them.
In the readings we have been hearing from the Old
Testament, Isaiah speaks of hope for a people who had known what it was to live
in an occupied land, a people who had walked in the darkness of those days. He speaks
of a sign for a new period of hopefulness under a new king who is yet to be
born. That hope of centuries earlier is carried into the gospel of Luke where
Romans occupy the land, and that provides the context of Jesus’ birth.
In our own current state of political turmoil, pandemics
and the ongoing fallout from national disasters, where a culture of blaming the
other has led to inaction and a shameless irresponsibility amongst our leaders,
the story of new hope found in the birth of Jesus is a story that reveals a
different and just kind of world. It needs to be told over and over again, to
let its message of justice, peace, fairness and hope for the human race and the
world sink in.
But it doesn’t stop there. We have an obligation to do more
than just tell the story. This celebration of the event of incarnation amidst
angelic choirs and visiting shepherds is a moment of joyous and uplifting
transformation. But if we forget that transformation by Boxing Day then all we
are left with is an empty ritual, no matter how joyful and uplifting it was in
the moment.
So Christmas is not just about a baby in a nativity scene.
It’s about a whole new way of seeing the world, a world where wholeness, peace,
joy and hope can be available for all people.
A minister friend of mine, Phil Newton, describes Christmas
as:
that which makes us more human in the midst of the dehumanising powers of the world…[and gives] a fractured glimpse of the heart of all things.
I really like the concept here of "a fractured glimpse of the heart of all things". We can never hope to understand or see the mystery of Christmas clearly and articulate it in plain and logical words. But to catch a glimpse, even a glimpse distorted by the lenses we wear, may be just enough to catch something of the divine hope that there is an inherent sense of goodness and purpose in us and our lives and that can still transform us and our world for the better.
Phil also goes on to draw parallels between the time this
story was written and now, saying that Christmas
looked like an unwed refugee's
baby son, born into an occupied land. It was a whispered hope that life was
worth the investment. It was the gift of peace to the lost and the downtrodden.
It was a glimpse of the divine drawn near to us that we might draw near to the
divine.
In the gospel stories, the refugee babe grows into a man who confronts and challenges, heals and restores, teaches and encourages. Might not that give hope to those incarcerated or trapped in refugee camps, who are in war torn lands or who live in poverty?
The
story of the incarnation is a door opening to a kingdom ethic that can help
guide our faith and discipleship for the year to come. We can make a deliberate
investment not only in our lives, but in the lives of those who need those who can to speak justice, peace, hope, love and joy into the noise and find ways to challenge and transform the unjust structures of our world.
And just maybe, as we ponder the Christmas story's mysteries and paradoxes,
we might just find its flickering flame and fragile hope and draw closer to
the divine.
