Reading: Luke 2:1-20 Christmas Eve, Year C
December 24, 2000
The Rev. Karen Siegfriedt
St. Jude the Apostle Church, Cupertino CA,
It is always a joy to see new faces, old faces, faces of friends and relatives who come to visit us at St. Jude's at Christmas time. Whoever you are, wherever you are on your journey of faith, you are welcomed here. Many of you have come to church tonight to reconnect with the familiar Christmas carols and stories that have been sung and told for centuries. And so we invite you to sing along, to listen, to pray, and to celebrate with us, this season of Light and Love.
I want to begin with a story. Now I am not sure whether it happened exactly this way but I do know that this story is true: It was one of those cold, winter, Christmas mornings. The sun had barely touched the horizon with its rays. Everyone in the house was still sleeping, even the cat. I could feel the radiator begin to emit waves of heat, but not before some loud clanging took place as the hot water hit the cold pipes. Gathering the courage to place my bare feet on the cold wooden floor, I finally ventured out of bed, slipped on my sweats and slippers, and creaked down the staircase, hoping not to disturb anyone else.
The Christmas tree that year was grand. Ornaments, lights, tinsel, and a large star filled the tree. There were presents everywhere. Some were wrapped in white tissue paper, some wrapped in shiny gold paper, and others wrapped in different colors, all decorated with bows and ribbons. But in the corner of the room, over to the side of the tree, there was an average sized box, wrapped with plain brown wrapping paper. Being of a curious nature, I hurried over to the corner and noticed that the package had my name on it. In a moment of spontaneous desire and passionate curiosity, I did what no one was supposed to do. I opened the box right then and there!
After carefully tearing off the brown paper wrapping, I popped open the lid of the box. Underneath a few pieces of white tissue paper, was a book with a worn leather cover and yellowing pages. I carefully removed the book from the box and noticed a purple ribbon marking a page. I opened up the book and began to read. The story was a simple story about the birth of a Palestinian Jew that occurred some two thousand years ago. There were only a few details about the actual birth of this baby although the story did provide some details about the surroundings. The place was Bethlehem, an area occupied by the Roman Empire. The parents were obviously poor. The nursery was a stable and the cradle was a feeding trough- a heck of way to enter this world.
As I continued to read page after page, what struck me about the story was that it was a story of hope. In this story, there was room for everyone. There was room for the shepherds, a despised group of shiftless wanderers who grazed their sheep on other people's property. They came to pay homage to the baby. There was room in this story for the angels, messengers of God who constantly remind us that God is with us.
As the baby grew into adulthood, the story said that he made room for others who like the shepherds, were relegated to the margins of society. In this story, there was room for the untouchables, those with skin diseases, those who bled, those who were of other religions and races. In this story, there was room for the poor. They were viewed as objects of God's grace, rather than as misfortunates who were being punished for their sins. In this story, there was room for the sick. They were looked upon with compassion rather than feared and quarantined. In this story, everyone was considered a neighbor, not just the person who lived next door or those who looked and thought in similar ways. In this story, humility and simplicity were valued over power and wealth. In this story, money was to be shared generously and not hoarded. In this story, offering one's life for the well being of humanity was something to be celebrated, not feared. In this story, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control, were the greatest gifts that one could ever receive.
The story of Christmas is the story God has been trying to tell us since the beginning of time. It is a story of hope for the human race. Why is it a story of hope? It is a story of hope because when the human heart is transformed with love, then the wealth of the world is distributed in such a way that the hungry are fed and the poor are lifted up. The Christmas story is a story of hope because when the human heart is transformed with love, good stewardship of the earth is embraced as a sacred obligation where people care for our natural resources and creatures the same way as a mother cares for her children. The Christmas story is a story of hope because when the human heart is transformed with love, there is no room for fear to cause strife, war, and power struggles. The Christmas story is a story of hope because when the human heart is transformed with love, we know without hesitation, that with God all things are possible and so miracles can be expected.
I quietly closed the cover of the worn leather book and placed it back in the box. I could then feel my heart swell with hope. I had gotten a glimpse of what this world could be if we would allow the power of love to transform the human heart. So my charge to you on this holy Eve of Christmas, is to let this Christmas story fill your heart with hope and love. Let the light of Christ illuminate the darkness and heal your pain. And then expect a miracle. For with God, all things are possible.
| Updated 12/26/00 |
|