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Christmas Eve Homily
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24 December 2009 When our daughter-in-law, Emily, arrived with Jeffry very late Tuesday night, one of her first acts was to place a single coconut, adorned with a bright red Christmas bow, under the Christmas tree. It’s a long-standing McConnell tradition, she tells me...but not a word more. I’m sure we will hear the full story tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we share in a tradition whose roots are entirely outside our own particular traditions...just as Emily and Kate are learning the vagaries of the Deckenback-Roberts traditions. And of course, those traditions come from our families and so on. We could run a genealogy on traditions that would put Matthew’s begats to shame. For the most part, they are wonderful ways of connecting us with our own history, and there is much to be said for them. If ever there was a season for traditions, this is it. To the point that we now hear radio programs focused on the idea that celebrating and exchanging gifts can be a tradition in its own right–no need for religious underpinnings. I don’t begrudge people the opportunity to celebrate and exchange gifts; it would be a blessing all around to do more of that. But it’s important–especially for us Christians–to remember that Christmas happens regardless of our traditions. Christmas happens whether or not we exchange or celebrate anything. God’s presence among us does not depend on wired bows, eco-friendlier LED lights, a perfectly-cooked goose, or even the most exhilarating rendition of The Messiah. Christmas is all about a particular story that has been part of our tradition for over 2000 years...the story of a family, the story of a birth, the story of the particular way in which God chooses to enter into human history. So let us re-visit this story, which in Luke’s telling, begins in the world of power and politics, a story never far from any of us who live within a commute of Washington D.C. A decree goes out from Caesar Augustus, who declares that the entire Roman Empire should take part in a census. Even though Joseph is now living in Nazareth, he and his late-term fiancee make the roughly week-long trip to Bethlehem to be registered. And here we run into a rather interesting piece of tradition. Tradition has it that Joseph and Mary are put up in a barn because the local inn–which we in the twenty-first century tend to hear as a quaint version of ‘motel’–has run out of rooms. Only this isn’t exactly what Luke actually says. Because in this particular setting, Luke is talking about a family guest room–the place where family guests are housed when they visit. And that room is already full...suggesting that Joseph comes from such a large family that they’ve already filled up the guest room. But as Richard Swanson comments, “there is always room for family. The only question is how. In Luke’s story [Joseph’s] family appears to live in one of the old, traditional houses...that shelter[s] not only the people of the family, but also their animals.”[1,76] The arrangements may not be ideal, but even today, it is still the norm for families to accommodate their members. That’s what happens here. Which is to say, that even as the macro world of power and politics shapes some of the specifics of a family story, other specifics come from within the family itself. Jesus isn’t born on a desert island apart from kith and kin, nor is he born in an anonymous hotel. He is born into an extended family that figures out how to offer basic hospitality to its members even when the family is over-extended. In Luke, Jesus’ birth isn’t about mangers and sheep and cows; it’s about God’s gift of incarnation, of God’s living presence with us in a form we call our own, and in circumstances influenced by, but well removed from powers and principalities. So within this tradition-laden time, enjoy the ribboned coconuts, the magic and the fantasy[2]. As it is given to you, enjoy family in the way that has the most meaning for you–immediate or extended, birth-related or chosen, knowing that in some form, it is within family that it is possible to feel God’s living, loving presence entering our hearts. Within this tradition-laden time, hear also the song of the angels who announce that with a single baby’s cry comes good news of great joy. We are not alone; God indeed is with us, and we are a part of the family. *** [1] Swanson, Richard W. Provoking the Gospel of Luke, The Pilgrim Press, © 2006. |