A few years ago my husband and I had the opportunity to make a pilgrimage, joining with thousands of others doing the same. We participated in the annual ritual for New Englanders and world travelers alike driving north from Boston to take in the spectacle of the changing leaves. Appreciating the brilliant hues of red and orange and yellow, we marveled with all the other “leaf peepers” at the natural beauty of the region.
As many of us know, making such a pilgrimage also involves some other quaint New England traditions. Before we knew it, Matthew and I found ourselves participating in one of them as we combed through a large antique store filled with consignments of every kind. Surrounded by other wandering weekenders we searched for priceless treasures, hoping for the find of a lifetime that would have us featured on some antiques program like the Road Show.
Browsing carefully, it was about fifteen minutes into our “hunt” that I spotted a treasure. There above an array of blue glass dishes and old pewter bowls was the nativity scene made up of figures about two and three feet high. I couldn’t quite reach them to feel their weight, but the colors were deep and a few scratches only added to their charm – the chip on Mary’s nose clearly patchable with a little modeling clay. Even better, the price was right. The vendor’s tag read simply, “Church Nativity Set: $45.”
I quickly found Matthew in a nearby stall of old comic books and pulled him over, saying, “You’ve got to come check this out. I’ve found something that would be great for my office.” He knows, you see, that in a minister’s life there’s no end to the use of good Christian kitsch and so he came over to take a look. “It’s nice,” he said. “It looks a lot like the one we used to have in the church where I grew up.” Then he added, turning to look at me strangely, “But where is Jesus?”
Where is Jesus? What was he talking about?
I looked at that pastoral scene and then at Matthew and back again and sure enough, baby Jesus was missing. Joseph stood over an empty trough and Mary gazed reverently at only painted straw. There was no Christ child lying in the manger – and I hadn’t even noticed.
Tonight we gather to make sure that Jesus is not missing from our Christmas celebrations. Making our pilgrimage to this house of faith we step away from all our other holiday traditions and the frenetic pace of this season’s festivities to put at the center of this sacred day the Christ child, God incarnate. Gathering to hear stories of faith and to sing songs of yearning we pause to remember that even in our darkest hours God is present, reaching out with patient and enduring love. “Do not be afraid,” we hear the angels say to Mary and then to the shepherds. “For we bring you good news of great joy for all people: to you is born this day a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”
Certainly this is what we need to hear tonight. Like our ancestors of ancient times as well as of more recent generations we come seeking peace in a time of war, hope for places of devastation, love where hatred gives life to only fear, terror and greed. Disillusioned by the ruthlessness of human nature we come looking for One who can lead us to be reconciled to God and to one another, asking ourselves this night, can we, on this Christmas pilgrimage, find Jesus? Dare we admit that our Savior has gone missing from our lives?
Oh, baby Jesus, helpless child wrapped in bands of cloth: Where are you? How have we misplaced your Spirit of mercy and love?
Looking for the Christ child this Christmas Eve we find ourselves beckoned to Easter, called not to travel to Bethlehem first but rather to Calvary, where God’s redemptive presence is most fully revealed. There, at the cross, we see a birth like no other, as the death of Jesus leads ultimately to the resurrection of Christ. It is a scene filled with radical contradictions, where brutality is met by forgiveness, ridicule quelled with compassion, death defied by triumphant and eternal new life. Searching for hope on the Friday we dare to call “good” we find the worst of our human capacities transformed by God. “Do not be afraid,” the angel says to the women at the empty tomb and to us. “I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised.”
Yes, traveling to Calvary we find Christ in magnificent form, realizing Christmas is a time to receive God’s gift of salvation, as that priceless Easter treasure is what lies in the manger. Gathering beneath the cross we remember that in celebrating this birth we rejoice in the resurrection, eager, then, to offer God our worship and praise. As inconceivable as it may seem, this is how God’s revelation unfolds. Christmas – like Easter – turns the world upside down. Christmas – like Easter – invites us all to be part of the story.
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord,” Mary says upon hearing the miraculous news Gabriel brings to her. She says “yes” to God’s gift of grace, offering her very self as a vessel for the life of Christ. Then Joseph says yes, then the shepherds and the wise men. Over and over again people respond positively to God’s offer of transforming grace, putting their trust in God’s power, staking their lives on God’s plan. The stories go on through the gospels as one by one by one people arrive – lepers and prostitutes, tax collectors and Samaritans– all with the hope of finding a Savior. They were looking for God’s mercy and acceptance, God’s healing and redemption, and they found it in Jesus.
Now it is our turn. Moving through the centuries the Christian story carries on, offering you and me the chance to participate in God’s radical plan. For as we move from Calvary to Bethlehem tonight we see the transcendent Christ as an innocent child and realize we are invited to embrace him, to hold his truth, to adore his presence. Helpless, that precious infant invites caring. Humble, he welcomes acceptance. Homeless, he seeks shelter and love. Born of a woman, our God leads us to be instruments of salvation, joining us together as one human family where mercy is offered without pretense or prejudice, without privilege or pride. Christ comes to this earth in humble and human form, welcoming each of us to participate in the miraculous unfolding of God’s loving and just realm.
There’s another nativity set that comes to my mind tonight, an image from my childhood. Every year we’d set out the family crèche on a table in the living room, each figure put carefully in what we considered its most proper place. There were pebbles to scatter and a large, mountain-like piece of wood to set behind the stable. It was a crèche – perhaps like one you grew up with – that was part of the many special traditions of our Christmastide.
That is, until one year when the scene was altered. Unlike that set I saw in Southern Maine with Jesus missing, our cast of characters began to grow. First it was a little purple anteater, just the size of the sheep. Then Wylie Coyote arrived, perched on the rooftop, his arms outstretched with glee. For several weeks various plastic figures appeared, little green soldiers and cartoon characters standing alongside the shepherds and wise men as my little brother, Will, added his influence to that holy scene. Only four years old he didn’t realize that our nativity set was already complete. To him these toys were welcomed and each one of them belonged.
Of course. God’s vision is always unfolding. The scene at the manger is never complete as even tonight our gathering testifies to the miraculous way the Christian story carries on. Through the child in the manger we’re drawn together this night in unity and love – despite our differences and diversity, because of our differences and diversity – recognizing together our common bond and deepest human needs. We are the Church, in all its glory, in all its failings, realizing, as in the words of the great theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “The Church is nothing but a section of humanity in which Christ has really taken form. The Church is the man [or woman] in Christ, incarnate, sentenced and awakened to new life.”
Yes, we gather here tonight as a testament to the living faith we receive in Jesus Christ, the humble child, the radiant Savior, celebrating the One who comes to bring justice and peace to this broken world. We come, one by one by one, to receive God’s light and to lift that light up to the world.
Thanks be to God!
Amen.