A Larger Birth                                                  --from the Pastor

We weep because the night is long,

  We laugh for day shall rise,

We sing a slow contented song

  And knock at Paradise.

Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept

  For us, we hold Him fast;

And will not let Him go except

  He bless us first or last.

Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;

  We will not let Him go

Till daybreak smite our wearied sight

  And summer smite the snow:

Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove

  Shall coo the livelong day;

Then He shall say, 'Arise, My love,

  My fair one, come away.'                   --Christina Rossetti, from her poem, “Advent”

            A waiting empty manger, shepherds gazing at the skies, candles catching flame in the cold and dark, a strong and curious voice in the wilderness crying out, “Make ready, make ready!”  These are the images of Advent: of expectant parents, a tiny flickering light, and the world preparing itself for God’s in-breaking, earthly presence.  It is very different from the messages of the secular world: instant gratification, insignificance, meaninglessness, hostility, superficiality, or rampant, hurtful over-consumption.  We mark the Sundays prior to the birth of God’s Son year after year to remind ourselves of God’s hopes and dreams for our world.  This birth is fraught with danger and joy, as all births are.  But it is also a larger birth that we await and celebrate: not just that of a small child, but the beginnings of new life and new stirrings within our very own lives.  The Advent of Jesus is the advent of a God-shaped life within our own circumstances, whatever they may be. We celebrate a larger birth and a larger truth: we celebrate nothing less than God’s love born into the world in every nook and cranny, attic and basement, dark alley and war-torn valley.

 

            True, sometimes it is hard to see this.  Sometimes you have to lean your ear closely against the doors of your heart and the heart of others just to catch small intimations of the Mystery.  I remember when my grandfather became gravely ill and entered the hospital in the weeks prior to Christmas.  I was six years old.  We had presents already wrapped under the tree, decorations hanging all over the house, and fun holiday parties to attend.  Then, suddenly, it was as if everything stopped, including time.  The living room, where the tree stood, was shrouded in darkness.  My parents spoke in hushed and quiet voices that we children could not understand.  There were lots of trips to and from the hospital which was over an hour’s drive from our home.  The atmosphere inside our house was so very different from the world outside.  Gaiety gave way to gravity. We did not go to church; we did not sing carols in the car; we carefully crept around the darkness.  It was surreal.  At least this is what I remember.

 

            But then somehow, someway Christmas took shape, substance, and form.  My folks found a way to light the tree, to place ribbons on packages, to bake cookies and gather firewood, to gather with family and friends, and to hold loved ones close.  No doubt, my folks probably went through these rituals for my cousins, my brother and me.  No doubt, they struggled deeply with the absence of my grandfather.  No doubt, the holidays were not the same as in past years.

 

            Still, in moving through those strange weeks prior to Christmas, and in clinging to each other, we found something to celebrate, honor, and cherish.  Gravity gave way, if not to gaiety, then to a lighter spirit.  Some dream that God had for us was coming to fruition, some small hope for our family had descended into our darkness and began to flicker and grow, some force was gently pulling us back into community, keeping us from desperate isolation, sustaining our faith, healing our hurts, and giving us strength for the present and future.

 

            Friends, the Advent of Christ did not just happen long ago to a bunch of strangers in a desert.  The Advent of Christ happens within you.  And here’s the thing: God grows within you, both in season and out of season.  God takes the risk to be born in unfavorable conditions in and with a half-hearted people who can not yet see the vision that God sees.  That’s the miracle: that God does not disdain or abandon us.  And here’s another miracle to ponder: somewhere in the world this year, God has inspired someone to make Christmas for someone else, to point to a blazing and guiding light, and to take those first tentative steps towards a horizon that seems so very far away. 

 

This Christmas, may that someone be you.

 

May you and yours have a blessed Advent,

a peace-filled Christmas,

and a joyful New Year!

 

In Christ,

 

 

Rev Dee