Sermon, Christmas Eve - Watchnight, 2015

picture from http://stushieart.com/nativity-art/

It is a story both ordinary
and extraordinary.
Deeply profound,
yet stunningly simple.
Come.
Come to Bethlehem.
Come.
Come and behold him:
born the King of angels.
Come, let us adore him...

In a small, overlooked, largely ignored town -
the kind of place where, it seems,
nothing ever really happens,
on one particular night
the place is hooching and teeming
with vast crowds of people.
People, who, having left the town
where nothing much ever happened,
happen to come back,
because, on a whim,
the great and powerful overlord:
Augustus, Emperor of Rome,
decides that he wants to count
everything he has:
to take stock...
Indeed, all around the Roman Empire,
there is a large movement of people:
a movement of the less great,
the less powerful.
All are obliged to travel to their
home towns to register -
to be counted, along with the sheep, the cattle, gold, silver,
wheat, wine, and any other thing
that needs counting.

But this particular backwater town,
in a backwater province
on the edge of the Empire,
is poised to move
from obscurity
into history.
Prophets had spoken of it:
that out of little, ordinary Bethlehem,
something quite extraordinary would come.

Two ordinary, everyday people,
travelling from Nazareth
are caught up in the great counting exercise.
He: a tradesman - a carpenter.
She: pregnant before marriage.
He: initially dubious of the parentage,
but now standing by her.
She: ready to go into labour at any moment.
He: anxious.
Both: exhausted and seeking a place to stay.
And there is nowhere.
Every room is booked,
every nook and cranny filled.

Desperate, they knock on one last door.
There is no room.
And then, perhaps,
seeing her condition,
their desperation,
pity mingles with embarrassment
as he offers them space
to sleep among the animals.
It is rough, crude, shelter.
Ordinary.
No.
Much less than that.
Humble.
But it will do.
And as they begin to settle amongst
the straw and smell,
the baby begins to make its way
into the muck and mire of the byre
pushing its way out into the world.
Just another child.
Like every other child.
Ordinary.
But not quite.
For angels foretold this birth to her...
and to him.
Ordinary, yet extraordinary.
God of God
light of light
Very God - begotten not created
Come, let us adore him...

And shepherds - ordinary, everyday, workaday men -
men shunned by good, religious folk -
are visited by angels and told the news.
The herald angels don’t sing ‘hark!’
to high priest, or king...
The privileged, the ones of rank,
are the last to find out that something of interest may have happened.
God-in-flesh-appearing
arrives in the everyday goings on of the ordinary.

After ordinary shepherds are serenaded
by the extraordinary heavenly host of angels,
they drop everything and take up the invitation to:
‘come and behold him’
They join the heavenly song,
giving glory to God in the highest
as they greet the ordinary couple
with the new-born child,
who is resting in a food-trough.
A strange throne for the King of angels,
the King of Heaven:
God’s promised Messiah.

Much later, this seemingly ordinary,
yet somehow extraordinary child
will receive other visitors,
who want to come and adore him;
and his parents will accept strange
and beautiful gifts from them.

...But on this night,
heaven breaks into earth with his birth.
Hope springs up, where once it was lost.
This is the night of promise fulfilled -
of the long time of waiting, over.
This is the night where ordinary
becomes extraordinary;
where the less great,
the less powerful
are celebrated and lifted high -
where old definitions of power and importance
are defined anew.

This is the night,
this is the time,
that we tell the Christmas story once again;
where we remember that:
We were heavy with sorrow, 
but joy interrupted.
We were deep in the night, 
but a star appeared.
We were silent with sadness, 
but the heavens rang.
    And the splendour shone around them
    When the time had fully come.

We were hardened by conflict, 
but love intervened.
We were frightened by shadows, 
but light took them away.
We were haunted by fears, 
but a child brought us hope.
            And Mary laid him in a manger
            When the time had fully come.

We were dismal and defeated, 
but faith set us on fire.
We were weary and complaining, 
but our hearts discovered praise.
We were doubtful and confused, 
but a door to life was opened.
            And the guiding star went before them
            When the time had fully come.

We were arrogant and angry, 
but his innocence disarmed us.
We were cruel, crude, and clumsy, 
but his grace made all things new.
We were selfish, narrow, greedy, 
but his joy we had to share.
        And they offered him their treasured gifts
        When the time had fully come.

We were sheep who had lost their way, 
but the shepherd knew our names.
We were strangers without a country, 
but our kingdom came to us.
We were children far from home, 
but God sent his Son to guide.
            And the Word was flesh among us
            When the time had fully come.
                            [written by Kenneth I. Morse, from “In Straw and Story]

It is a story both ordinary
and extraordinary.
Deeply profound,
yet stunningly simple.
Come.
Come to Bethlehem.
Come.
Come and behold him:
born the King of angels.
Come, let us adore him...

This is the night,
the morning,
where we tell the Christmas story once again:
where we sing with angels,
and welcome the Christ-child
into our hearts and homes once more...
This is the time when we sing:
‘Yea, Lord, we greet thee,
born for our salvation;
Jesus, to thee be glory given:
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing...
Oh come let us adore Him,
Oh come let us adore Him,
O come, let us adore Him, Christ The Lord.’ Amen.