This is one of my favorite evening services of the year. Of course, we don’t have all that many evening services in church. Chances are always good that someone greets me cheerfully and in autopilot mode for an evening service, “Good morning, pastor!”
But honestly, I love the times when we get together after nightfall, when candles are lit and wax drips (I know the altar guild doesn’t like that part!), when it’s dark outside and our souls are invited to reflect and expand in the shelter of the church. I can say for myself that I listen with a different kind of attention at the end of the day; I hear and notice different things. The world seems less defined and the mystery of God has a fighting chance to penetrate my mind walls, which are more formidable during the day. The ever-present technology devices that rule us, seemingly 24-7, are set aside (I hope they are tonight), allowing us to listen, truly listen and connect with what ultimately matters in life.
And now we have come together to pay attention to the story of Holy Night, and our rational defenses are still so strong, our minds so busy, that we can hardly hear the angels speak or sing. We want to talk about the things that we have done this year, the gifts we bought, the things we serve for dinner tomorrow, our plans for the holidays, our work after the holidays, our world and its crazy leaders. And as we are gathered here in this sanctuary, God is telling us, “Go back into the night of the Nativity and listen!”
Once upon a time, the world was covered by a blanket of nothingness every single night; when the sun went down, people’s business was under house arrest; only the moon and the stars provided a little bit of natural illumination. It was on such a night, many, many centuries ago, that our Savior was born. With no machinery ploughing through creation’s Sabbath time, no smokestacks polluting God’s air, no cell phones ringing, no text messages beeping in our pockets, voices could be heard. God was trying to say something and shepherds happened to be half-awake enough to hear the angels speak and sing. Their message and their song became the anthem of humanity’s deepest hopes and dreams: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy FOR ALL the people.”
We have probably heard this Christmas message too many times to fully appreciate it. I will tell you, in the tribal world of yesteryear, in the rural world of Bethlehem, in the shepherd’s framework of life, this was an amazingly universal message, bigger than its time. God’s messenger didn’t say, “I bring good news to all Jewish people, my chosen ones.” Neither did the angel say, “I bring good news to all who will follow in the path of this child (later to be called Christians).” Neither would he have picked out any other group. The angel talked about something that’s uniting, bringing great joy to ALL people. The birth of Christ, in other words, is something far bigger than the birth of Christianity, bigger than a single religion, bigger than any human agenda, greater than what you and I can comprehend with our daytime brains. Are we ready for the greatness of God, the boundless love of God, as shown in this baby’s birth? Joy to ALL people! And absolutely ALL people?
Sadly, in the tribal world of 2018 this unifying message doesn’t seem to bring great joy, at least not nearly to all people. There are those who want good news only for themselves and their kin. There are those who want to divide and blame and set apart. There are those who look for a gospel that can host their fears and prejudices. There are those who look for segregation. And the angels give them no excuse to do so whatsoever, although they invite them nevertheless. The song that the angelic hosts project into the night sky of the world is bigger than culture, race or political opinion. It stops us in our sinful tracks and reminds us of our shared human heritage. Good news to ALL PEOPLE!!! Even those south of the border. Who knows? Today’s Bethlehem might be located in the city of Tijuana, filled with refugees in pursuit of survival. Do we hear the words of the angel, despite the noise of the noisemakers, despite the fear of the fear mongers?
To listen, to truly listen to God, we may have to go back out into the night, because our daytime world is hopelessly divided with all sorts of tribal markers. So let us stay there in the open air of dark Bethlehem for a moment and listen to another voice that arises from the Nativity scene. This one comes from below, from the belly of the earth, from Mary’s mother womb. While the angels are warming up their vocal cords above the village, the young couple prepares for the most nerve-wrecking of tasks: the birth of their first child. A long, arduous journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem is behind them, but the conditions for childbirth in the barn are modest at best. With the mother in labor agony, the father nervous and clueless, the world outside dark and hostile, the child of God somehow gets delivered, and is greeted with great joy. And then it must have happened: God screamed at his world from the top of his lungs! God screamed at us in the voice of an infant. God screamed in zest for life, in hunger for food, out of a lowly hut, in solidarity with all those who have no voice. God, I imagine, screamed for a better world. Or maybe he was already rejoicing in a better world. Can we hear that?
With all of this emphasis on listening to the voices of Holy Night, I am reminded of the iconic Christmas song, “Do you hear what I hear?” This song was written in October 1962, with lyrics by Noël Regney and music by Gloria Shayne Baker. The pair, married at the time, wrote it as a plea for peace during the Cuban Missile Crisis. As we all know, the cold war of those days was a time of heightened tension and dangerous saber rattling, the world on the brink of nuclear war. It is what people often get into when they can’t listen to the voices of their spiritual heritage, when they get caught in the trap of opposing ideologies. They fight. They put themselves at risk.
The voices of Holy Night, they always point to a better world. And even if we have to engage in the battles of daytime life, even if we have to endure the pain of opposing opinions and the despair that comes from simply not understanding another person’s point of view, even when we lose hope in humanity, we should never abandon the song that has called us on that Holy Night, so beautifully described in these iconic lyrics: “A song, a song, high above the trees, With a voice as big as the sea, With a voice as big as the sea.” Do you hear what I hear? It is a voice for peace and for the humanity of God as revealed in the Christ child. That child is screaming at us, screaming for a better world. 2,000 years ago it was ahead of its time. And today it still is ahead of us. Did you hear what I heard? Let us follow that child! Amen.