Thursday, January 18, 2018

Finding the Extraordinary; Sermon, Christmas Eve, 2017

Isaiah 9:2-4, 6-7

Luke 2:1-20


It is nice to see so many faces of people returning home for the holidays.  Christmas is a time when we often do our best to visit with people we aren’t able to be with throughout the year, sometimes returning to our childhood home. 

But while we are traveling home, Mary and Joseph are traveling away, as ordinary people, far from the home where they are comfortable, into the dark wilderness of the countryside.

The Christmas story through the eyes of Luke, our Gospel writer, is a contrast between what is ordinary or secretly extraordinary.  Our story, as told by Luke, shows a great many ways that Joseph, and Mary, and this birth were merely ‘ordinary’.  And yet, at each turn, it is augmented by the extraordinary – in secret.

It begins before our reading today with a priest, Zechariah, receiving a terrifying message from an angel of an unlikely birth – not of Jesus, but of John the Baptist by his aging wife Elizabeth.  This is nothing short of a miracle, seeing as Elizabeth had been childless for quite some time.  But Zechariah was struck speechless by the encounter and could tell no one.  The extraordinary is concealed.

Months later, when Zechariah’s wife is in her 6th month of pregnancy, the Angel Gabriel comes to the faithful maiden named Mary, announcing a yet more remarkable birth.  This child will be the Son of the Most High, and will create a kingdom that will reign forever.  He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace.  But Mary tells only Elizabeth, and the world is none the wiser. These ordinary, faithful women know that life will be radically changed, but they are in the minority.  For now.

A decree is issued for all to be counted.  Bethlehem is the birthplace of King David. Joseph, being of the line of David, must return to that city to be counted. By being born in this famous city, Jesus acquires ‘messianic credentials’.  But this ordinary couple is pushed to the margins, relegated to the mercy of Innkeepers for shelter.  Extraordinary credentials, ordinary activity.

In a world ruled by the towering military power of Rome, the Empire of Caesar Augustine and the extraordinary wealth created by taxes and colonization, Luke shows us that despite that, God comes to dwell with a humble, unimportant couple who are still at the whim of Caesar. Even though God will be with them, even though they are in a precarious situation, they must still travel to be counted in the Census.  Just like ordinary citizens.  Even though heavy with child, Mary is afforded no luxury.  Just like ordinary immigrants. Even though Mary knows this child will be different, she does everything necessary to birth a healthy child.  Just like ordinary mothers.

Mary and Joseph have everything auspicious in their favor.  They have received messages from God, have experienced and impossible pregnancy, they are in a Royal city and having a virgin birth. But rather than be heralded in a Temple or a Palace or a House made of Cedar, they are out in the hinterlands in a stable.  They are housed with animals, in the everyday space of devoted people of lowly status like shepherds in the field.

God chooses to dwell in the ordinary, in human form, not as a king or a child to royalty, but as an infant born to a vulnerable couple, out of wedlock, in the animal’s quarters. Not in the temple walls or that of a palace, but in hay within mud walls of a stable.

And then, a Star. 

For a year now, in scripture lesson after scripture lesson, for sermon after sermon your pastor keeps reminding you of the importance of the Temple to the Jews in Jesus’ time. The Temple was where God resided, where God was honored, where God was experienced.  Isn’t it odd, then, that God comes to dwell among humanity far, far from the Temple?  Isn’t it conspicuous that God leaves the walls of God’s house to dwell within something else? Rather than adhere to the human idea of where God lives, the Divine shows up in the fields. Rather than reveal the extraordinary, God comes to surprise us with the ordinary miracle of the fate of this child.  

After all, it is the shepherd engaged in the very ordinary work of “watching over their flocks by night” that the extraordinary message is given.  It is to us – ordinary people – that a son is born.  He is finally born, on this very evening, to we who have been waiting for the Messiah to come and change the world.

He is just a baby, susceptible to the whims of the world, to a government census, to an overcrowded city, to a cold night, and to doting parents.  The only clue to the majesty of this child is a star, a few bewildered visitors, and angels singing into the dark and quiet, ordinary night – about the extraordinary world to come.  Making clear, once and for all, that no one is inconspicuous in the eyes of God.

God does not adhere to our human expectations of the extraordinary. While we might be looking for trumpets, or a military brigade, or fireworks, God shows up with a newborn’s cry in the dark night.  But with that quite ordinary cry, we can recognize that God, Emanuel, is truly here to dwell among us.  God’s commitment to enter into humanity, to see through our eyes and feel through our skin and see humanity as no one else would is extraordinary in its very ordinary-ness. 


God augments the ordinary to make everyday happenings of the life of a humble couple extraordinary.  With God, we can see the extraordinary in our everyday lives, in the small miracles and the unexpected revelations.  And truly, that is the surprise of Christmas.  May God help you see the extraordinary this Christmas, too.

No comments:

Post a Comment