Reframing Refrains

Luke 2:1-20

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.

Now in that same region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them, and Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told them.

Sermon

Advent is full of refrains.

We let “O come let us adore him,” echo again and again. We hear “Gloria” stretch out across the room before we rejoice, “in excelses deo!” Even our goodbyes repeat the phrase, “Merry Christmas!”

But there are other, quieter refrains that also surface each year.

One goes like this: “I just can’t get into the Christmas spirit — people can be so mean, and there’s so much suffering in the world.”

Or another one might be “How am I supposed to be joyful when I can’t put food on the table, or pay my rent, or navigate the financial stresses of the season?”

Every year, those refrains are just as persistent as glorias and jingle bells. But Christmas can’t wave a magic wand and pretend-away grief or addiction, depression or dementia, eating disorders or unrelenting fear.

And so we end up with those refrains: “I can’t get into the Christmas spirit.”

It is so easy to feel pressured to put on a brave face and try to show everyone that we’re really okay, even when we’re really not. There’s this temptation to think that Christmas is something that we have to somehow manufacture. But the promise of Christmas—the promise of the incarnation of God—isn’t that Jesus anesthetizes or numbs out our pain. The Christmas promise is that God has come into the world to face our pain and to transform it.

And certainly, the world of Jesus was no stranger to anguish. In his incarnation, Jesus enters into a world that’s on fire. The Roman empire is grinding its peoples down: it’s taxing them into poverty; slaughtering the innocent; lying through its teeth; and exacting unwavering, absolute loyalty to Caesar. 

When Jesus is born into the world, that pain doesn’t disappear. Caesar was still caesar. The impoverished were still impoverished. The violent were still violent. Jesus himself was still a backwater kid being born in filth. Soon enough, the Holy Family will become refugees and asylum-seekers to escape King Herod’s violence. 

Christmas was never a sentimental escape hatch; it was a promise of transformation. As always, when Jesus shows up, everything starts changing.

Take the shepherds for example. These were boys who were anything but welcome — in fact, their very smell of sheep and filth was a sign of their rock-bottom social status. Though they weren’t supposed to be around anyone, and though they weren’t supposed to be anything but throwouts, all of a sudden, Jesus makes them the midwives of his arrival. To meet the incarnate God and to meet this kingdom of peace, all of humanity will have to follow downwind of these suffering, smelly outcasts.

Their pain isn’t ignored or pretended-away on Christmas morning; their lowly status is put on full display to humanity. to encounter the Word of God, every person must confront these rejected, forgotten kids.

“But the promise of Christmas—the promise of the incarnation of God—isn’t that Jesus anesthetizes or numbs out our pain. The Christmas promise is that God has come into the world to face our pain and to transform it.”

Like these shepherds, Jesus comes to meet us in the pain and anguish and tears we shed so that our pain may become the entryway from which we see God.

As a church, we are facing challenges right now. Not easy-breezy, straightforward challenges. Heavy ones. I joked with members of session that in hiring me, we accidentally opened the gates of hell.

It’s Advent… it’s almost Christmas… and all I can keep asking is “why and how are we here, God?”

But in some ways, there couldn’t be a better season to be navigating pain.

We have faith that the pain of our lives—whether on a micro or macro level, whether it’s personal or corporate—the pain of our lives is not a grave for us, but instead the birthing pains of new life. The arrival of unwelcome, smelly shepherds or unsettling revelations about Herod aren’t signs that God has abandoned us; it is a sign of deep, lasting transformation on the horizon.

None of us need to be ashamed of the tears we are shedding, or the anger we’re feeling, or the confusion we face. We have no reason to hide the challenges this church is facing. Our heartache bears witness that God is here, courageous enough to suffer with us, brave enough to suffer with us, powerful enough to transform our pain into brilliant light.

Like the shepherds, we bring our pain outward, out of isolation and toward the Christ child. We don’t pretend away the fact that we have smelly sheep and dirty feet. We don’t let our sufferings or lowliness or disrepute keep us away from the stunning, radiant, unexpected light of God, but we let the audacity of hope draw us closer to Christmas morning. We don’t have extravagant gifts of frankincense and myrrh, so we offer the pain of our lives to God. We offer and show our sufferings to Christ because Christ will gladly take them, accept them, love them, and transform them. Christ is brave enough, strong enough, powerful enough to stand the smell of this world, the ugly reality we know, the darkness all around us, and invite it into his eternal light.

So here’s the promise of Christmas. Here’s the promise of birthing pains. Here is the start of a transformation, and love, and life, and hope, and peace that is always entering our lives through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.