Christmas 2019 [Set I]

Lectionary readings: Isaiah 9:2-7 and Luke 2:1-20

And so, here we are. We have made it to Christmas. And I wonder, how are you? Really, how are you? Exhausted is a valid option.

The Church of England’s Christmas theme for last year, this year, and next year is ‘Follow the Star.’ It is taken, of course, from the journey of the Magi. And that journey was calculated, was navigated, was at least in part undertaken, by night. A learning to walk towards Jesus, wrong turns included, in the dark. Starlight falls on the earth continually, but we only see it in darkness.

I know almost nothing about the heavens, other than that they are beautiful. Earlier this year, Stuart and Angela lent their cottage in a dark sky forest to my family for a week’s holiday. Far away from city light pollution, the forest park promises the stars. But in the event, clouds blew in every evening, and in the whole of the time we were there, I did not see a solitary star. It was good to get away for a break, but I came home a little disappointed.

The prophet Isaiah declared, ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined.’ And in that light, joy takes the place of a burden. Joy like that of the harvesters. Harvest, of course, was a time of hard work, the whole community working together with common purpose. Joy, and hope: for in this light, something has not been completed but begun. The boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire; but, for now, what we see is a baby, whose authority shall grow continually, extending well-being from that smallest of beginnings.

How are you, this Christmas? Chances are, for at least some of us this year, and all of us over time, that you are living in deep darkness. I’m thinking of the parents who have shared with me their concern for their children, because their children suffer from anxiety or anger, or have chosen to reject their family. I’m thinking of those young people, too, just as much in need of light to shine on them.

I’m thinking of those who in recent days have confided in me that they are nursing cancer or dementia, a deepening darkness within, as the light of this life slowly sets. And those who journey through life with them.

I’m wondering, what cruel warriors tramp their boots over your life in these days, splattering their garments with your blood?

Not every one of us will identify with that first-hand this Christmas, but we know darkness to be at the very centre of both our experience of life and also the Christmas story.

Yet also at the heart of the Christmas story is a homecoming. The child, descendant of David and heir to his throne, is found in the tiny village that proudly proclaims itself the city of David. Joseph has recently brought his wife Mary from her father’s home in Nazareth to his father’s home in Bethlehem — and incidentally, by cultural tradition the final stage of the journey in which a groom accompanied his bride from her parents’ home to his, was conducted at night [see Jesus’ parable of the wise and foolish virgins]. The shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night — heirs of David’s childhood task — see the glory of the Lord shining around them, and are sent into Bethlehem, to find a child in a manger.

These journeys by night are a homecoming, to the promises made by God. A homecoming to joy that gives us strength to face warriors in the present; and to a sign of hope for the future, a sign of God’s peace, that though it be not so right now, all shall be well.

The gift of Jesus, the one in whom God-is-with-us in the darkness, is given just when we needed it. That is why you are here. You have followed the star and found the Christ-child. His story, the story of the Magi, your story, our story does not end here. Like the Magi, the shepherds, the holy family, you do not need to walk alone. It takes a community to carry one another’s burdens, and to share the weightiness of star-lit wonder.

This Christmas, welcome home. Come in. We’re glad you made it.