Christmas 2019 [Set III]

Lectionary readings: Isaiah 52:7-10 and John 1:1-14

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; as is excited: and they are not mutually exclusive.

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 speaks of a messenger who brings good news. A description of the angel who comes to the shepherds in Luke’s Gospel, or of John the Baptist preparing the way in the Prologue of the Gospel According to John. And Isaiah declares to God’s people, ‘Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy.’ And while I have no doubt that the image Isaiah has in mind is of watchmen on the city walls, as I wonder at his words, I wonder whether the stars in the bright sky looking down might not also be joyful sentinels? Pinpricks of light in the darkness, of joy and hope in the night.

How are you, this Christmas? Chances are, for at least some of us this year, and all of us over time, that you are needing the Lord’s comfort. 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 living in need of good news.

I’m thinking of those who in recent days have confided in me that they are besieged by cancer or dementia, which will eventually bring their glory to ruins. And those who journey through life with them.

Life can feel under siege at times. But even ruins can break forth into singing, in response to the message of salvation.

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.

The words with which John begins his account of the Gospel are breath-taking. They echo the account of creation, and are universal in their scope, unmatched in their eloquence. And for me, in recent days, they were given a new dignity and authority as a friend who lives with terminal cancer read aloud:

‘What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.’

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, we learn to journey on together in light of the grace and truth we have received, in a world that desperately needs to be filled with witnesses to grace and truth. And though the world might not understand the weightiness of star-lit wonder, nor will it overcome the light.

This Christmas, may you hear again the joyful song of the sentinels. God comes to save, comforting those who mourn and setting the captives free. May this be medicine for your soul. And may you join the song, until the whole world hears it. The sound of singing in the night. Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will to all people.