Christmas Eve 2020

Christmas Eve 2020

Set I readings: Isaiah 9:2-7 and Luke 2:1-20

 

‘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.’ Well, it has undoubtedly been a dark year, and there is nothing good to be gained by pretending otherwise. The joy Isaiah points us to is not one that denies the demanding work of gathering-in the harvest or the tragedy of war, nor how draining our own days have been. And yet, we proclaim good news: of One who comes bringing counsel to those in desperate need of wisdom; rescue for those in need of freedom; enduring, loving presence with those in need of comfort; and wellbeing for those who are sore pressed by circumstance. There is hope worth holding on to.

Maybe it is because this year we have had to book our place to come to church on Christmas Eve, but this year I have been struck by the recurring word ‘registered’ or ‘registration’ in our reading from Luke’s Gospel. I do not recall being so struck by them in quite the same way before. But the root of the word means to write one’s name, or enrol; in this case, to enrol on a census for the purposes of taxation by the Roman empire, whose emperor claimed to be the son of a god whose advent brought peace to the whole world. Hardly a voluntary enrolment, or an equitably shared peace.

But enrolment itself is something we do on a regular basis. There has been much made of voting enrolment, and disenfranchisement, in the United States this year. Closer to home, many of you will have voluntarily signed your name to enrol on the Electoral Roll of St Nicholas’ Church. We sign up for something we believe in, want to be part of. We sign up to change the world, to play our part in making it a better place. And, of course, census records are also used to trace our family trees, to discover our roots, to discover something about our ancestors that we might weave into our own story.

And then I am struck by the shepherds, who hear the herald proclamation of peace on earth for those who are blessed by the favour of the God, not in Rome but, in the highest heaven. And who, in response to the announcement, go, from where they are to Bethlehem, not far, but in order to enrol themselves. To sign themselves up.

And then, because the backdrop is one of an enrolment to pay taxes, I am struck by Mary, who treasured all the words that the shepherds spoke. As if their joy was a tax, voluntarily given in order to make the world a better place (isn’t that what paying taxes should be?) and Mary were the tax-collector, on behalf of the King of heaven and earth.

And I wonder what we have signed ourselves up for—if, indeed, we have—and how our glorifying and praising God for all we have seen and heard might play a small part in how Jesus will establish and uphold the kingdom God has conferred upon him, in the place where we are registered, in the coming Year of Our Lord Two-thousand-and-Twenty-one?