First Sunday of Christmas 2023

 

Lectionary readings: Galatians 4.4-7 and Luke 2.15-21

I wonder what kind of gifts you received at Christmas—and whether you could tell what they were from the way in which they were wrapped? Some gifts are easy to wrap—books, for example—while others call for more creativity. Some gifts come in gift bags, you might set aside to use again, to give a gift to someone else. Some gifts come in boxes, which may have already been flattened and put out with the recycling. One gift I ordered for Jo didn’t arrive until yesterday, and didn’t get wrapped at all, other than the parcel it came in. But however it comes, unless you are a small child or a cat the packaging is likely less important than the content.

I wonder, also, what the strangest gift you received was? My sister gave me a little figure of Jesus, an-inch-and-a-half tall. If you submerge it in water, over three days it will grow up to 600% its original size.

In our readings this morning we are presented with five containers, each filled to overflowing, by God, with his Son: namely: time, Mary’s womb, the law, our hearts (these all recorded in our first reading, from Paul’s letter to the Galatians) and a manger (recorded in our Gospel reading, which also mentions Mary’s heart and womb).

Time, Mary’s womb, the law, our hearts, and a manger. All things that once contained Jesus; all things that could only contain him for so long before he filled them to overflowing.

That is the Christmas mystery, and the Christmas joy. That Jesus comes to fill our lives—our given days and hours and minutes (time); our potential to be life-giving to others (womb); our relationships with others (law); our desires and our free will (heart); our homes and livelihoods (manger)—he comes to bring fulfilment and fullness of life to all these aspects of our being. The infinite, pouring into the finite, that we who are finite might be drawn into the very Life and Love of God, and that the world might know that this gift is for them too, for all who will receive it. Not just for Christmas, but forever.

 

Christmas Morning 2023

 

Lectionary readings: Isaiah 62:6-12 and Luke 2:8-20

Our readings this morning resound with angels and humans praising God.

As we gather around the Lord’s table, to share bread and wine, we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah that no enemies shall eat the bread and no foreigners shall drink the wine. For in Christ all creation comes home to God: there are no enemies; there are no foreigners: we are one people, one family, one body. And in a world full of fear, that drives us to ‘other’ one another, to ‘Us and Them’ ourselves, to view the stranger with suspicion, this is miracle.

Isaiah’s word to us this morning culminates with these words:

‘You shall be called Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken.’

Look around. ‘You shall be called Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken.’ What does that look like? If God has anything to do with it, if God is at work here, it probably won’t look anything like our assumptions. But it might look like welcoming the stranger, it might look like people who have felt forsaken—by their neighbours, by the families, perhaps even by God—finding a home. Finding room at the table. Finding their lives being built up, given back to them; different to what was lost, but beautiful in the light of this new Day.

Like Mary, may we treasure these words, and ponder them in the days and weeks and months and years ahead. Like Mary, may we be open to what it is that God wants to do in us and for us and through us, united in Christ, empowered by the Holy Spirit, to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

 

Christmas Night 2023

 

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

Here is the news, news of great joy: Your God reigns!

What does that reign look like? It looks like life, breaking out, all over the place, in every place that had become a wasteland. New life, come into being.

Come into being, in the deserted places of our lives. Yours, and mine. For here is the Christmas miracle: just as the Son of God came into the world not by the will of man but by the will of God, so we are born anew, children of God—sisters and brothers—not by biological means but by the will of God.

Now, I said that the Son of God did not come into the world by the will of man, and I meant man specifically, not human. For human will was involved, in cooperation, in partnership, with God’s will: and that was the will of his mother, Mary. Mary said ‘yes’ to God, believed that God could transform her empty womb into a cradle of life—into the Cradle of Life. That Life which gives life to me, to you.

This Christmas Night, I wonder, what is the new life that God desires to bring to birth in me, in you? What deserted place does God want to fill, to bursting, life that will grow until it cannot be contained, but breaks out for the blessing of the world? Perhaps in this very moment, you have felt this Life kick you, from inside, as if to say, “I’m here and I am on the way!”

Impossible, you say? But wait: Your God reigns!

 

Fourth Sunday of Advent 2023

Luke 1:26-38

‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.’

Genesis 1.1-5, Authorised (King James) Version

When God sends the angel Gabriel to Mariam, to Mary, we read, ‘she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.’

The Greek word translated ‘much perplexed’ is diatarassó which means ‘agitated’ or ‘acutely distressed’ and conveys an intense to-and-fro between thoughts and emotions.

The Greek word translated ‘pondered’ is dialogizomai which means ‘going back and forth, in order to evaluate something,’ in a way that, typically, leads to a confused conclusion.

Mary is churned up, like the waters that cover the formless earth.

Which is interesting, because while the root of her name is generally thought to be the Hebrew for ‘rebelliousness’—which fits well in light of her defiant Song, the Magnificat; and may go some way to explain why so many Jewish women born under Roman occupation were given the name—St Jerome records another origin story, that Mariam means ‘drop of the sea.’ A microcosm of the great deep.

Mary is agitated, distressed, not by what Gabriel has been sent to tell her, nor even (unlike Zechariah, or the shepherds) by the angel himself, but by his greeting.

God comes to create anew, the first Day. Like the earth of old, Mary’s womb is empty; indeed, like the earth of old, it has become futile, for she has dedicated her life to God, giving up the possibility of bearing children. As with the waters of old, Mary is deep, and her face is covered with darkness, with confusion. And, as with the earth of old, the Spirit of God is moving over her, as an eagle hovers over her chicks, to bring forth the Day. God is brooding, sheltering, bringing forth.

Mary is amazing, not because she has it all together, but because she responds to God’s word. And the mystery of that ‘Yes!’ is that God has a human mother. That God becomes human, shares in our nature, that we might share in the divine nature. The mystery of that ‘Yes!’ is that it births not only the Christ, but also the Church, the new humanity. The mystery of that ‘Yes!’ is that it births not only the new humanity, but the new earth. Because, in Christ, through Mary, God is making all things new.

If the depths and the riches of that mystery doesn’t leave you churned up, you must be dead!

But here is something. As God moved upon the face of the waters, and as God came upon Mary, so God comes, moving over the chaos of your life and mine, the waste places, our emptiness. We don’t need to strive harder, to be a better person, to be acceptable to God, or worthy to be called by him. We don’t need to tame our tides, that ebb and flow, or drown our questions, ignore our fears, mask our distress, or dial ourselves down. But we can choose to say, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

That is enough. And who can say what light and life will break out from within us, that has long sat chained in darkness? Who can say what will unfold, in you and through you, for the good of the world, and to the glory of God?