Do They Know?
Christmas
Eve
John Wilkinson Third
Presbyterian Church December 24, 2004
There are many ways to finish the sentence “you know
you are getting old when…” Here is one way. 20 years
ago, a group of British rock and roll singers, named “Band
Aid” for that particular moment, released a song called
“Do They Know It’s Christmas?” You know you
are getting old when you remember clearly the release of the
song, and are horrified that it’s been updated for a 20th
anniversary version.
The song was written and coordinated by a scruffy singer named
Bob Geldof of a band called the Boomtown Rats – enjoying
this night probably their first and last mention in a Christmas
Eve sermon. Bob Geldof is now Sir Bob Geldof. Geldof became
deeply concerned about famine in Ethiopia, and decided to do
something. He wrote a song and recruited a number of British
musicians to record it with him, an all-star cast. It was a
number one hit then, and the re-make has reached number one
in Britain.
The “they” of “Do They Know” were those
in Africa with no food. 20 years later, the cast of musicians
has changed – I recognize nearly no one on the list. The
issue, however, has not changed. Famine in Africa, this time
focusing on the Darfur region of the Sudan.
It is a simple question. Do they know? And what difference
does knowing make? The laser-like focus of famine in Africa
should not be ignored, a reality that we in the resource-rich
West must remember on this holy night. What we do with our abundance
is as good of a Christmas Eve question as we can imagine, whether
it is the hungry of Africa or the hungry of Rochester, New York.
But may we cast the question more broadly as well? Do they
know? Do we know?
We know the story, of course, and in some ways it may seem
all too familiar. Listen tonight, as if for the first time.
Listen to Isaiah’s vision – endless peace, justice
and righteousness. Listen to Mary’s Magnificat –
he has brought down the powerful from their thrones, lifted
up the lowly, filled the hungry with good things, sent the rich
away empty. Listen. Listen to the fact that this baby was born
in a backyard barn, and that, at least until the mysterious
magi showed up, the most dignified visitors were a group of
shepherds that would have made the Boomtown Rats look like a
GQ photo spread.
Do they know? At the heart of it all, a man named Joseph trying
to do his best to manage a situation that defies management,
a young mother seeking to give birth in the most dreadful of
settings, and a tiny little baby, the very essence of weakness,
humility and helpfulness. Do they know?
Our first mandate is to know the story ourselves. That’s
what this evening is about. A rehearsal and remembrance. Words
and music, the story of the birth made manifest in our very
gathering. And whatever traditions you engage in tomorrow, with
friends and family and beloved ones, amidst the ripped-open
wrapping paper and the very good food, remember once again this
story. And by remembering, share it.
There is an evangelical facet to this holy night, though we
might not choose that word and though it may trip haltingly
off our tongues. “Do they know” means that we are
called to tell. Tell those who are hungry. Tell those who are
anxious. Tell those who are hurting. Tell all those for whom
this story of God’s love come down – God’s
love incarnate – would be as a healing balm and manna
in the wilderness. Or a lovely anthem traveling through the
cool night air.
Of Mary’s Magnificat, Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “She
is no longer singing the song; the song is singing her…where
are these words coming from? She is no politician, no revolutionary;
she simply wants to sing a happy song, but all of a sudden she
has become an articulate radical, as astonished prophet singing
about a world in which the last have become first and the first,
last.” (Mixed Blessings, page 37-38)
The end of “Do They Know It’s Christmas”
turns into a kind of frenzied musical mishmash: chimes ringing,
electric guitars blaring, voices singing. A refrain is repeated
over and over again. “Feed the world.”
Feed the world. That’s the chorus we are invited to join
this holy night. Feed the world. Feed those in the world who
lack food, real food to fill their bellies, and listen to the
call to redistribute the world’s resources to end the
plight of hunger in this city and nation, and around the world.
· Feed the world.
· Feed those who are without hope this night with a good
word of redemption.
· Feed those who are mourning the death of a loved one
with the gentle touch of compassion.
· Feed those who are living with an illness, or a series
of treatments, or anxiety, or loneliness, or addiction, with
a simple gesture of loving-kindness.
· Feed those who have been excluded and deemed unwelcome
with the profound hospitality of the manger.
· Feed the church so bent on conflict with the possibility
of peace and unity.
· Feed isolation with friendship and community.
· Feed the Herod in us with the magi in us.
· Feed the despair in us with the angel who says, time
after time after time, “Do not be afraid.”
· Feed any place, any corner of the world, ruled by injustice,
oppression, poverty, with the clarion call to justice flowing
forth from the stable.
· Feed our desire to hold on tightly with the shepherd’s
willingness to let go wildly, the desire for order with God’s
holy chaos.
· Feed hate with love.
· Feed fear with hope.
· Feed anger with gentleness.
· Feed war with peace.
· Feed hunger with good things to eat.
· Feed death with life.
Feed the world with this story, this precious Christmas story,
that they, and we, know again, of God’s love, God’s
incomprehensible, self-giving, life-renewing, redeeming and
reconciling love. Merry Christmas. Thanks be to God. Amen.
