Christmas Eve - 2007
| John Wilkinson |
Third Presbyterian Church |
| December 24, 2007 |
|
Phillips Brooks was one of the most well-known religious leaders
of the 1800’s, serving as the rector of Trinity Church
in Boston, traveling and preaching widely. He wrote “O
Little Town of Bethlehem” after visiting the Middle East
in 1865. It was certainly little then, and still, though now
it is neither, as the headlines remind us nearly every day.
My favorite line is this – “How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is given.”
But the world in which we live on this Christmas Eve 2007 has
drawn me to another – “The hopes and fears of all
the years are met in Thee tonight.”
Our fears are deep and wide – personal, communal, ecclesiastical,
national, global. In some ways, perhaps, the fears we experience
as children never really leave us. The fear of monsters, the
dark, being alone, the other, the different.
Recently, someone forwarded to me some children’s letters
to God, and I’ve found a few more since then. See if their
fears resonate with yours.
* Dear God. My turtle died. We buried her in our yard. Is
she there with you now? If so, she really likes lettuce.
* Dear God. I have scary dreams at night. Where do scary dreams
come from?
* Dear God. Could you please make my legs be strong? I want
to play like the other kids. They tease me so please make them
stop.
And there are others, of course.
* Dear God. I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come
yet. What's up? Don't forget.
* Dear God. Did you mean for the giraffe to look like that or
was it an accident?
* Dear God. Thank you for the baby brother, but what I prayed
for was a puppy.
* Dear God. I bet it is very hard for You to love all of everybody
in the whole world. There are only four people in our family
and I can never do it.
* Dear God. Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so
much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother.
* Dear God. I would like to live 900 years like the guy in the
Bible.
* My personal favorite: Dear God. I think the stapler is one
of your greatest inventions.
* Dear God. I think about You sometimes even when I'm not praying.
These fears are our fears. We fear disease, in us or in those
whom we love. We fear job loss, or a relationship breaking up.
We fear the results of the next election, regardless of our
political stripe. We fear war. We fear loneliness, disappointment,
addiction, depression. We fear violence in the streets of Rochester
or wherever, what we are doing to the environment, for the world
in which our children – all children – are growing
up.
As much as the Bible is a reflection of the human experience,
these are timeless fears. And the good news, perhaps the best
news, is that they, like our own fears, are met with timeless
hopes.
* Do not be afraid, Moses tells the Israelite people.
* Do not be afraid, the angel tells Joseph with news of an impending
birth.
* Do not be afraid, Mary, the angel Gabriel tells the young
women as the news we celebrate this night is shared.
* Do not be afraid, the angel tells the shepherds as they journey
to the manger.
* Do not be afraid, the angel will tell the women at the tomb.
* Do not be afraid.
It is, of course, easier said than done.
It is said that we live in a post-modern world. The philosophers
define post-modernity as "incredulity toward metanarratives."
That’s a big and fancy way of saying that we don’t
believe in, nor do we seek, the big stories anymore. (See Travis
Scholl, “Trangressive Irony at Radio City,” Sightings,
December 20, 2007)
On the other hand, I think what draws us here tonight is the
metanarrative, the big story. What draws us here, whether every
week or once a year or over the airwaves or through cyberspace,
is the big story. This big story, the constant, continuous pulse
of love and hope that mitigates against every form of fear that
we can experience and that the world can know.
It is not just this unlikely story, an unlikely birth to an
unlikely family in unlikely circumstances. The “hopes
and fears of all the years” are met tonight. It certainly
is that, but more than that. It is the context in which this
story resides, of a God who continually says “fear not,
do not be afraid,” and a people who continually seek,
despite their own fears, to live into that promise and vision.
We do not say that there will not be scary things. But we do
say that we will not be defined by them.
We come here for the big story. We come here because we believe
that in a broken and fearful world the Spirit gives us courage
to pray without ceasing. We come here because two people, Mary
and Joseph, were not afraid, and because in spite of their fears,
the shepherds listened to the angels and ventured to the stable.
We come here because that tiny little baby would grow into one
whose calling would be to cast out fear so that we might live
as free and forgiven people.
Alexander Evans is the pastor of the Blacksburg Presbyterian
Church. He is also chaplain to the Blacksburg Police Department,
and was on the scene at Norris Hall on the campus of Virginia
Tech on April 16. On that following Sunday morning, prior to
worship, a reporter called and asked him what his first words
to the congregation and community would be. “God is our
refuge and strength,” he replied, from Psalm 46, “a
very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear.”
It is a short journey from Blacksburg to Bethlehem, from the
places in your hearts and mine and the places in our world where
fear dwells. But this big story draws us in and sends us out,
with angels and archangels, with scruffy shepherds and their
animals, with old and young and every diverse soul in-between,
to this little point on a map, where fear is met with hope,
hope stronger than any fear, and the wondrous gift is given.
Merry Christmas. Amen.
