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We are on a journey, dear friends. We come, as our communion liturgy often reminds us, from east and west, from north and south. But we come from other places as well. It is more than geography. We bring our hopes and fears to this place this night. We bring our faith, and our doubts. We are inherently seekers and wanderers. We know that our hearts are restless until they find their rest in God. And yet restless we are. We are on journey, each of us, all of us. Not so much to a place, but to a relationship, to a transformation, to a story. And so here we are. And we’ve journeyed here. We’ve journeyed with countless generations, women and men, famous and ordinary, seeking. And in this story, we have found our destination. We have heard. We have seen. We have followed. And in finding the manger, in finding the most unexpected news of great joy, the savior of the world born as a poor and humble child, in finding this baby, we have been found. The journey doesn’t end tonight. In a very real way it is only beginning. But it is given new purpose, new direction, new hope. So on behalf to this congregation, its members and officers and staff, welcome. If you are a long-time member, first time-visitor, believer, seeker, doubter, welcome. We have been invited into a journey of justice and hope, and wherever you are in your journey, its pivot point happens here, now. Come to Bethlehem and see. Come adore on bended knee. Come. And then go, transformed. May every Christmas blessing be ours as we gather, and yours as you depart to live joyously, as the Christmas journey continues. Amen. Reflection Some of you know, and some of you know all too well, that this congregation has spent the last 10 months in construction, the result of a many-year planning process and three year capital campaign. That is not the topic tonight, except to say how grateful we are to be home. And it’s also to say that I continue to reflect on this past Sunday’s welcome home services. We focused on the notion of “signs,” which seems an appropriate theme to continue to consider this night. Christmas signs are all around us, and are elemental to the story itself. The signs given to and by the prophet Isaiah. The signs given to Joseph, and John the Baptist, and Mary, especially Mary. The signs given tonight – first to shepherds, then to others. The iconic images of this story are signs themselves – angels singing in the skies, a star, the gifts of the magi. But there are more subtle signs. The undocumented encounters along the way. The unnamed innkeeper, who after so many rejections, offers the shed out back. And more contemporary signs. A gracious act in a crowded parking lot. A brief encounter with a family to whom you are delivering a Christmas basket. A child’s innocent joy, or mostly-innocent joy. A group of Chilean miners released from their underground captivity. Hands held, connected over the rail of a hospital bed. Signs all around us, then, and now. Signs, we said, point to something else. They are not the thing itself, but they point to it, and provide crucial direction. Signs and journeys go hand in hand, and tonight’s story – framed by signs – is really a series of journeys woven into one journey. Remember that our story begins as a journey, centuries before, people wandering first in the wilderness, then to the promised land. Then tonight the journey of an unconventional, fringe family in order to meet the demands of a census. Then consider the magi’s unlikely journey following a star, and their journey home by another way in order to protect themselves and the infant boy. Or the journey of the church ever since, endeavoring to keep up with the implications of this story – its profound impact, its transforming power. A journey. You have no doubt heard the joke, slightly stereotypical: “You know what would have happened if there had been three wise WOMEN instead of three wise MEN? The three wise WOMEN would have asked for directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the baby, cleaned the stable, made a casserole, and given practical gifts.” Not that anyone can’t use a little frankincense now and then. Perhaps it’s a gender thing. Perhaps it’s a human thing. Our need for directions for the journey, and our difficulty in asking, in following, in discerning the signs along the way. Yet signs there are. And not just ancient ones. I don’t know what your Christmas journey is, or what signs you need to help get you there. * For a world plagued by warfare and every kind of division,
we need signs that lead us on a journey of peace and reconciliation. Or this. I don’t know what your Christmas journey is, or what signs you need to help get you there. Hear a poriton of Mary Oliver’s poem, “The Journey.” “But little by little,/as you left their voices behind,/the stars began to burn/through the sheets of clouds,/and there was a new voice,/which you slowly/ recognized as your own,/that kept you company/as you strode deeper and deeper/into the world,/determined to do/the only thing you could do - - - determined to save/the only life you could save./” Perhaps that speaks to your journey, and the signs you need to get where this infant wants you to get, your own destination of comfort and joy. Those who attempt to say anything at all on this holy night are wisest when they let the story do the heavy-lifting, the profound story and the remarkable musical witness that punctuates it all. Getting out of the way and letting Christmas be Christmas is always a good strategy. So if nothing else, remember two notions – sign and journey. Follow the one, take the other. In his “Four Quartets,” T.S. Eliot wrote: “We shall not cease from exploration/And the end of all our exploring/Will be to arrive where we started/And know the place for the first time.” Tonight all journeys lead to Bethlehem, and from there, all journeys lead to love. To love. May we follow the signs, and may the Christmas journey’s blessing be yours, and with those you love, and with all God’s people – peace on earth. Amen.
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