When Ian, our son, was quite a bit younger, he was intrigued by the way our cats could quietly settle under the Christmas tree and become virtually invisible. When you're under the age of ten, it is completely conceivable to become a cat yourself. Invisible. Under the Christmas tree. I was in the back of the house when I heard the crash. Shards of broken ornaments were visible among the unbroken ones when we righted the tree. In a flash, Ian retreated to his bedroom anticipating the impending doom. After taking a moment to inhale and regroup, I calmly called him out and asked him to help redress the tree and clean up the broken pieces. As we righted the tree, I explained to him that for years the cats had been knocking over our trees by leaping up their trunks; if we spared their lives, surely we could spare his. As I helped him clean up the pine needles and glass fragments, I was relieved to discover that none of them were really of great value to me - until I found the ballerina. It was one of a matched set. Just a few years before I had given the cream-colored porcelain figures to my daughter and her cousin when they were both taking ballet during the time that I was in seminary. It reminded me of a time in our family's life that was precious to me and there was a discernible sting as I put away the broken ornament.
As with fragile porcelain, the boundaries of this life are pretty clear. We live life, make life, save life, give life,
take life, spare life, and negotiate life. And the material stuff that we surround ourselves with either brings us joy or makes us miserable, creates energy or uses it, enriches our life or limits it, promotes life or causes it damage. And whatever events comes our way in this life either feeds us, entertains us, intrigues us, threatens us, teaches us, thrills us, challenges us or threatens to destroys us. But only for a little while; because of the fragility and shortness of life, both we and all the rest, either wears out, corrodes, gets lost, breaks or perishes.
And so it is on this night, and tomorrow in particular, while are enjoying a brief respite from of our routines, that we tend to reflect on these things, and more-so on the things that really matter in this life. It must be said that for many, Christmas is a painful time that cannot pass soon enough. For others, especially those with small children and the means to provide for them, its a time of pure happiness and delight – the mortar and bricks that build the memories that will be recalled in the years ahead. But for most of us, especially those of us with a little mileage, its a mixed blessing for which the words, “O tidings of comfort and joy,” best sums up the hopes and fears of all the years.
Regardless of how we experience the Christmas event, it provides a place of clarity from which we can see, really see, the imperfection of human life that exists in tension with the perfection of the rest of God's creation. For instance: White lights draped on trees are lovely to see in the darkness; but they cannot compare to star-filled skies on a clear night here in the rural northeast. Ice sculptures can be breathe-taking; but none can compare with a simple, solitary icicle fractured by early morning sunbeams. Handel’s Messiah is timeless and powerfully majestic; but it cannot compare with the first Robin’s song in spring. These are but small reminders that there is nothing that comes from the work of our hands, or the inspiration of our thoughts, or the wars we wage or the even the peace we make that can accomplish what has done for us by the birth of Emmanuel, a name which means; God who is with us.
The birth of Jesus is God doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves; and it is well beyond the limits of life as we know it. That is what the word salvation means: God doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Salvation provides for redemption. These are big words that have very simple meanings. You might not find redemption if you’re looking for it, but I guarantee you’ll know it when you see it. To be redeemed is to be brought back from the edge of our own private little hells, or the darkness abyss of our guilt or shame, or the hand that catches us as we fall down that bottomless well of regret. It is not something we can work out on our own, or work to get over, or work to make right.
God doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves is comfort and joy by another name, and can only come from outside of our selves. Grace and mercy, comfort and joy, salvation and redemption – different words that all point to the same cure; the same healing balm; the same resolution of everything that has no foreseeable solution; the same terms for cease fires and reconciliation.
Comfort and joy are not ours to employ – they are a gift – the gift of life renewed – through Jesus' birth we were born. Our birth in Christ is not a gift we choose, but rather one we choose to claim. The Christmas Story reminds us that it is real and present and eternally available. There is no expiration date, no provisions for purchase, and no trade in is required. It is not for lack of skill or even willingness; it simply is not in our power to provide comfort and joy for ourselves or for anyone else; anymore than we can make water; or soil, or sunshine. These basic elements that are required for the existence of life come from God alone. We do not rule over them, but are ruled by them. Water, soil and sunshine are present to remind us of God’s sovereignty over all life. They keep us in our rightful place, as part of creation, not the masters of us. While water and soil and sunshine provide for our physical requirements, it is God’s mercy, that which we know as comfort and joy – that provides for our spiritual well being. Whenever there is discord in our souls, when we deny, or reject God’s terms of engagement, the potential for comfort and joy does not depart from us, but is merely waiting in the wings for us to change our minds. God is waiting for us to claim the gift of comfort and joy.
See that child in a manger; there lies our comfort and our joy; that which we did not earn, much less deserve, and yet, there is that child in the manger; born to us, for us, because of us; born to save us.
