12/19/04

Emmanuel - The Christmas Certainty

Isaiah 7:10-17
Romans 1:1-7
Matthew 1:18-25

The comic strip Peanuts has always been one of my favorites. Charles Schultz managed to put his finger on the pulse of society by depicting anxiety-stricken characters who are constantly looking for assurance, for some sign that life will be okay. As you probably remember, all the characters, with a couple of animal exceptions, are children; for sure, adults do not have a corner on fear, anxiety, or uncertainty. Charlie Brown in one scenario stands on the pitcher's mound, checking the weather, the opposing players, and his own bedraggled team, hoping for a sign that maybe they'll finally win a game. He could have been a mascot for the Red Sox - before this year! In another scene, Linus nervously clutches his security blanket, and waits in the garden, hoping for a sign from the Great Pumkin. Even self-assured Lucy is often found by the piano, waiting for some sign, however far-fetched, that Schroeder might love her half as much as he loves Beethoven. (i)

We also are constantly looking for signs, for some assurance that life will be okay, that we're still loved and accepted, assurance that our physical health is alright, or that we're succeeding in our jobs or in the various roles we fulfill. Underlying all this searching for signs is our need to feel secure, to be certain of our future, and yet the more we look for assurances, the more anxious we become. Truth is, the security and assurance we seek is not guaranteed by our marriages or relationships or friendships, nor by our jobs, our doctors, or our investments, nor by our political leaders, nor even by social security, whatever form it takes.

King Ahaz of Judah is also plagued by anxiety and uncertainty. He is in a bit of a jam. Judah's enemy, Assyria, is expanding its empire and making threatening noises, and some of the surrounding states are angry at Ahaz for not uniting with them to oppose Assyria. Though Ahaz is actually quite a despicable character, he induces sympathy because of his current dilemma. What should he do? What sign is there that his nation will be spared? Maybe he should make an alliance with Assyria to save his own skin? But first, he brings in Isaiah, the wise prophet, for counsel, but what Isaiah has to say, Ahaz doesn't want to hear. Isaiah tells him to forget military pacts and political alliances, because they're not going to give him the security he needs. The prophet suggests in so many words that Ahaz trust in God, and look to God for the sign, which will be a young woman who will bear a son, who will be called Immanuel, that is, God with us. But Ahaz ignores the prophet and any sign from God, and eventually sells out to the enemy. (ii)

Like Ahaz, perhaps we too are looking in the wrong places for signs of security, assurance, or certainty. We have already received the most important sign ever given to humanity, the sign of God's presence with us, the Word made flesh. This sign is Emmanuel, God with us, and it is the assurance - really the only certainty in an uncertain, anxious world - the assurance that God has already entered our world and entered our lives. All this is known by another name, a fancy theological concept called "incarnation," God in human form. In the one whose birth we celebrate at Christmas, almighty God comes into the affairs of humanity. In Jesus, the child of Bethlehem, God comes to us to share our common lot and to become one of us. This is not an easy concept to grasp or to believe. Maybe this little story I shared a long time ago will help us better understand and believe.

While Paul stares at the fireplace, he can feel his wife's rising anger. She calls through the kitchen doorway: "Why won't you go with us to the Christmas Eve service?" He sinks into his leather armchair and sighs: "Gail, I don't want to argue about it. You know that I believe in God. But as for God ever becoming a human person - that's something I just can't understand. It doesn't make sense to me." Nothing more is said. Gail finishes dressing their little boy, and together they drive away from the farmhouse, the car headlights outlining birch trees against the winter sky. Heavy snow lays on the ground. It is a bitterly cold night, and then it starts to sleet - hardly a calm "silent night." Paul throws some more logs into the fireplace and becomes lost in his thoughts: "Christians claim that God has become human. Yet why would the infinite God of the universe do such a thing? Even if it were possible, it doesn't make sense ..."

Suddenly, there is a loud thump on the windowpane. Paul gives a startled glance out into the night. "What's going on out there?" A flock of birds, drawn by the warm light of the house, has gathered. As they flutter on the deep snow, and in the icy sleet, their wings begin to freeze. Paul opens the front door and walks out. The little birds are so miserable that he has to do something. But he shakes his head: "They'd never come into the house ... they'd be too frightened." Though the night is devoid of starlight, Paul can still see the shadow of the old vacant stable-house across the farmyard. Lantern in hand, he walks across the snow and opens the doors. "It's not much, but at least you can get out of the wind," he yells to the birds, as if they understand him. He circles from behind, shooing them toward the stable-house. But they scatter across the barnyard, a confusion of fluttering shadows. Paul mutters irritably: "Come on ... I'm not trying to hurt you. Can't you understand?"

He opens wide the stable house doors and hangs the yellow lantern light in an empty stall. Again Paul waves the birds toward the stable, and again they scatter across the snow. Paul stands helpless in the cold. "They'll freeze to death," he says to himself. "If only they knew that I'm trying to save them. They would understand me, if only I could become one of them and lead them to the warmth ..." And then it hits him. He looks at the frightened, dying birds that sadly he is powerless to help, and then glances upward. A break in the clouds has unveiled a single white star just above the lantern-light of the stable. Silently, Paul understands. Then he kneels down in the snow, before starlight, before stable-light, before God, who has become one of us. (iii)

The real miracle of Christmas, the Christmas certainty, is that in that crude Bethlehem stable God came to earth. There in the manger, warmed by the animal's breath and adored by shepherds, almighty God became one of us. On that night so long ago the transcendent God entered human history in a most unique way, and nothing since has been the same. God outside of us became God with us, Emmanuel. (iv)

The church, the Body of Christ, is the concrete reality of God in Christ in the world. And so, we who are a part of the church are signs of God's presence - we incarnate God for others. The church at its best makes the Word flesh when it cares for the poor, comforts the afflicted, confronts the comfortable, pursues peace and justice, and witnesses to the Good News. And God invites each one of us individually to be messengers of the divine in proclaiming the joy, peace, and salvation that has been born among us. God invites each one of us to be divine agents of Christ-like love, to bring glad tidings of great joy to all people.

We do this in a variety of ways. When we share another's pain or offer comfort; when we give food to the hungry or support ways to house the homeless; when we treat all people with respect; when we try to overcome differences with understanding; when we fight despair within ourselves and grab onto hope; when we use our powers justly in the service of others; when we do all these things, we are truly beacons of light, and divine agents of Christ-like love. (v)

In this holy season of Advent and Christmas we celebrate God's coming into our lives and into our world, and affirm that God is not absent but is near, that God is here and now. Wherever we turn we see signs of God's presence - in the beauty of creation, in the love and close relationships among people, in a babe lying in a manger, in the ministry and life of Jesus, in an empty cross representing resurrection. It is here in the Body of Christ, the church, in the bread and wine that nourish us, in the waters of baptism that cleanse us, in the faces of brothers and sisters who care for us and others, it is here that we also see the signs of God's presence. You and I have been called to be signs of God's presence in a hurting, uncertain, anxious world. Our love for one another and for others is the Word made flesh through us. May God's Spirit be with us and within us, not only this day but all our days. O come, O come, Emmanuel! Amen.

The Pilgrim Church of Duxbury
Rev. Kenneth C. Landall

i Bonnie L. Benda, Word & Witness, 12/18/83.
ii Ibid.
iii Daniel Juniper, "A Glimpse Into the Stable," in Along the Water's Edge, pp. 26-29.
iv The Clergy Journal, 10/83, p. 20.
v Becky Admiston, "We Are the Light of the World," (adapted), cited by Catherine Cullen in The Bell-Ringer, First Parish Church (Duxbury), 12/15/04.