Christmas Eve - The Appetizer

Tonight I have brought with me a piece of greenery- although it is not so green any more- if I asked you to guess, you might think I have brought a kind of evergreen branch, a sprig of holly, or a shoot of mistletoe; it is none of those, it is a palm frond made into a cross.

I have a friend who recently asked me to preach at his funeral; this day is drawing nearer. Tonight, I carry this friend and his family close to my heart; I do at all times, but even more so, as they journey to and through the valley of the shadow of death. In our conversation he reminded me of an image from a book we read long ago; the author suggested that one go about living life’s journey with a piece of Palm Sunday’s palm branch present and visible – perhaps stuck in your car’s sun visor, as a book mark, on your desk, over a picture frame in your house.  The piece of palm is a reminder of the full purpose of life; the fulfillment of the possibilities presented tonight because of the birth of a child.

The image of the palm branch, dried and aged resonates with me, this Christmas, yet, juxtaposed to it, is the smell of pine and fir, the freshness of greenery. I noticed the same juxtaposition when a group of us from the church went Christmas caroling this past Friday. Our carols, sing of a baby, wrapped in clothes, lying in manger, with shepherds, and angels, in the quiet town of Bethlehem; and in the next breath the carols sing of death, sin, myrrh, nails, spears, and stone-cold tombs; all images to remind us that this child was born not for tonight, but, for the Three Days -Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, through Easter.

My friend being sick, and walking with parishioners who are dying, and families who are grieving, with those who are preparing in life for death and new life, has made me rather pensive over the past season of Advent. 

The mixing of Christmas story with images from the season of Lent and Easter, sum up the emotions and feelings that I have tonight; both sadness and joy sit side by side. Tonight, could very well be the last Christmas Eve for any one of us. 

This palm cross reminds me that tonight is only the appetizer.   Christmas wets our appetite to wrestle with life and death and life. Right now, being in the Northern Hemisphere, we are experiencing the longest nights and the shortest days; more darkness than light. Christmas comes to us in the darkness of the season, in the darkness of night, in whatever darkness we are experiencing in our lives and in the greater world. It is in darkness that hope exists.  Hope begins while one is standing in the midst of darkness; hope is standing in the dark looking towards a speck of light on the horizon; the closer one moves to the light, or the brighter the light becomes, that is hope growing.

Through the medium of story, the Christmas story, our darkness gives way to the possibility of redemption, of feeling hope and an abundance of possibility. A simple story full of beauty, Mystery, and awe, floats into a world of pain, your pain, my pain, a friend’s pain.  The light of tonight shines in the heavens for those in grief, those walking in valley of the shadow of death.  From the darkness, if you attune your ears, you will hear singing to calm the troubled spirit:  Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.  

Think for a moment --- the valley has a shadow; there are no shadows without the presence light.

And that is what part of our expectation is tonight, to hear the story, to sing those calming words, to hear them as they settle into the darkness within, to see and experience light. We came at night through the dark for the glow of candle light and the twinkle of light through the Chrismons on the Christmas tree.

We also gather tonight for a foretaste of the feast to come, to share a meal at the table; the main course (that is- all that Holy Week and Easter are about).  Tonight, I revel in the Mystery and simplicity of God coming among us; through a baby and in bread and wine.  I am amazed by the power of simple songs and light, in dispelling darkness, and providing shadows in the valley.  Coming together to celebrate Mystery with you, sharing in this time with you, greens my spirit and allows me to focus on God’s incarnate presence; for this I am thankful.

The book I referred to earlier has a meaningful poem-prayer, that I share with you, as my prayer and Christmas offering, for those of us who sit in darkness; and in someway we all do.  In it the author, Edward Hays, talks about the pilgrimage to come -O Come  all ye faithful- to this sacred place where cloaks and layers of darkness are removed through singing, light, and community… it is then that we really come into God’s Mystery, and with hope brimming with possibility we come and eat of the presence of  God.  The feeling, the tears that sometimes people experience here, that overwhelming presence, that is hope flooding one with gratitude and settling into the fabric of our beings as joy.

Edward prays:

I will go up to the altar of God to sing songs of gratitude,

for God gives joy in youth, joy in middle age and the greatest joy in old age.

I go joyfully up to God’s holy altar, not in the chains of obligation, bowing, foot-dragging dreary, to do some duty,

but to dance drunk in gratitude before the Source, the Fountain of Joy.

Thank you, O God, for theft-proof joy and ageless idealism.

Thank you for the joy of work well and honestly done, for the easy yoke of obligations that are embraced out of love.

Thank you, too, for the joy of wisdom, gleaned from a glossary of many mistakes and errors.

I will go up to the altar of God who gives joy in youth, in middle years and in old age; I will go to God, the joy of my death

Tonight is only the appetizer. It is humanity standing in the darkness looking out and seeing light on the horizon.  The light is a child, born, full of potential, foretold by the prophets, ascribed with the hopes and dreams of a people.  We stand in the darkness and move towards the light, growing in hope with each step. Thankful for the simplicity of this night, thankful that we have come, thankful that for a time we feel safe.

Tonight, as we walk to the altar of God, we walk with hope through the valley of the shadow of death -  for some of us this is a weekly track, for some it is only this night of the year, for others it may be your first time;  God’s presence is offered to everyone.  And for this we walk towards, we go to God’s holy altar, out of gratitude…in gratitude for the baby -for God incarnate among us; but, in the fullness of the Three Days – the main course; that God would set aside violent retribution, revolution, and revenge, to lay down God’s own life in love to bring kingdom to birth in a renewed way, by opening the possibility for forgiveness, compassion, mercy, grace, and through death to create life.

It is digesting God’s presence that crystalizes God’s joy. Edward Hays reflects that: The charming mark of every authentic disciple of Christ Jesus is: Joy.; joy amidst the darkness of our time.

We end tonight’s service singing, Joy to the world, the Lord is Come.  Believe it or not, Isaac Watts did not write this to be a Christmas carol. It is based not on the Christmas story, but, rather, on the redemption that comes through Jesus’ last days, and Jesus’ coming again.  The carol is a juxtaposition of Genesis 3 – referring to Adam’s sin, sorrow, and curse, with thorns infesting the ground, in other words, darkness; the darkness is set beside Psalm 98; O sing unto the Lord a new song; for he has done marvelous things…Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth -joy.

Tonight with palm cross in hand, I am going to let the words of Silent Night, melt the darkness within me, in the simplicity of greenery, light, bread and wine, I will marvel at the shadows in the valley of death – for they are created with light; for now I will not fear death, for it is new life; for this I will come to the altar of God with gratitude, with the hope that gratitude will be realized as joy.

Tonight, dance drunk in gratitude before the Source and Fountain of Joy, may there be many shadows in the valley, and through joy embrace all you do out of love.