SERMON
CHRISTMAS 2005
May our hearts and
minds be open to hear the call of the Christ child, born as one of us. Amen.
Just why do we
Christians get so excited at Christmas? Each year we celebrate the birth of
Jesus, reminding ourselves of all the prophecies in the Old Testament which
point to his birth, re-telling the story of the journey from Nazareth to
Bethlehem, the birth itself, the angels, the shepherds and the wise men. We
herald him as the “Wonderful Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting
Father, the Prince of Peace”, to quote the Isaiah text so often quoted at this
time of year; we speak of him as the light of the world.
And yet, what
difference did it make? If Jesus truly was/is God born among us, was it really a
successful experiment? Titles such as ‘Prince
of Peace’ and ‘light of the world’ ring hollowly when we see the world
still wracked by war, when mob violence reaches into our suburbs and family life
is so often characterised by domestic violence. Just a couple of weeks ago we
saw media footage of the riots at Cronulla: those photos showed just how fragile
our grip on peace is, just how thin a veneer of tolerance there is and just how
impotent good people are when faced with violence fuelled by hatred. If Jesus
came to bring peace and to usher in a new reign of love and harmony, you have to
question the effectiveness of his mission. The evidence is not stacking up too
well.
Of course, there
are those who would argue that his sole purpose was to provide our passport to
salvation, and that he fulfilled this particular mission very effectively, if
somewhat mysteriously, by dying. He was, in short, a man born to die. If we but
believe that he is God, then everything will be OK. In this way of seeing
things, the focus really belongs on his death and resurrection. The events of
the 33 years or so between birth and death were primarily designed to show that
he really was the long expected chosen one of God.
But I want to argue
a very different kind of line. For I believe that the birth of Jesus as a human
child, as one of us, has a much richer significance than that and is indeed
infinitely more challenging. The incarnation is not some kind of crazy rescue
plan; it is a systematic and timeless revelation to humanity about what it is to
be human and about our relationship with God. Jesus’ life is not so much to
show us who he is but rather to show us who we are.
For we are nothing
less than the children of God. All of us. Not just the people we happen to like
or be related to. (Though in the stress of Christmas, it can be hard to see
those we are related to as children of God!) If we are serious about the
statement that Jesus is fully human, then surely his life is a demonstration of
how we too could live. If we are serious about the statement that Jesus is also
fully divine, then surely his life is a demonstration of how we should
live. Jesus is not a magician who has come to say abracadabra, wave a magic wand
and change everything overnight. Rather, he showed us how we too can live lives
that will transform the world. How else can God’s purposes be fulfilled? He
has no hands but ours, no eyes nor ears, no mouths but ours. He cannot speak or
act except through our words and actions. He may well be the Prince of Peace,
but peace will not overwhelm our world unless we live as he calls us to live.
The question
‘what would Jesus do?’ begs simplistic answers and is often caricatured:
What would Jesus drive? is one version doing the rounds. A stretch donkey
perhaps. And one day, lost in perplexity about what to do in a particularly
difficult situation, I asked my husband the ‘what would Jesus do?’ question.
His answer was prompt and unequivocal. ‘Call in sick’ he said.
That said, the
question holds a kernel of truth and deserves to be grappled with seriously.
What would Jesus do? What did Jesus do? The answer is laid out
before us in the New Testament. 2000 years ago Jesus was born, utterly
dependent, as are all babies, on those around him for his food, his shelter, his
very survival. Nurtured and supported by them, vulnerable to them. As an adult,
he preached love – constantly, persistently, in word and action. Jesus
embraced the loveless, the unlovely, those condemned as valueless; he ate with
the despised and accepted gifts from people regarded as morally reprehensible.
He told stories underlining the artificiality of our moral constructs and in so
doing, challenged us to see the world through a truer lens, the lens of love.
Jesus risked status, social acceptability, even life itself, to call us beyond
our limited view of ourselves and of God.
And so, back to the
original question – what difference does it make? If Jesus didn’t come to
wave a magic wand and fix everything up, if his life didn’t actually change
anything, why the fuss about Christmas?
Aaah, but it did
– change things, I mean. For in Jesus God has shown God’s very self to us:
face to face. God with flesh on. Love in human clothing, with human features,
vulnerable to all that we might do. It is counterintuitive, indeed it is a
profoundly shocking thought, that God might become vulnerable to us. But that is
what Jesus’ birth tells us: love is risky, but it is the ultimate truth. We no
longer have to guess what God is like. In Jesus, God’s passionate,
unconditional, yearning love for us is starkly before us.
And God is still
vulnerable to us. This was not a once-off, 2000 or so years ago: it is a
timeless dynamic. Will we encounter life with fear and hatred, self-centredness
and greed in our hearts, or will we respond to the call to live compassionately,
lovingly, vulnerably? Will we respond to the call to join God in transforming
the world? It is a joint enterprise with Jesus – requiring courage, strength,
commitment, hope, vulnerability and love; asking the very best of us. Jesus,
fully human, fully divine, invites us to understand, to participate, to know
God.
May we accept the
invitation. Amen.