Sermon for SMHP, Christmas Eve 2024
Luke
2:1-14
In those days a decree went out from
Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2This was
the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. 3All
went to their own towns to be registered. 4Joseph also went from the
town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem,
because he was descended from the house and family of David. 5He
went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a
child.
6While they were there, the
time came for her to deliver her child. 7And she gave birth to her
firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger,
because there was no place for them in the inn.
8In that region there were shepherds
living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9Then
an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around
them, and they were terrified. 10But the angel said to them, “Do not
be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:
11to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the
Messiah, the Lord. 12This will be a sign for you: you will find a
child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” 13And
suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising
God and saying, 14“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth
peace.”
Phillips
Brooks was born in 1835 in Boston, a descendent of the great colonial preacher
John Cotton. He and three of his four brothers all became Episcopal priests. His first two calls were in Philadelphia,
where he was serving as the Civil War broke out. As an abolitionist, Father Brooks was a
staunch union supporter, but in early 1865, when the Union triumphed, the victory
felt hollow, as he surveyed the devastation of war. He was crushed by the toll the war took on
families, communities, and on the country as a whole.
President
Lincoln was assassinated in April of that year, and Father Brooks wrote a
beautiful sermon eulogizing the president who had finally ended slavery.
Then he
left. Heartbroken by the devastation and
division he had witnessed, he went to Europe and then the Holy Land, spending a
full year abroad.
As he
traveled, he sent letters home to the Sunday School children of his
parish. The most poignant was the one he
sent from Bethlehem, describing a scene of utter peace and tranquility over the
birthplace of Jesus. On witnessing that holy place, and sharing it with the
children, he was finally ready to come home and help rebuild a broken nation.
Upon his return, he wrote a hymn of hope for his beloved Sunday School. It began, “O Little Town of Bethlehem, how
still we see thee lie.” The church’s
organist wrote an accompaniment, which he titled “St. Louis,” and a classic
hymn was born.
It was a
prayer for America, that somehow it would be knit back together by the power of
the story of Jesus’ birth. Father Brooks envisioned an “everlasting light,”
shining over Bethlehem at the birth of Jesus, and still shining over a country
battered by war. “The hopes and fears of
all the years are met in thee tonight,” Father Brooks wrote, surrendering, as
we do tonight, to the never-eternal hope that the Christ child brings.
We are but
shepherds tonight, gathered once again in hope, and in fear—let’s be honest,
to hear the proclamation: “Unto you is
born this day in the city of David a savior, which is Christ, the Messiah.”
He was
born for us, and Father Brooks’ hymn prays that he will also be born in us.
As we survey a nation broken once again, families torn asunder by a tyranny
that might put Herod the Great to shame—we are but shepherds.
And like
the shepherds, we face a choice.
We can
remain on our quiet hillsides, tend our sheep—whatever that means for you—just
go with the metaphor.
OR, we can
go to Bethlehem and beyond, witnessing to the holy child. We can let the
angels’ song wash over us—be filled with the good news of great joy which is
for all people. ALL people. We
can embody his mother’s song—the Song of the Prophetic Perfect—that Magnificat
Promise of all that God has accomplished and will accomplish. We can choose this night to be filled with
the certain knowledge that God has brought down the powerful from their
thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53filled the hungry with good
things, and sent the rich away empty.
We can choose to follow the shepherds,
who left that child and his parents and proclaimed this good news throughout
the little town of Bethlehem.
“God has
us! The tyrants will be thrown
down and the lowly will be lifted up.
There will be peace on earth and goodwill to all.”
It is a
simple thing we do this night. We are
but shepherds, gathered on a hillside to hear songs and await good news. We will offer a simple song to our neighbors—a
prayer, really—for a Silent Night, for all to be calm and bright in their homes
and their lives.
It is a
simple thing that we do, the reflection of a simple thing that happened two
thousand years ago, when a baby was born in a room meant for animals, and laid
in a feeding trough. We light small
candles—a bit of light to stave off the threatening darkness. We sing the songs we’ve sung since we were
ourselves little children.
But in so
doing, we join our voices and our light with those of our siblings across this
city, this nation, and the whole world—our simple songs and tiny flames rising
up to light the darkness and fill the world with great joy.
The hopes
and fears of all the years are met tonight as we sing, and pray, that Immanuel
will be born in us this night, and abide in us always, for the sake of a
hurting world. Amen
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