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Christmas Story
A sermon preached by the Reverend Dr. Stephanie J. Nagley, St. Luke’s Church, Bethesda, Maryland, Christmas Eve 2006
(Sung) "Do you see what I see? Way up in the sky, little lamb. Do you see what I see? A star, a star, dancing in the night, With a tail as big as a kite, With a tail as big as a kite." This is the story we tell tonight. We tell about stars that dance, of silver bells, and bells that jingle, of falling snow and chestnuts roasting, of sugar plums in a twirl, and drummer boys rum-pum-pumming.
We tell a story this night. We tell a wild and fanciful story. Do you see? Do you hear?
This is a story that demands to be told in a big way. There are angels singing ‘Glory to God’ in the middle of the night in a field attended only by sheep and shepherds. This is a story that has an evil ruler and a good prince. Our story tells us about a boy born out-of-wedlock to a very young mother and a not so sure father, a couple who, at the end of a very long journey, can’t even find a place to stay – these parents of the son who is called the Son of God – find no room at the inn.
This is the story we tell. The story of all stories that is unbelievable and yet true, true in that way all good stories are true, taking us in, and delivering to a place where we are held in rapt attention and even challenged to change our lives.
And as all good stories do, the kind of stories we remember and tell over and over again, this story is bigger than mere facts. Facts just won’t do.
For ‘tis the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse...and Santa Claus was on his way, reindeer guiding the sleigh.
There is that much sought peace on earth and good will toward men. It is away in the manger time in O little town of Bethlehem , David’s royal city and the shining hope of a bleak midwinter day.
This is the story of Christmas, a story too big for mere facts, a story that demands to let our imaginations go and release ourselves from our normally restrained, and oh so sensible ways.
This is a night for all us, for all of us are fools and beggars of mystery. We all need a drop of magic, just a bit of something to help us through our days.
This is a night for a story that will jostle our nerves, wake up our hearts and fill our heads with images that transport us through time to a place called Bethlehem where we become participants in the greatest story ever told.
We tell the story of Christmas and it is a true story. One of those great, magnificent stories that is true and some of it really happened.
The child will be born of Mary and Joseph. That we know for a fact. But beyond that fact everything else about Jesus’ birth is up for debate. And I suppose we can and will debate the facts until the cows come home and the printer cartridges of scripture scholars run dry and all the words we can say drift away.
Facts are only the start for the true story, a story that has a power to move and change us in ways we could never devise just from the facts.
Once upon a time, our story of truth begins. Once upon a time a child was born and his name was Jesus. And this child of Mary and Joseph would grow up and tip the world on its axis and make everyone think twice about what they thought they knew to be true.
Once upon a time, that is to say, we are moved to a time beyond time, not the kind we measure by a clock, but in time where you and I find some truth about our lives and how we live the days ahead.
And in this time beyond time we hear and see things differently. We enter the realm of our imaginations. The child born in Bethlehem is not just any child. And the place of his birth isn’t just a place. Bethlehem is the land of possibility – and the child is possibility born where possibility should never have drawn a breath.
We are like Lucy in the land of Narnia . We are Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy in Oz. We are with Arthur at the roundtable and Fredo fighting for the ring.
This is a night of imagination and wonder, of struggle and victory, of sorrow and joy. This is a night of triumph, a night when justice triumphs over revenge, and mercy outlasts meanness.
This night gives freedom to our imaginations which lead us through that thin wall between the grounded here and now and into the fullness of time that is our greatest hope.
Do you see? Do you hear? Do you know?
This is the night for imagination, for our imaginations are vehicles of hope. Our imaginations are the mangers of possibility. Our imaginations are the wombs of a new day.
And perhaps few other seasons have the power to engage our imaginations as does Christmas.
We need this night desperately because it reminds us to imagine. Without our imaginations we grow stiff and old and grumpy. We lose that ability to see the stars dancing in the night. We grow mute and no longer can sing about lambs talking to shepherd boys or take pleasure in those chestnuts roasting and snow falling and coming home for Christmas.
Without our imaginations to transport us to a better place and time, barnacles grow on our hearts and we no longer dare to wonder. Without our imaginations we become fashionably cynical and slowly begin to die.
Without our ability to dream, to wonder, to imagine, we will eventually perish. We die little by little, so that it’s hardly noticed, until one day we look in the mirror and realize the we become shriveled up, miserable old coots with small measly hearts and people who can no longer dream dreams.
We need this night to get the barnacles off and let go of our fashion conscious skepticism. All of us could use a day off from being ever so reasonable and give ourselves over to just imagining.
Christmas lets our imaginations take flight and give us new life.
Do you see? Do you hear?
Tonight we tell a story that is meant to lure our imaginations into possibilities, to crack our hearts just enough that our dreams are given flight.
Tonight we tell a story. And we tell it for everyone – for Christians and Jews and Buddhist and Muslims and all those people who dream of a better day for all people everywhere. Because the birth we are about to see is not just about the birth of someone Christians say they believe in.
No this birth is about something far more compelling, far more reaching, far more than any one faith tradition has a right to claim as its own.
Jesus is about us. About who we are and are meant to be. The story we tell is a story about us and what we’re to be about as a people of this earth, as a people joined by the web of life, as a people of the One mystery some of us call God.
Tonight we talk about the birth of Jesus, God’s son, but what we are really spinning a story about is the birth of peace, the entrance of compassion, the doorway of mercy.
Tonight we tell a story that begins, “Once upon a time”...and asks us to believe that all things, all things we would hope for ourselves and our children and the children who come after will come to pass.
So let your imaginations take flight...give yourself permission to dream...allow your visions of a world of peace and love to dance. For what we dare to imagine can come true.
Once upon a time, long ago a child was born, and people dared to imagine this child as the one who would walk the earth and be so connected to the mystery we call God that God indeed became flesh and showed us what it is to be fully, truly, holy human.
We tell a story that is our story. A story that imagines us into the very presence of God, and imagines us as the very presence of God.
Said the king to the people everywhere "Listen to what I say, Pray for peace, people, everywhere, Listen to what I say: The Child, the Child sleeping in the night, He will bring us goodness and light, He will bring us goodness and light."
For what we dare to imagine can come true...it’s been know to happen, once upon time, once a long, long time ago, in a place called Bethlehem, a child was born.
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