What do you want for Christmas?

Jeremiah 33:14-16

        Many years ago, when I was younger and much more strident in my observance of religious holidays, I asked my wife to promise we would not begin any Christmas shopping until after Thanksgiving. Deb, still believing part of her wedding vow was to listen to her husband, agreed. Ah, the good old days. That agreement lasted until the birth of Martina. By the birth of David the quest for the each year’s Holy Grail commenced a few days after Labor Day. I suspect we are not the only ones who start shopping early.  At Target and Wal-Mart, Bing Crosby has been crooning about a White Christmas for at least a month. Last Saturday, three generations of Andrews’s men went to our favorite Jewish Delicatessen. I have been going to Danny’s since 1960. The original owner was an Orthodox Jew.  All the meats are still Kosher and the menu has not changed in fifty years. As I waited patiently for my pastrami and knockwurst on rye, I feasted on kosher pickles and listened to a The Little Drummer Boy being played through the speakers for all to hear. Danny must be rolling over in his grave. 

Perhaps this is why I love Advent.  On Sunday mornings in December, many of us who attend church are rescued, if only for a moment, from the eternal quandary of all that goes with finding the perfect Christmas gift. For that holy hour, we not only escape the hustle and bustle of the season, we intentionally refrain from stories of the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. Even Silent Night and Joy to the World are withheld, as if placed in reserve, only to be played as an encore to the holy moment. Instead of familiar scriptures about Mary and Joseph, we wrestle with strange texts from Jeremiah and Isaiah that remind us why God originally choose to come among us.  Advent is a time of wishful thinking because faith itself is wishful thinking. I dare say that, in a sober moment, away from the intoxication of the family traditions, what we really want for Christmas can’t be purchased on-line.

The book of Jeremiah was written in the midst defeat and humiliation. Following the destruction of Jerusalem, a beaten and imprisoned people are dragged from their land and face almost certain death. Removed from their former lives without any expectation of return, they cry out to God using both words of anger and despair. In the midst of this desolation, the prophet Jeremiah dares to offer a word of hope.  Listen!   “In the days that are surely coming, God will cause a Branch to spring up and execute justice and righteousness in the land.”  With their lives crumbling into dust, Jeremiah dares the exiles to look beyond themselves and see the future through God’s eyes.  This image must have seemed laughable to a people in chains.

Why conflict our Christmas spirit with such a tale of desolation? What do we have in common with those folks who died over 2,500 years ago? Perhaps nothing…… perhaps everything. Ask yourself, “Why do you observe Christmas?” Is it a moment when your family comes together for a time of joyous festivities? Is it an opportunity to once again hear the story of a holy birth? Is it a day when the Scrooge in each  us recognizes the poverty which surrounds our lives? Is it all of these combined or is it something more? I believe Advent is a time that we are challenged to engage in the strenuous task of considering the imagination of God. In the midst of a world that once again seems to have gone mad, Advent dares us to confront our doubts and ask if there is anything God cannot do. Advent dares to whisper to our inner most consciousness that Jesus was not born into a perfect world but was a radical solution to the chains of our captivity. Sin was and always will be the reason for the season.  God’s imagination, God’s hope for a different tomorrow has always been the solution. The challenge of Advent will always be to extend our faith and allow it to actually stretch beyond the limits of our self-imposed boundaries.  In other words, do we still believe God is active in our world gone mad?

It was Christmas night, 1981, in Wilmington, North Carolina. A handful of us had gathered in the sanctuary to celebrate the birth of Jesus with the sacrament of Communion. For most of us it has been a busy two weeks. Twenty-five college student from all over the world had been our guest. Sunday school rooms had been turned into sleeping quarters as students with no place to stay came to be with us over the holidays. We were responsible for food, entertainment and transportation. Volunteers were plentiful the first few days but the social responsibilities Christmas places upon families reduced us to a faithful few.

The majority of our students were from the Middle East, most were Moslem. Five of our guests were from Iran. With the expulsion of the Shah, they watched the news each night wondering if they would be allowed to return home. Each day the Moslem students would roll out their prayer mats multiple times to pray the prayers of their faith. Don’t miss the irony of this. They were exiles, praying in a foreign place of worship,  asking God for passage home.

I stood behind the table of Lord.  How often does one go to church on Christmas night, but here we were, seeking respite from the tensions of the past week. The lights were out, replaced by the flickering shadows cast by candles.  One by one families would come to the table and be served.  In the back of the sanctuary some of the Iranian men sat observing our most holy meal.  When the last family had been served I prepared to lead the group in the Lord’s Prayer. But before I could begin, a solitary figure rose from his pew and walked toward the table. His name was Mohammed. He stopped in front of me and said, “I am not sure what you are doing but I know it is holy. I need God at this moment and I know God is here.” Without any further words I served him.

After the service, I am certain he rolled out his rug, bowed toward Mecca and prayed. Perhaps it was a prayer asking for forgiveness. Perhaps it was a prayer of thanksgiving. I would like to think it was a prayer of someone who tasted the radical imagination of God.

Mohammed did not come to the table to celebrate the birth of a child. He came to the table because his world had gone mad and he needed to confirm that God was still alive. He came to the table because he had a longing, a thirst, and anguish in his heart. He came to the table to pray for the emergence of light in a world that had suddenly gone dark.

We exiles, chained by sin, chained by our inability to dream, come to the table this season of Advent.

We sojourners, filled with doubts, yet not beyond hope, come to the table this season of Advent.

We sons and daughter of God, hungering for righteousness, come to the table this season of Advent.

And together we pray, “Come, O Come, Emmanuel”.