Luke 2:22-35
The aftermath of the birth of Jesus is
followed by two incredible stories. In our homogenization of Christmas, once
the shepherds leave in Luke’s gospel, we switch over to Matthew’s dangerous
tale about King Herod. This story includes the wise men worshipping the future
king as Joseph and Mary prepare to flee with the child into Egypt to escape the
wrath of the present king. But in Luke’s version, we find an entirely different
version of those first eight days in the life of the newborn.
When
Mary was able to travel, instead of making their way directly back to Nazareth,
the parents decide to take their child to the Temple in Jerusalem to be circumcised.
There they met Simeon, a devout believer who had been promised by God he would
not die until he saw the Messiah. As the parents were preparing the child for
the ceremony, Simeon approached the couple, took the child in his arms, and
said, “O God, now you can take my life for I have seen your salvation. This child
will be a light to all people.” Then he turned to Mary and gently offered these
words, “And he will be a sword that will pierce your heart.”
Imagine what would happen if in the midst of
a baptism, I would turn to you, the congregation, and say, “We will be blessed
by this gift from God,” and then whisper to the mother, “But he will break your
heart.” I know one thing for sure; I wouldn’t be invited to the post baptism
pictures.
I
am 64 years old. It is hard to believe that I have never observed a Christmas
with a broken heart, but many of you have.
I’m not talking about the disappointment we experienced as a child when
we had our heart set on one gift and something we never imagined, or for that
matter really wished for, was revealed when the Christmas box was opened. I’m
not talking about the disappointment of spending Christmas morning without a
son or daughter because they are miles away celebrating with their new family. I
am referring to that empty feeling that unexpectedly returns during the holidays
when one looks at the empty chair once occupied for so many years by a loved
one.
My
grandfather Andrews died when I was in college. I can’t remember the year. But
I will never forget that Christmas. We traveled to Georgia for the funeral. Once
there, it was almost a reunion as relatives caught up on old times. The funeral
was performed in typical Presbyterian fashion as we were reminded that while this
was a sad day, we were to celebrate that my grandfather had begun his eternal
life in one of the rooms God had prepared for him. After the service, my family
returned to Virginia, and I headed back to college.
When
I returned home after exams that December, it was obvious that something was
missing in the Andrews’ household. It
didn’t smell like Christmas. Each year a lot of time was spent in the kitchen
where mom baked cookies and dad made unbelievable candies on his marble slab.
These delicacies were shared on Christmas Eve with friends throughout the
neighborhood and with strangers who were stuck behind cash registers at the
local mall. On any given day one could gain 5 pounds by just waltzing through
the Andrews’ kitchen. But this Christmas, no peppermints, chocolates or
caramels were created on dad’s marble slab. No trips were planned to the local
merchants offering our brand of Christmas cheer. My father had not been able to
grieve over the death of his father until the Christmas season arrived. His
grief darkened the holiday for all those around him. I knew he was neither the
first person nor the last to suffer from this pain. But I also know he was
neither the first person nor the last who needed to be reminded Christ trumps
our darkness through the glory of his light.
Forty
plus years ago, I did not know what to say to my father. I discovered for the
first time that not all of the emotions of Christmas are pleasant. But with age
comes a little wisdom, and perhaps with that knowledge comes the responsibility
to say to you what I wish I had been able to say to my father in his time of
despair.
Christmas
began with the cry of a newborn. Into the cold of the winter night a child was
born just like millions of children had been born before him. He cried out,
gasping for the air that brought precious life into his lungs. But Jesus wasn’t
the only one who cried that night.
Muffled by the exotic songs of angels and the ecstatic shouting of
shepherds was the crying of God. For God
knew the whole story. This birth would lead to death. This death would break God’s heart. Much too
soon, a mother’s joy would be stunned by an ancient prophet who knows God’s
plan for salvation. Too soon Mary learned she had little control over the path
her son was destined to walk.
The
reality of life is that every day we will hear the cry of a mother who has lost
her child. Every day we will hear the cry of a son who has lost his father. Every
day we will hear the cry of a worker who has lost his job. Everyday we will
hear the cry of a loved one who is in the last stages of cancer or heart
disease. Every day we will hear the cry
of a human heart that is suffering. All
of these memories will come back to haunt us during Christmas, that joyous day when
it seems everyone else is in the midst of the most glorious celebration of the
year.
But
the tears of God were more than tears of grief. In this remarkable gift of a
father sacrificing a son, we are promised all that has been lost will be
restored. God, the grieving father, through the words of Simeon, revives our
broken hearts with these words. “My eyes have seen your salvation which has
been prepared in the presence of all people.
He shall be a light in the midst of darkness.”
Sometimes,
with all the bustle, noise and artificial lights of the holiday, we need to be
reminded that the eternal light of God is never extinguished, and neither are God’s
promises. The original Christmas is about hope, which is fulfilled. The original Christmas is about love, which
is eternal. It is about joy, which
lingers beyond a day. It is about peace that is everlasting. For some of you,
this Christmas is about remembering and grieving over the ones who are no
longer with us. It is normal; in fact, it is necessary to shed those tears. But
we don’t shed them alone. God knows our pain, sees our tears, and hears our
cries. Eventually, when the time is
right, the God of hope will lift us up and remind us that our loved ones are
resting safely in God’s eternal arms.
At
some point, in each of our lives, Christmas will be the longest night of the
year. For some of you it was this year. Remember,
you did not cry alone. Each year God and
Mary shed a tear of sorrow as they remember that first Christmas night. But they
also shed a tear of joy. For Christmas remains the night when the word became
flesh and dwelt among us. It remains the night when a candle of hope was lit
that can never be extinguished. It remains the night when the love of God trumped
the darkness in our lives.
Shed
your tears of joy and grief.
Shed
your tears and know that God cries with you.
Shed
your tears, and then when you are ready, sing a song of joy to the one who is
our light and our salvation.
