“Reflections on Incarnation”
Luke 2: 8-20; John 1: 14;
And so it is Christmas...or at least Christmas Eve. During our Advent journey we have
experienced the gospel in a 3 fold manner: Wait. Want. Wonder. Tonight we will
wonder — we will look with amazement back some 2000 years or so and wonder that
the birth of a Jewish boy in poverty and anonymity could have such a powerful effect
upon this planet spinning its way through time and space. We will wonder at the
claims we Christians make for that night and this baby — that in Jesus all of God lived
fully and completely...incarnation we call it...and yes, we wonder.
The story is told of a young boy traveling with his father one Christmas Eve in the middle of the depression into the nearby city. Their mission was for the son to show the father what he wanted for Christmas from the many vendors who had lined up their carts on the main street. Upon indicating a chemistry set his father inquired as to the price; he turned away and they walked on a bit further. The writer recalled that when they got to the end of the carts he finally realized that his father had only a few cents saved up, having mistakenly believed that he had enough money to buy what his son desired.
They walked slowly back home without a present, each with their hands in their own pockets. The writer said that he wanted to take his father’s hand, to tell him that it was alright, that he loved him and that having him as a father was enough. However, as he put it, “we were not on that basis.” Instead they walked on, two lonely individuals needing each other but separated by the chasm of years and culture.i
How tragic that on the night remembered by Christians the world over as the defining moment for humankind, a father and son should feel separated from each other! However, what is more tragic is that on this night when we celebrate the Incarnation — that invasion of human existence by the Creator — that for too many of us this story of a dysfunctional father and son more likely signifies the reality of our existence. We are, as it were, walking down the road with God — yet often separated so that we cannot take God’s hand and know God’s love. We are, in Bret Harte’s words, “...not on that basis.”
As humans I believe that we recognize this truth subconsciously, held deep within our psyche. We live a “rather than...” existence, as it were. Old and young, poor and wealthy, male and female, of all ethnicities and racial identities – rather than feel our connectedness to all of life, we feel our separateness. Rather than knowing God’s loving presence we feel God’s absence. Rather than, in our heart of hearts knowing the peace
of God, we feel a deep inner struggle against whatever it is that exists in our universe.
We feel loneliness...and we hurt. We live “rather than...”
The gospel seeks to counteract those “rather than” feelings and emotions. It’s message is quite simple: In the birth of Jesus God reaches down and takes our hand...that we might “be on that basis.” In this Bethlehem story we experience God’s power to connect with us in a manner which transcends race, culture, nationality, and/or political persuasions.
Tonight we revisit this Bethlehem narrative because we know that its powerful thematic tentacles creep deep into the caverns of our being and latch hold of our soul. We are a people who quickly forget who we are and whose we are; in our spiritual amnesia we are enticed by other gods and other stories. The most common sin may not be unbelief as much as failing to remember who we are. This Nativity narrative reminds us of from where we came, who we are and where we are going. This simple story of the birth of a Jewish baby in Palestine pulls us into God’s presence in ways that little else can do.
In this story we discover a simple yet profound truth about our God-human relationship: God is love; God is always love; therefore loving relationship lies at the heart of God and of every human being as well. We are nothing without relationship; we exist and love only in relationship. Incarnation informs us that life is about a relationship with God based solely in the love of God.
Yet, even the closest and most tender of our relationships can go stale. It is so easy, is it not, to miss what life is really all about? In a world of pain and heart-ache we are seduced into shutting down our soul that we might avoid the pain that accompanies loss. The tragedy of life comes not so much in what we undergo, as in what we miss in these “shut-down” moments. When we shut off ourselves from others, not to mention God, we place our soul in a prison cell of our own making, missing life and love. And so we live...not on that basis.
As I write this sermon, in my mind’s eye I see refugees leaving Syria and other volatile places around the world — and I think of this first nativity — when Joseph and Mary had to leave their home in Nazareth and under the edict of a foreign political power go to Bethlehem where they might register for the purpose of taxation. Were they not fearful and scared as they traveled the roads, wondering what strangers they might meet? Were they not afraid of the Roman soldiers who occupied their land? Is it not telling that the Lord of all was born in a stable on the backside of nowhere? Does this story not speak to the love of God for each all, even those whom we consider the “least of these?” Do these know enough to live “on that basis?” Or, are they living “rather than...?” Do we?
The gospel seeks to counteract those “rather than” feelings and emotions. It’s message is quite simple: In the birth of Jesus God reaches down and takes our hand...that we might “be on that basis.” In this Bethlehem story we experience God’s power to connect with us in a manner which transcends race, culture, nationality, and/or political persuasions.
Tonight we revisit this Bethlehem narrative because we know that its powerful thematic tentacles creep deep into the caverns of our being and latch hold of our soul. We are a people who quickly forget who we are and whose we are; in our spiritual amnesia we are enticed by other gods and other stories. The most common sin may not be unbelief as much as failing to remember who we are. This Nativity narrative reminds us of from where we came, who we are and where we are going. This simple story of the birth of a Jewish baby in Palestine pulls us into God’s presence in ways that little else can do.
In this story we discover a simple yet profound truth about our God-human relationship: God is love; God is always love; therefore loving relationship lies at the heart of God and of every human being as well. We are nothing without relationship; we exist and love only in relationship. Incarnation informs us that life is about a relationship with God based solely in the love of God.
Yet, even the closest and most tender of our relationships can go stale. It is so easy, is it not, to miss what life is really all about? In a world of pain and heart-ache we are seduced into shutting down our soul that we might avoid the pain that accompanies loss. The tragedy of life comes not so much in what we undergo, as in what we miss in these “shut-down” moments. When we shut off ourselves from others, not to mention God, we place our soul in a prison cell of our own making, missing life and love. And so we live...not on that basis.
As I write this sermon, in my mind’s eye I see refugees leaving Syria and other volatile places around the world — and I think of this first nativity — when Joseph and Mary had to leave their home in Nazareth and under the edict of a foreign political power go to Bethlehem where they might register for the purpose of taxation. Were they not fearful and scared as they traveled the roads, wondering what strangers they might meet? Were they not afraid of the Roman soldiers who occupied their land? Is it not telling that the Lord of all was born in a stable on the backside of nowhere? Does this story not speak to the love of God for each all, even those whom we consider the “least of these?” Do these know enough to live “on that basis?” Or, are they living “rather than...?” Do we?
Oscar Romero, former bishop and slain martyr in El Salvador, put it this way: “I know
that I am a thought in God, no matter how insignificant I may be – the most abandoned of beings,
one no one thinks of...Think to yourselves, you that are outcasts, you that feel you are nothing in
history: “I know that I am a thought in God.”ii
Incarnation reminds each and every one of us that we are thoughts in the very being of God. Let’s allow that thought to roll around inside of us this Christmas Eve. Every refugee, every drug addict, every homeless and hurting person — each and every one of us exists and matters to God.
What if we were to see each other as bearing the image of God? I think of people so afraid of neighbors they do not know and of strangers who do not look like them. Could it be that our calling as Christians is to reach out in love to the other, whether they be Jewish, Muslim, Sikh or whomever, and share with them the love of Christ? Could it be that if we live out of the Jesus narrative of Incarnational love that we will begin the transformation of our world? Whose narrative do we believe, anyway? The world’s narrative of fear or the Bethlehem narrative of love and faith? Dare we live out of God’s narrative and not that of the world?
I challenge you this evening to look at those next to you, at those with whom you will celebrate this holy occasion — and see in them the very presence of God. If God were standing before you, how would you treat God? How then, ought we to treat one another? Together we can live out the Incarnation and in so doing see the gospel come alive. In Christ we can“be on that basis...”
Thanks be to God who dared to invade our lives and indwell our hearts. Amen.
i I have lost the source of this illustration. ii Oscar Romero, The Violence of Love.
Incarnation reminds each and every one of us that we are thoughts in the very being of God. Let’s allow that thought to roll around inside of us this Christmas Eve. Every refugee, every drug addict, every homeless and hurting person — each and every one of us exists and matters to God.
What if we were to see each other as bearing the image of God? I think of people so afraid of neighbors they do not know and of strangers who do not look like them. Could it be that our calling as Christians is to reach out in love to the other, whether they be Jewish, Muslim, Sikh or whomever, and share with them the love of Christ? Could it be that if we live out of the Jesus narrative of Incarnational love that we will begin the transformation of our world? Whose narrative do we believe, anyway? The world’s narrative of fear or the Bethlehem narrative of love and faith? Dare we live out of God’s narrative and not that of the world?
I challenge you this evening to look at those next to you, at those with whom you will celebrate this holy occasion — and see in them the very presence of God. If God were standing before you, how would you treat God? How then, ought we to treat one another? Together we can live out the Incarnation and in so doing see the gospel come alive. In Christ we can“be on that basis...”
Thanks be to God who dared to invade our lives and indwell our hearts. Amen.
i I have lost the source of this illustration. ii Oscar Romero, The Violence of Love.
