The Christmas that Truly Is…

Luke 2: 1-20

One of the great realities of life is that the human memory is incredibly powerful.  We are our memories – compiled not so much out of our experiences as from what we choose to remember and what we choose to forget.  There is so much more that happens to us than any of us can ever recall.  One of the more humorous (and humbling) aspects of Christmas season is to get with family and friends and go back home again, i.e., share those memories of our family of origin or even of our current family.  No one remembers everything – and it is quite illuminating to see who remembers what.  Perspective is everything – even in memory.

All of this is to say that when we read the gospel accounts of the nativity and see Matthew emphasizing one aspect (the coming of the wise men some time later) and Luke emphasizing another – the Bethlehem narrative as probably related to him by Mary when both lived out their later years in Ephesus – we can then say that these are not false or contradictory reports, but honest human endeavors to remember and to share the narrative of the birth of Christ.  The reality is that though Christmas has become for us a major celebration, it was not so in the early church or for hundreds of years.  The birth of Christ was so insignificant to the early church that the earliest letters and gospel say nothing about it.  Mark omits it entirely and it is nothing more than a side note in two of Paul’s letters as he refers to Jesus being the son of Mary.  What we know of the birth of Christ we know through the shared and interpreted memory of a few.

So it is with our remembering and retelling of Christmas past.  If we are what we remember, then what do our memories of Christmas tell us about ourselves?  For some of us our Christmas memories are warm and wonderful, hot chocolate or cider, cold nights, relaxing days, giving and receiving gifts – but mostly taking the time to share with our family and closest friends.  Some are shared with extended family and friends while others, separated by insurmountable miles, build these with our immediate family.  Some of us remember bath-robed pageants with aluminum foil stars, stumbling and bumbling recreations that inspired as much laughter as sentiment.  I’ll never forget when, as a 5 year old boy, my father would not let me walk barefoot into the church so I, out of all the magi, had on my bathrobe and my favorite shoes, which happened to be boy’s work boots!  Or the time the donkey bit the church custodian’s hand and would not let go until the custodian bit the donkey on the nose!  

Garrison Keillor, in one of his reports on life in Lake Wobegon, was describing all the activity that occurs in the mythical Minnesota town about this time of the year. Keillor admits that many of the pageants and special services are a bit silly, some of them ridiculous. Why would these ordinary people, who have no acting training, not much acting or musical ability, join in these Yuletide theatricals?  "Because," says Keillor, "it's a great story and we just want to be part of it."

Yes, it is a great story – it is the seminal story of our culture and faith – and we do wish to be a part of it – and we wish for others to know and feel it as do we.  These powerful images burned into our psyches and souls inspire us to make memories for our children and/or grandchildren.  We long for our family to have the same images of Christmas as do we.

For others of us Christmas is not so memorable, for Christmas is not immune from human tragedy.  When I was a boy there was a family who attended our church whose father was an alcoholic. One year the father came to see my father, the pastor, a couple of weeks before Christmas.  “I have stopped drinking,” he announced.  “I am not going to ruin another Christmas for my children.”  Sure enough, he did not, for on Christmas Eve he dropped dead from a heart attack.  Years later I talked with his sons and heard horror stories of what had transpired in their home before his demise.  I wondered, how do they see Christmas?  How do they look at this season and have anything more than painful memories of childhood?  That they were anywhere close to normal was a testimony to their mother and to a church which helped and nurtured them to adulthood.

If we are those for whom Christmas was more of a crisis than a celebration, it is not only o.k. to admit that, it is necessary for our emotional and spiritual health.  When we say that Christmas is not always “Hallmark card-perfect,” we are touching upon the essence of the gospel. The coming of Jesus is good news to a world where bad news is always just below the surface – and sometimes reigns.  The birth of the Messiah is about the love and grace of God to a world in need of both.  Maybe the gift most needed this Christmas is to be released from images of Christmas that never were so that we can celebrate the Christmas that truly is.  

The “Christmas that truly is” is based not in glitter and lights, but in the wonder of a God who loves us.  Christmas reminds us that, in the words of an ancient church theologian, "the Lord did not come to make a display ... [God came] to put himself at the disposal of those who needed him and to be manifested according as they could bear it." ( Athanasius, On the Incarnation. ) 

Most of the inhabitants of Bethlehem saw neither star, nor angels, nor did they hear any singing.  It was just another night like any other night, with the wonder of God’s incarnational presence lost in the ordinariness of human existence. The Christmas that truly is resounds around a feed trough, a newborn baby, and the wonder of simple folk who witnessed it all.  That they were never quite sure of what they witnessed is beyond debate – as is the truth that in that moment they encountered the fullness of God such as they or the world had never known.  This “fullness of God” is grace beyond grace, forgiveness, love, and compassion such as the world could not and still does not comprehend.

Another has put it well: Because of His visitation, we may no longer desire God as if He were lacking: our redemption is no longer a question of pursuit - but surrender to Him who is always and everywhere present. Therefore at every moment we pray that, following Him we may depart from our anxiety into His peace. ( W. H. Auden, For the Time Being.)

So, join me in celebrating the Christmas that really is.  Gather round the nativity and gaze in wonder and awe before the sacred mystery of life.  Sing carols at the top of your lungs – on key or not – and rejoice that God chose to come among us as one of us.  Rejoice that the last word from God is not judgment but grace, not condemnation but commutation, not death but life – and life eternal.  The “Christmas that really is” ends not in Bethlehem but in Gethsemane where an empty tomb and the promise of angels completes the story.  Nay, the “Christmas that really is” ends not – rather it continues in the hearts and minds of believers, in the multitude of churches with their bath-robed pageants, aluminum foil stars, those stumbling and bumbling recreations of that night when Jesus finally shows up.  The Christmas that really is – no other Christmas can compete!