Christmas Eve 2024, Luke 2:1-14
The world does not get much more peaceful than this: Christmas Eve. Sure, maybe your world did not feel peaceful as you argued with your spouse as you left your home to come to The Chapel, or maybe your parents threatened to petition Santa to place you as a last-minute addition to the naughty list. Still, as the lights dim and candles are lit, and the organ begins to play Silent Night, the peace of Christmas will wash over this place. And for a moment, even if it is a fleeting moment, peace will be among us.
As a pastor, I can tell you peace can be challenging in church. Most Sundays, I come charging into the Sanctuary later than I should because one thing or another has gone from mild inconvenience to full-blown crisis.
We forgot the communion bread.
The children’s ministry volunteers called. They’re sick and won’t be here this morning.
The weird smell coming from the men’s room that we thought was taken care of is back with a vengeance.
Then, there are the crises that are of more significance.
A member of the congregation has died.
An update from a family that the divorce they hoped to avoid will be filed on Monday.
There has been another mass shooting, and another war has begun.
There are times when peace feels like i is out of our reach. Tonight is not that night.
As our scripture reading begins, we see that there is little hope for peace. The joy and love we long for this time of year are absent.
“In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.”[i]
Not much peace there. The holy family is on the move as an oppressed, occupied people. Why did the Jewish people need to be “registered,” counted, like cattle? The Roman occupying force could not keep tabs on the Jews without their being registered. Even Mary, expecting a child, had to travel with her betrothed back to his hometown for the census. The emperor decreed it. It was the law.
Even amid the chaos of traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem, finding no room at the inn and a manger-side birth, there is still peace within our reading from St. Luke.
There, in the silence of the night, a baby cries out for his mother. In the stable out behind the shed, a baby is wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a feeding trough. In a manger, a child quietly rests.
Shepherds are huddling in the cold of the night when, all of a sudden, the peace of the night is broken.
“Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”
“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!”
That peace is why we are gathered this evening to sing carols and raise candles.
“The birth of Jesus is God’s decisive intervention in the world, bringing peace, but not the peace of this world,” writes Rev. Fleming Rutledge. “It is the peace of God’s reign, born in a manger, witnessed by the humble.”
We have been going about the business of life – going to work, paying taxes, and reading about the lack of peace around the world on the front page of the paper while the echoes of war blare from our televisions. Yet, the ordinary remains – babies are born, friends get engaged, family members die, and we celebrate birthdays. Through it all, we try to create our own peace by controlling what we can control and doing our best to ignore the rest.
Then, God intrudes. We feel at peace this evening because something has happened. God, through a child, has intruded into the natural order of things.
The story we read this evening is the same one we read last Christmas, and it would be safe to assume we will read the same one next Christmas. It is the same old song of the intruding peace of God—a story of political oppression and political violence. Luke tells us we are in Bethlehem. A city that was under occupation then and a city today that is currently experiencing its second Christmas in a row under the threat of war, but it could also be Kyiv, Yemen, or your own backyard. Augustus Caesar issued the order to go and be counted, but it could have also been your boss, a bully on the playground, or your oncologist. External decrees and chaos disrupt the peace we try to create for ourselves.
When the emperor commanded the census, many chose to revolt and fight. Many chose to pick up a weapon and take matters into their own hands. None of these revolts made their way into Luke’s final draft, or Matthews, or Marks, or John’s. Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem rather than pick up a sword and fight. Really, what could they do?
We began the season of Advent with the Angel Gabriel declaring to Mary what was going to happen and who her son would be:
You will “bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”[ii]
And we close this evening with another greeting to Mary. After receiving the message of peace from the heavenly hosts, the shepherds go, they tell Mary everything they have been told. Mary “treasured” their words and “pondered them in her heart.”
You see? Christmas, the Incarnation, Emmanuel, God-with-us is not a story about what we must do to solve the problems of the world. We know that story, and sure, we can lead ourselves to temporary solutions. Some forward movement, a new administration across the river, a magic piece of legislation that all can agree on, but rarely does it lead to peace, and never the real-lasting peace of God, no matter the promises made from behind a teleprompter.
The peace we long for is the product of God’s actions. We are experiencing peace this evening because we are acknowledging – like Mary, like Joseph, like the shepherds – that God has moved.
I know not all is right in the world, that all is not right in your life. There are secrets, deep and dark, that keep you up at night. There is an empty seat at your table. There is a diagnosis that you wish you could ignore. And, when Christmas is over, you will trudge your way into the full gray of January, where the bills from December await. Every day, you are moved by forces greater than your own. I know.
And that is why I say to you, like Luke, like the carols say, and like the glow of the candles reflect – I bring you good news of great joy for all people: to you is born this day… a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord… and on to all on earth, peace. Amen.
[i] Luke 1:1, NRSV
[ii] Luke 1:32-34
Share this post