Let God
Luke 2:8-20 (KJV), And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. 10 And the angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. 12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 14 Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace, Good will toward men.
15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. 16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. 17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. 18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.”
Christmas Eve, December 24, 2013
Isaiah 9:2-7, Luke 2:1-20, Let God
Doug Scalise, Brewster Baptist Church
[powerpress]
What’s the best news you ever heard in your life? What’s the best thing you were ever told? What is the best thing anyone ever said to you? Think about that for a moment, what comes to mind? If someone asked you, what would you say? Depending on our age or experience we might say different things – making a team or a group, getting a job or accepted into a college, someone proposing marriage or hearing someone say yes to a proposal, getting the news that you have a grandchild, there are a lot of things we might say.
I suspect that for the rest of their lives the message of the angels was near the top of the shepherds list of best things they ever heard. I also think for Mary, hearing the message of the shepherds probably was near the top of her list. The news she heard from the angel Gabriel nine months before about having a child was special but that was also scary, daunting, and nerve wracking. When the shepherds came to Mary and told her what they had heard and seen – it must have been a great relief to hear such good, confirming news about her baby. The Christmas story in Luke 2 – is about three important things: the first is Celebration. The message for us as it was for the shepherds in the fields outside the town of Bethlehem and for Mary is “Good news of great joy for all people.” It can be difficult to think of many things that fit that description. Often times what is good news for one person or group means not so good news for someone else. The good news that you got a job or that your team won the World Series means for someone else they didn’t get the job or their team lost. What is good news for one political party is often bad news for another. God’s view of humanity and the earth are quite different than our own. God’s perspective is closer to the view one sees from space like the astronauts saw today during their spacewalk. Part of what makes Christmas special is the angel’s announcement that the birth of Jesus is good news of great joy for all people whoever we are wherever we are because Jesus can make such a big difference in our lives if we let him. God knows we can use some good news and “Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.” Karl Barth
Christmas is about Celebration because of the second part of the good news which is Salvation. The angel says “unto you is born this day a Saviour.” This is the first place we lose people with the Christmas and Christian message. Some people think, “I don’t need someone to save me or help me or forgive me, I can run my own life just fine and I am doing great with it in every way.” When I was in New York City with Nathan in June, I took a few minutes to admire the bronze statue of Atlas in front of Rockefeller Center in midtown Manhattan, across Fifth Avenue from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The sculpture depicts the Ancient Greek Titan Atlas holding up the heavens. In ancient Greek mythology, Atlas was a Titan condemned to support the heavens on his shoulders. Statues of Atlas usually reveal a well-proportioned man with huge shoulders, rippling muscles, and enormous thighs. But his head is often looking down and his legs are bent as he is weighed down from bearing the weight of the heavens or the world on his shoulders.
It occurred to me as I stood there on Fifth Avenue that day looking at all the different people going by the statue – from business people in very expensive clothes to the homeless folks nearby – that our society is filled with people who feel like Atlas, that they’re bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. I think a lot of people feel like Atlas, how much longer can I keep this up, how much longer can I hold up, how much longer can I bear up under the weight, strain, and pressure I feel. In the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” that I watch every year on Christmas Eve, George Bayley, played by Jimmy Stewart, feels like Atlas. The pressures of work and the expectations of other people are crushing him. He’s sacrificed the future he wanted for himself to help others fulfill their dreams. Then because of his Uncle Billy’s mistake, George is facing bankruptcy, and scandal and prison. Deep in depression he thinks he’s worth more dead than alive. He stuffs his life insurance policy in his coat pocket and goes to his friend’s restaurant and bar, where he bares his soul in prayer. Even though he is not a religious or praying man, he cries that he is at the end of his rope, the weight is too much for him, and he begs God to show him the way.
Some of us may be able to relate to George Bayley and Atlas. There are parents whose hearts are breaking for children caught in the throes of addiction to alcohol and drugs who have not been able to get free. There are spouses for whom the fire of love has grown dim and they’re unsure how to make things better. There are children young and old who carry the weight of their parent’s pain, especially when they have to move a parent out of their home into a new residence. There are primary caregivers who are physically and mentally exhausted. There are people dealing with chronic and terminal conditions. There are people who have lost their jobs or who are desperately in need of work. There are people who have lost loved ones or friends to death in the last year, and weight of grief is at times overwhelming. There are people who feel they have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Under the weight of the stress so many people are feeling, Christmas once again offers us a simple truth: Let God bear the weight of your problems. “For unto you is born this day a Saviour.”
The good news we celebrate at Christmas is we don’t have to carry the weight of problems or the weight of the world. The baby born in the manger will do that. God loves us so much that God chose to live among us. God sent a baby to express God’s passionate love for each of us, even when we didn’t deserve it, even when we feel we’ve failed to be the kind of people we want to be. The baby is our salvation.
After celebration and salvation, the third and final part of the Christmas message is Reconciliation – “Peace on earth good will toward men.” So many of the Christmas movies and stories that touch us are about peace, good will, reconciliation, and people recognizing that we’re all in this thing called life together. It’s awful how lacking in good will so many people are today and it is amazing what a difference a little good will toward other people can make in them and in us. A baby’s mother tells the following story. “It was Sunday, Christmas Day. Our family had spent the holiday in San Francisco with my husband’s parents, but in order for us to be back at work on Monday, we found ourselves driving the 400 miles back home to Los Angeles on Christmas Day. We stopped for lunch in King City. The restaurant was nearly empty. We were the only family, and ours were the only children. I heard Erik, my one-year-old, squeal with glee. “Hithere,” the two words he always thought were one. “Hithere,” and he pounded his fat baby hands – whack, whack, whack-on the metal high chair. His face was alive with excitement, his eyes were wide, gums bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled, and then I saw the source of his merriment. A tattered rag of a coat, bought by someone else ages ago, dirty, greasy, and worn; baggy pants; spindly body; toes that poked out of would-be shoes; a shirt that had ring around the collar all over; and a face like none other – gums as bare as Erik’s. “Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy, I see ya, Buster.” My husband and I exchanged a look that was a cross between “What do we do?” and “Poor guy.”
Our meal came, and the banging and the noise continued. Now the old man was shouting across the room. “Do you know patty cake? Atta boy. Do you know peek a-boo? Hey look! He knows peek a-boo!” Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hithere.” Every call was echoed. Nobody thought it was cute. The guy was a drunk and a disturbance. I was embarrassed. My husband Dennis was humiliated. Even our six-year-old said, “Why is that old man talking so loud?”
Dennis went to pay the check, imploring me to get Erik and meet him in the parking lot. I thought, “Lord, just let me get out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” and I bolted for the door. It was soon obvious that both the Lord and Erik had other plans. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back, walking to sidestep him and any air that he might be breathing. As I did so, Erik, all the while his eyes riveted to his new best friend, leaned over my arm, reaching up with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position. In a split-second of balancing my baby and turning to counter his weight, I came eye-to-eye with the old man.
Erik was lunging for him, arms spread wide. The man’s eyes both asked and implored, “Would you let me hold your baby?” There was no need for me to answer since Erik propelled himself from my arms to the man. Erik laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands, full of grime and pain and hard labor, gently, so gently cradled my baby and stroked his back. I stood awestruck.
The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” And somehow I managed “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest, unwillingly, longingly, as though he was in pain. I held my arms open to receive my baby, and again the gentleman addressed me. “God bless you, Ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift.” All I could mutter was “thanks.”
With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. Dennis wondered why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly. And why I was saying, “My God, forgive me. Forgive me.”[1] The real meaning of Christmas is in this story. One-year-old Erik is God. The ragged old man is us. Erik is God’s yearning and passion for us weighed down and burdened with our tattered lives, tattered hurts, tattered relationships, and our tattered sins. Erik is two arms determined to hug us. Erik, like Jesus, is a determined little baby who makes no distinctions and would embrace the least likely people- including you and me.
The little loving and hugging arms of the baby Jesus would become the loving and strongest arms in the world that stretched out on a cross and bore the weight of all our sin and shortcomings; arms strong enough to bear our heaviest burdens, if we’ll let him. I remember a television commercial for a pickup truck featured the truck driver crossing desert-like terrain and passing Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders in the form of a large globe. The driver passes by Atlas, looks in the rear view mirror and considers Atlas’ predicament. Then he stops, puts the truck in reverse, and asks, “You want a hand with that?” Atlas looks up surprised, and dumps the world in the bed of the pickup truck with a thud. The commercial closed with Atlas riding in the cab of the truck, looking at the driver with a relieved look of gratitude and the driver smiling a look back that seems to say, “No problem, you’re welcome, glad to be of help.” In a sense, that’s what Christmas is about. Many of us feel like Atlas, or at least like George Bayley. We’re carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders; we’re bowed down, stumbling, and falling under the burdens we feel. Christmas is Jesus pulling up alongside us and asking, “You want a hand with that?”
Jesus invites us to lay the weight of our burdens upon him because he cares for us and he can handle them so much easier than we can alone. Christmas is Jesus inviting us to journey on the road of life with him, putting the weight of the world on his shoulders, not our own. Let God do it. “For unto us, a child is born. Unto us a Son is given. And the government will be upon his shoulders. And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Celebration, Salvation, Reconciliation, that is what Christmas is all about.
Merry Christmas, and God bless us, everyone.
[1] William J. Bausch, A World of Stories, 459-461.