Glories Stream
December 8, 2024 - Luke 2: 8-20
Does it feel like Christmas to you? I know it’s not Christmas yet, technically. In church time it’s still Advent. And perhaps there’s something not wholly religiously sanctioned about it but that’s what I start asking myself sometime in mid-December. Does it feel like Christmas yet? Do you know what I mean? Maybe you define it a little differently. Maybe you have a special tradition that allows you to summon the “Christmas” feeling on demand. But for me, I’m talking about a moment of deep wonder that sweeps me up and reminds me of my smallness in the vastness of creation. It’s an awe-filled reminder that despite my smallness, I’m connected to all that eternal infiniteness by an unbreakable love. It’s a strange warming of the heart that usually catches me unaware and plunges me to the depths of what I understand Christmas to be about – holy, eternal, infinite God, made vulnerable infant flesh and come right down here to where we are then, now, and forever.
I’ve met that moment while lighting candles and singing Silent Night. I’ve met that moment while staying up too late and breaking too many rules with dear siblings with whom I may quarrel but who I’d also protect with my life. I’ve met it while rocking a sleepless child. I’ve met it while rocking my sleepless grief. It’s not an assurance that nothing is wrong. It’s the realization that while things are very wrong in very many places, that holy, eternal love and my mercifully sweet connection to it prevails.
It doesn’t always show up when I’d like. But it usually shows. It doesn’t always look like a picture perfect Christmas card. In fact, it usually looks a lot more like a haphazard band of shepherds who’ve been watching their flocks by night for so long that they’ve started to look and smell a lot like the sheep they’re tending. In the scripture story, that’s when the wonder shows up. That’s when the angels light the sky. To simple, wild, lowly places, God still sends God’s messengers to fill us with wonder and awe.
Those angels tell us then and now, “Do not be afraid,” which is both an utterly necessary and utterly ridiculous thing for them to say. Angels can be truly scary. In the Bible they don’t usually show up to deliver fast food or to tell you about their favorite new Netflix show. They usually show up to let you know everything is different now and you are about to be asked to be very, very brave. To Sara, Isaiah, Zechariah, Mary, and the shepherds the angels bring good news of great joy. They also bring the admonition to believe them and to take courage for the road ahead.
“Do not be afraid,” they say. But maybe it helps to know they probably mean, “I know you’re really afraid. That’s okay. Be afraid for a while, if you need. But I’m asking you not to let your fear control the decisions you make. I’m asking you to be brave.” Fear comes so naturally in the face of uncertainty or anytime we expect the possibility of pain, harm, or loss.
Some of us are experiencing a form of fear or at least concern about the change in presidential administration in the US. Some of us are experiencing fear, worry, or stress about our own health or about the health of our relationships. Many of us are experiencing worry, concern, and grief about changes here at church – and I am among them. As much as I am excited about this new role I will be taking on, I am experiencing grief as I say goodbye to you in the role of pastor. But other things are changing, too. The church is exploring increased rental partnerships. The church is experiencing decreasing financial resources and increasing or at least unrelenting building needs. In so very many ways, the church is not the same as it was in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and neither is the world.
There are some resources, people, and ways of being together that some of those of us who lived through those times still grieve the loss of. It is understandable to be worried, concerned, or even fearful about all these things and more. How can it feel like Christmas with these things on our minds? Maybe it helps to remember that even in the Christmas story, not everything was really calm not all ways always bright, and yet they found a way to be present to the glories still streaming by tenderly, bravely facing what was before them.
After the angels encourage bravery, the next message they bring is “good news of great joy.” The good news of great joy the angels bring the shepherds is that a savior has been born. It is a reassurance that their people are not forgotten. God is in their midst and cares deeply for each one. Despite the harshness and suffering of their world, God is with them. And we, too, are not alone. Knowing that doesn’t solve all our problems. But it can make it possible for us to find the courage we need in the face of trouble and change.
It’s why a simple card, phone call, or little text message of support can mean so much. It’s why a meal shared can seem like holy manna. It’s why it matters to address the systems–not just the symptoms of suffering in our world. It may not house all the children, clothe all the naked, and feed all the hungry at once. But every time someone reaches out to us and we reach out to another we join in that holy work of being bravely with each other. And as Mary who treasured and pondered all these things in her heart knows, it changes things not to be alone.
This City of Elgin is pretty good at knowing how it changes things. There was such an outpouring of material donations after the fire in “tent city” this week, that city leaders had to ask folks to stop bringing them. And I know this is not the start or the end of the way people in our area do try to look out for each other, regardless of our income or housing status. We know it changes things, not to be alone. The shepherds knew it, too. They left praising God and sharing the good news. We are not alone. God is with us. And because of that we need not be controlled by our fears. Because of that we can show up bravely and kindly, ready to face any challenges before us with creativity and care.
I don’t know if they looked or smelled like sheep. But I hear that there’s a story behind the excessively decorated house on Monroe Street that goes back to a time when the owner suffered a devastating injury. It’s said his friends knew how much he loved Christmas lights and wanted him so much to feel not alone in his suffering that they did the lights for him and hung those big balls of lights in the tree so that he would know they were there, they were rooting for him, and it was okay to be brave. Every year the tree gains another of those big balls of light, celebrating one more year from that anniversary and one more year that he can return the favor to the rest of us in the neighborhood in lights that are as loud as shepherds shouting in the night.
When will that Christmas feeling dawn on you this year? I can’t guarantee it’s arrival or its timing. But I can tell you that we are never truly alone. And because of that we need not be ruled by our fear. Because of that we can turn toward all that it is still calm and bright. Because of that we can find the joy of the glories still streaming all around us, no matter what life brings our way.
May it be so. Amen.
