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Sermon, by Pastor Joel
December 24, 2024
Luke 2: 1-7, 8-14, 15-20
John 1: 1-14
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Merry Christmas!
And so here we have arrived, once again, at the manger, the divine culmination of our Christmas story. Mary and Joseph are safe and warm with the animals. The Shepherds have followed the star. In the East, the Magi are about to begin their journey. And of course, in the centre of it, is a baby, representing a new beginning, a new way for God to be present, not above and around, but walking our human steps at our sides.
In her book, The Amen Effect, Rabbi Sharon Brous writes about a kind of presence called “sacred accompaniment,” and what could be more sacred than Jesus being born to live among us, to go on to be the friend and teacher and healer we know him to become.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s remain here, in this place tonight, among the animals and a set of strangers. For God has made room for all of us, wherever we come from, and whatever we believe, and even if we are not sure of what we believe. The manger is a diverse group of different backgrounds – at the end it will be filled with a stressed-out young mother and her new husband having a baby for the first time, a group of humble shepherds who were curious enough to make the trip, a trio of educated Magi bringing fancy gifts. There is a place for all of us here. That is what makes the story so magical each and every Christmas. It never gets boring – for as our lives progress, we may relate to different characters in the scene. Maybe Mary or Joseph. Maybe a shepherd. Maybe one of the Magi. And sometimes, let’s face it, we might even feel the most kinship with the donkey.
But what is offered to all of us is the sacred accompaniment of God. Not a God who tells us what we must think. Not a God who tells us what journey to take in life. Not a God who judges our doubts or the decisions we make. However we want to understand God, we can feel that presence. For me – and I hope for you – it is the presence of love and peace and hope.
This year – this very difficult year – Hanukkah begins on the same day as Christmas. And for three Sundays, I have been sharing the stories that Rabbi Brous tells in her book. We are reminded that we have much to learn from other faith traditions – that our stories have more similarities than differences, and that we all have a similar desire: to be closer to the divine, to experience deeper connections on earth, to give and receive from those we love. I hope the stories have been as inspiring to you as they have been to me.
I have one more to offer on this special night. It is about an older woman named Hanne, who was walking her dog one day in the park, when she encountered a young man sleeping on a bench. As Rabbi Brous tells it, she invited him for a meal at a restaurant, and then invited him to stay in the extra bedroom in her house. His name was Ryan, and he had been living on the street for a while.
Now Hanne’s friends were anxious about her decision; even Rabbi Brous was worried about her safety. Hanne had taken a stranger under her roof having met him only briefly. They suggested that she should rethink her decision. But Hanne refused to listen: she had offered comfort to someone in need, and she would not take it back.
How similar is this to Mary and Joseph, who arrive in Bethlehem with no place to stay? They knock on an innkeeper’s door and are told that all the rooms are taken. But the innkeeper sees their needs and offers them the best space available: a place with the animals in her barn, where they will be warm and safe. How much is Hanne’s choice similar to ours, when, a few weekends ago, we fed and hosted people who find themselves unhoused with a cold Ottawa winter coming on.
In her book, Rabbi Brous explores her own reaction, reflecting on Hanne’s decision. She asks: why would the risk that Hanne takes on be greater than the danger that Ryan faces living on the street? Hanne has weighed that risk, and found that Ryan’s was greater. The innkeeper weighed the risk of letting strangers into her stable, and found that Mary and Joseph’s need was greater. The shepherds weighed the risk of leaving their sheep and found that their desire to be present at the manger, to support this young family, was greater. The Magi would soon dodge Herod’s dangerous questions about Jesus; their desire to arrive safely at the manger and offer their treasure and wisdom, was greater than any risk they took by concealing the existence of Jesus from a threatened ruler. In the end, they chose divine accompaniment; they chose to offer their presence. And for that they received the most divine presence in return.
What happened with Hanne? Ryan moved out a year later, having found his footing. Years later, when Hanne passed away, he came to her funeral. And before the crowd gathered – in front of the people who might first have doubted her decision to take him in - he spoke words of gratitude for her presence. Hanne, he said, had saved his life. And perhaps, he had also been present for her when she needed it.
I believe this is the most profound gift we receive at Christmas: the chance to offer a joyful and comforting presence, and to receive that joyful and comforting presence in return. It will happen in different ways for all of us – we may experience it among friends and family, in acts of charity, in the way God feels present in nature, and here, among familiar songs and glowing candles.
Look for the chance to be truly present for another, especially those in need. Receive the moments when someone offers their presence as a gift. Savour the hopeful, peaceful presence of a higher power, of a God that lights up our hearts and souls. In this way, we are all connected. In this way, we create a welcoming community. In this way, as we gather together in the manger, love and acceptance waits for us all.
Merry Christmas!
Amen. And Amen!
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