The Grand Miracle of Light!

Text: Luke 2:1-20
Theme: “The Grand Miracle of Light!”
Christmas Eve
December 24, 2010
First Presbyterian Church
Denton, Texas
The Rev. Paul R. Dunklau

+In the Name of Jesus+

The late C.S. Lewis, a well-known Christian writer, described Christmas – the story of God becoming a human being, the account of the incarnation – as the “grand miracle.” All other miracles flow forth from it; all other miracles flow back into it. I have no expectations going into tonight’s message with you, but I do have high hopes. I hope, for each of us, that a miracle will take place – flowing from that “grand miracle” of Christ’s birth. I hope that there are as many miracles tonight as there are people in this place. I hope that we will venture forth from this house of God with owning a miracle: the miracle of a stronger faith, a fuller joy, a greater love, and a deeper resolve to share – and live! -- the good news we’ve heard.

On this holy night, we have, so far, heard three readings from God’s Word. Chief among them is the Holy Gospel from Saint Luke, the story of the birth of Jesus Christ. Having heard this, our task is clear: to proclaim it.

As one called and ordained to do this publicly, I want you to be aware that I am aware of you. When I prepare a sermon, please know that I have one eye on the Scripture and the other eye on you. Any time you come into worship at church with its people and pastors and proclamations and prayers and readings and sacraments and hymns, we are, in a sense, a captive audience for awhile. We all live, move, and have our being in a world that fires off messages to us at the speed of light – be it through our high-definition televisions, our satellite and internet radios, our newspapers, our email inboxes, or our cell phones and the myriad applications that come with them. I’m only too aware of how that creates a kind of sensory overload. It used to be that attention spans were about this long (stretch out hands). Now, they are about like this (bring two fingers together at sixth inches apart).

Recognizing this, the message-producers out there try to stretch that attention span with as much Madison Avenue polish and glitz, technical wizardry, choreography, and razzle-dazzle that they can. One of the popular YouTube videos going around this holiday season is called “A Digital Christmas” – with the mother Mary sending emails to Joseph on a Google account and the wise men following Mary on Twitter. The message is that “times change but feelings don’t.” But is this the real message of Christmas? The theme for worship at one congregation in our area is, quite simply, “A 3-D Christmas.” It makes you wonder if you’re going to get those special glasses when you come into church. My point is that, in many respects, the medium has become the message. More attention is paid to how the message is delivered than the message itself.

Picture in your mind the most beautifully wrapped Christmas present you could ever imagine. The wrapping paper is thick and shiny and gold and glittery. There are red and green ribbons surrounding the package’s length and width. There is a gorgeous red velvet bow on top of the present with a sprig of holly nestled in there. It may even be spritzed with some Christmas pot-pourri! There are no rips or tears; the angles are clean; you can’t even see the scotch tape. It’s so stunning that you almost don’t want to open it. But then you do, and you discover that there’s nothing there. The box is empty; there’s no present in it. You end up with torn wrapping paper that goes in the recycle bin. I wonder: do we just recycle Christmas every year?

Now picture in your mind something else. A new mother approaches you with her first-born child tightly wrapped and safely snuggled in her arms. She smiles. There’s a tear in her eye. She says, “This child was born for you.” Gently, she cradles the baby in your arms. The child looks at you, with all that tenderness and vulnerability, and you realize that you will never be the same.

So there you have them: two mental images. One of them captures the medium, but the other captures the message.

The message: our task is to proclaim it.

The Christmas story that we proclaim is not published by Houghton-Mifflin, with high-grade paper and binding, and neither is it wrapped in cellophane with a sticker including bar code and price. It doesn’t begin with the “Once upon a time” or the “Long ago and far away” of cherished literature. Instead, coming off the pages of Holy Scripture, it reads more like a newspaper report. A decree had gone out from the government regarding a census of the people. It’s amazing how some things don’t change. We’ve had a census of our own recently.

Citizens were required to go to the place of their ancestors’ birth. So a man named Joseph, following the law, went. He traveled the eighty some odd miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem, to the birthplace of his ancestor, King David. He took his fiance’, Mary, along with him. She was about to become a mother. The mode of transportation, obviously, was not a Cadillac Escalade with heated seats, drop down DVD, a GPS, OnStar, and a brand-new Graco baby seat to take the child home in. More than likely, it was a donkey.

“And while they were there,” we are told, “the time came for the baby to be born. And she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger” which was a feeding trough for animals. There was an attempt to find lodging, but there was no room, no vacancy. Think of Presbyterian Hospital (just down the road) or Denton Regional Medical Center (just down the highway). On this Christmas Eve, there are likely expectant mothers there – and doctors and nurses on-call to attend to them. There are warm cribs in the birthing rooms at the ready. But Jesus – the Christ, the anointed One, the Messiah, the Son of the living God, the King of kings and Lord of lords, the wonderful counselor, the prince of peace, the Savior of the world – was laid in a manger, a feeding trough for animals.

Meanwhile, just outside of town, on fields that are there to this day, shepherds were doing what shepherds do: keeping watch over their flocks. With Bethlehem being only a few miles from Jerusalem, the sheep, most scholars think, were destined for religious sacrifice in the temple. It was just another night on the job for them – that is, until an angel appeared. Not only that, the report is that the “glory of the Lord” shone around them. The immediate reaction from that audience of shepherds was not “Encore! Encore!” Rather, it was total fear. Faced with a supernatural miracle of light, their reaction was actually quite natural.

The angel put their fears to rest. “”Do not be afraid,” the angel says. “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you: he is Christ the Lord.” The angel went on – giving them, you might say, the GPS coordinates: “This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Then, suddenly, there was yet more glory. Luke reports that “A great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom His favor rests.’”

But the miracle, the grand miracle, was not in the glory and the glitz. The grand miracle was lying in the manger, a feeding trough for animals.

The Christmas angels did not leave them with tour dates for their next performances. They just left – and left the shepherds alone. What would they do? “Lets go to Bethlehem,” they said to one another. They didn’t take their own sweet time. Luke says that they “hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.” The message – with its coordinates – was true!

The grand miracle spawned a miracle unique to the shepherds; they became witnesses. Their witness, like a YouTube video, was a viral phenomenon. It spawned another miracle: people were amazed. The grand miracle spawned a miracle unique to Mary; she “treasured up” what had happened and “pondered” it in her heart, we are told.

What will the grand miracle do with you?

When I was a boy, my pastor told a Christmas story about two brothers who lived only a few miles from one another and who had been estranged for quite some time. There were simmering resentments between the two, and they hadn’t kept in contact. One brother lived on the edge of the forest. The other lived in town.

It was a cold Christmas Eve. There was new-fallen snow on the ground. Alone in his home, the brother on the edge of the forest thought of his brother in town. Something was going on in his head and his heart. He thought, “You know, I don’t have anything else to do, and he’s probably cold on account of the snow. I’ll just bundle up, chop some wood, and take it to him for his fireplace. That’s all.”

Meanwhile, the other brother sat alone at his home in town. “You know,” he thought, “my brother probably isn’t coming into town on account of the snow. Maybe he doesn’t have any Christmas dinner. I’ll just go to the store and get some things and take them out to him, and that will be that.”

On that Christmas Eve, the two brothers met for the first time in a long time – halfway between town and the edge of the forest. They each saw what the other brought. Not a word was said. They embraced for a long moment, and years of resentment peeled away and the forgiveness was a fresh as the new-fallen snow. They made it to their own Bethlehem, and the grand miracle did not disappoint.

Dear sisters and brothers, we come to our own Bethlehem tonight. Let us keep the feast and celebrate miracle. For now, faith is strong; joy is full; love is great; resolve is deep, and the good news we’ve heard is grand!

Amen.