Adoring

 Froeliche Weihnacht, friends. That’s “merry Christmas” in German. Now you have an ice breaking anecdote for your next awkward family dinner.

Today is Christmas Eve, the day we’ve been looking forward to. Maybe. Kind of. It’s the day our kids have been looking forward to, anyway. Christmas Eve is a lot of different kinds of things, depending on who you are, and who you’re celebrating with. It could be a day of church with your family (thanks for coming!). It could be a day of baking cookies and drinking hot chocolate while watching Miracle on 34th Street.  Or Home Alone. Or Elf. Or Love Actually. Or Die Hard. Hey, whatever floats your boat. It could be a day of singing carols around the piano. It could be a day where you dry shampoo your hair and run around the house for half an hour, already late for service, trying to find your other shoe. It could be one of three days every year where you have to tolerate the presence of your mother in law without picking an argument. Or it could be a day you spend on your own, a day you order Chinese takeout and try to forget what day it is, not that everyone around you is very helpful with that. 

Whatever today is, it’s kind of a lot. A lot of good, or a lot of stress, or a lot of love, or a lot of memories. Or all of the above. But, a lot.

And we’re under a lot of cultural pressure to “make” this day some kind of thing. Lights on your house that put your neighbors to shame. A perfect dinner that will score you all the likes on Instagram. The ideal gifts that will earn you love. And the most wondrous, twinkly, festive Christmas feeling. The kind that’s just supposed to come on naturally, right? Right? That’s what all the movies say.

Well, if it eases your soul, and I hope it does–the only thing today is about is love. And love is a lot. But it’s not perfect, or easy. It’s seldom photogenic, contrary to popular belief. It’s random. And a little weird. Like us.

When Luke tells his version of this story, he tells us about all the people who end up present at Jesus’ cradle. A veritable motley crew of the oddest folks who could have found themselves in the same place in the middle of the night. A teen mom and her husband, visitors from another land with nowhere to go. Mary goes into labor outside–a far cry from the birthing suite at her hospital, the one with the full staff of doctors and nurses and an epidural ready to go–and she delivers in a barn. It’s better than the street, right? Then there’s angels, who might be pretty with their feathery wings and glowing halos, but who look super freaky showing up at work, singing to you, when you didn’t expect that. Then there’s shepherds. Night shepherds, for hire. Minimum wage earners who were away from their families all night to keep an eye on your livestock for you. The angels match up Mary and Joseph, who were away from family tonight, with the shepherds, who were also away from family tonight. “Go find a baby,” the angels sing to the shepherds. “He’ll be in a hay trough. Trust us, you’ll notice him, that’s kind of a weird place to put a baby.” In angel logic, who’s a better choice to go meet your baby after your impromptu barn birth than dudes who get paid $5 an hour to stand next to a sheep? 

Yet, for all the craziness of that image–it works. There’s love, companionship, and adoration, in the most unexpected time and place.

We’re like that, too. A rag tag group of oddballs that God pulled together to love the same baby tonight. Whether you floated here in your finest holiday attire looking like you just stepped out of a Macy’s catalogue, whether you scampered here late and grabbed a handful of crackers to eat in the car on the way, whether you’re watching this after the fact on YouTube because, like the shepherds, you had to work tonight, no matter how festive you may feel–you’re the perfect company. You’re doing Christmas right. You’re loving right. You’re enough. You’re here. The Nativity scene wasn’t complete without you. Tonight, you’re an honorary part of the holy family.

When you leave this place tonight, give the same kind of good news you got here. The kind that welcomes everyone, that makes space for all experiences, and that helps people find holy family. A 20th Century Baptist minister, author, and mystic by the name of Howard Thurman put it perfectly:


I Will Light the Candles This Christmas

From “The Mood of Christmas…”
—by Howard Thurman

"I will light Candles this Christmas,
Candles of joy despite all the sadness,
Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,
Candles of courage for fears ever present,
Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
Candles of love to inspire all my living,
Candles that will burn all year long."


Amen.


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