Jesus Christ is born this day in Bethlehem, the City of David. He is called Emmanuel, as the prophets declared: “God with us.” All of our Advent waiting, all of our faithful preparations have been to make us ready for this holy night, when into our darkened world is born the Light that cannot be comprehended. And so how can we do anything but celebrate this miraculous birth? Here we are, to come and adore Him. We pray. We prepare. We ask ourselves: what do we need to do? What do we need to do to proclaim the graces of the Incarnation? What do we need to do to show the world the persistence of light? What do we need to do?
This is a question that just one week ago we were asking very differently. Like many others, I guess I’ve always thought I knew. What do we need to do to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords? Well, we need to make music, surely. An orchestra, maybe! We need to find miles of poinsettias, a legion of altar servers, our most tasteful Christmas sweaters, and we need to prepare a feast to await us at home. And we need to be together. We need our family in Christ: you, me, all of us here together. We need the Eucharist. We need anticipation. We need that moment where the gentleman behind us in the pew starts singing the tenor line of “Silent Night” that suddenly breaks something rigid within us and lets us weep. We are a people in need.
In the last twenty-four hours, we have, with our fellow Christians, been forced to once again ask what we need to do to celebrate Christmas. What if we do not make music? What if we do not have our family members close by? What if we do not have a priest? I’ve been surprised to find a passage from the Gospel of Luke has been resounding from the center of my heart. Not the second chapter where Jesus is born and the shepherds come and adore, but a verse all the way from the nineteenth: not a Christmas reading, but a text from Palm Sunday.
In the nineteenth chapter of the Gospel of Saint Luke, Jesus enters Jerusalem. He arrives on a donkey in triumph, on his way to the city that will crucify him. The crowds are exultant: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” they shout with joy. “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” The infuriated Pharisees say to Jesus: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!” And Jesus says to them: “I tell you, if they were silent, the very stones would cry out.” This is what I cannot stop hearing: “I tell you, if they were silent, the very stones would cry out.”... The earth itself would praise him…. What if you have no music? What if you have no candlelight? What if you have no priest? What is this earth but a hymn of praise so electric and unstoppable that even what is beneath your feet declares the glory of the Incarnate God? Whatever we do or do not do, Jesus Christ comes among us, and all creation sings with joy.
It can be difficult to remember this when we cannot sing or gather like we’d hope to together tonight. I don’t like the idea that only the stones of this building are up to any praise and thanksgiving, as much as I am grateful for their witness. And God truly loves the beauty of our worship, hymns, and praise, and it is a very real pain we share in this place together. But the truth in the nineteenth chapter from the Gospel of Saint Luke…and the truth in the second chapter that we read tonight…and the truth of all of holy scriptures meet together this night to reorient us. The Gospel walks us back to the center. Instead of asking what we need to do to celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Gospel invites us to know who it is we are celebrating: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, born as one of us in poverty and darkness to save the world. Jesus, the one for whom even the stones will sing.
Nothing has changed this. Nothing has ever changed this. Nothing takes him away from us. Not what we do or do not do. Not war or destruction or oppression or violence. Not evil or absence or pandemic. What absurdity it is for God to behold the terror of this world and in response, to hold up a child. But therein lies the beauty of Christmas.
On this most holy night, do not worry about what it is you must do. Ask only to know more truly the One who meets you here. It is the Savior of the World, come down to us, God with us, at last.
Humankind was like a flower, broken from the vine and fallen into the darkened waters of an unsearchable pond. And then there he was - the Son of God: the Word made flesh who stretched his hand down into the waters and pulled our wilted, starving humanity out from the black. His breath breathed life back into us. His light warmed us into vitality again. His care and sacrifice enlivened our spirit, and by his Body and Blood we were restored, alive and in bloom, to God’s own garland crown of glory.
This is who we welcome this night. This is the One for whom even the stones will sing. Freshly to this earth and wrapped in swaddling clothes, his little presence is the fulfillment of God’s promise of salvation. He asks with gentleness for our hearts to be opened to him. He is the Prince of Peace, and he has always loved you. Come closer to the manger. Let him look upon you and welcome you home.
Preached by Mother Brit Frazier
Christmas Eve 2021
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia