Sermon for December 13, 2009

              Scripture:       Luke 3:7-18

                        “Christmas”  

                  Rev. Christopher Fazel

            You know, from the perspective of the Bible, and of the Christian Church, the single most important holiday in the liturgical year is Easter -- the day of the resurrection of our Lord.  In fact, every Sunday, we celebrate a little Easter, in that Jesus rose from the dead on the first day of the week.  Easter is the high holy day of the Christian Church. 

            But for most of us, I am convinced that there is no more sacred day and season than that of Christmas.  For most -- if not all of us -- it is Christmas that carries the greatest whollop to our cultural and religious psyche.  Now, I don't know exactly why that is.  I don't think that it's just a product of commercial marketing.  It may have something to do with the winter solstice -- that primeval human experience of the turning point in our solar year when light begins again to increase.  But I believe that Christmas is our most sacred holy day.

            Now, what do I mean by sacred?  Well, literally, sacred means "set apart", and Christmas is that for us.  Now, I know that we all get frantically busy at this season.  We run ourselves ragged, and yet, even in the midst of the hustle and bustle, the Christmas season weaves a spell that drives us inward to reflect on our lives, and to measure them against our ideals, hopes and aspirations.  And the season uses every medium available to weave this spell.  It uses soft beautiful music.  There is no other time of the year when you hear such beautiful spellbinding music everywhere you go.  In the malls, in the elevators, as we're waiting on the phone, this rich reflective music floats into our ears.  And then, there's all those little twinkling lights that punch holes in the darkness, fixing our gaze and evoking images of Christmas' past.  And, there's candle light, and the smell of scented candles, and the smell of evergreen and the sweet smell and taste of Christmas fare -- cider, cookies and cocoa full of sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg. Every one of our senses is stimulated and directed toward an attitude of remembrance and reflection.

            And then, there's the Christmas Tree.  Once a year we pull out these boxes full of tree lights and ornaments virtually dripping with memories, and we go through the ritual of putting them on the tree, usually to the sound of soft seasonal music.  Every year we build a kind of evergreen totem pole, that documents our entire life in little tree hangings and creches accumulated through the years.  And then, at some point every day, we spend a little time in the darkened living room sitting in front of the tree that glows with these soft lights.  And our thoughts whorl back through the years, as we unpack memories that will not stay boxed on the shelf.

            Yes, Christmas weaves a spell alright, and it continues until December 31st, when we finally break it with a blast of revelry on New Year's Eve.  Christmas is a sacred time, a time set apart, a time dedicated to reviewing our lives and measuring them against our ideals, hopes and aspirations.

            And because of this, it's easy to see why Christmas can be a time of great pain.  You know, I have been told by many who have lost loved ones, that the pain of separation is greatest at the sacred times.  Sitting in church alone where before you always sat together, and the holy days, and especially Christmas, when memories are so fresh and unpacked, the painful memories are there right along with the joyous ones.  And then we all stand and sing "Joy to the World."  And the tension created by the spectrum of emotions can be hard to handle.

            But harder to handle are those haunting feelings that we have not measured up to those ideals that pervade the season, "peace on earth, good will to all people.  Sometimes I think we party so hard on New Year's Eve, because we just can't take the pressure of all this loving kindness.  The wild hoops and hollers are a backlash to all of the tenderness and mildness mandated by the holiday. 

            And then there's the ideal of generosity.  John says in today's reading, "whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise."  This ideal of charity is central to the gospel of Christ, and the spell of Christmas brings us face to face with a life-review brutally measured by that ideal.  It's the story of Scrooge confronted with the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.  Yes, as with Scrooge the spell of Christmas can be frightening, for it haunts us with the ideals of the Christ that we profess, but don't always live.  But let us not forget that the spell of Christmas has a purpose.  It is the same purpose as the haunting of Scrooge and the preaching of the prophets.  That purpose is to remind us of the ideals of our faith, and to encourage us to once again commit to living them in our lives throughout the year, even when the spell is broken.  And as with the haunting of Scrooge and the preaching of the prophets, the spell of Christmas whispers a promise.  It is that if we turn and again dedicate our lives to the standards of the Christ, we will be graced with Joy even in the midst of pain.  For Joy is greater than pleasure.  It is the awareness that we are in step with a loving God, who feels joy in every act of kindness, compassion, and generosity.  As Christmas weaves its spell in us again this year, may it bring to us the joy of knowing that Christ may be born anew in our hearts, and with that birth, the angels sing.  Let us pray.

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