There is still a glow in this place from all of our Christmas Eve celebrations. The many candles were one source of glow, but they weren’t the primary one. The biggest source was all those beaming faces of children, some of whom were experiencing the festivities for the first time, and the glistening eyes of parents and grandparents who were so happy to share this with them. The whole evening was glorious. The choirs were in their glory, and I confirmed with David Link that he really did pull out all the stops. That’s not just an expression of speech. For many, the highlight of each service is when all the fanfare is quieted, the lights are dimmed, and we sing Silent Night. I love to hear this place filled with voices softly singing, “Christ our Savior is born.” I just can’t hear that too many times.
Is it really possible that one baby’s birth is our salvation? Is it really possible that the birth of one little baby makes all the difference? Curiosity got the better of me, and I checked a statistic. The best estimate is that 106 Billion babies have been born in the history of humankind. That’s 106 Billion. Could the birth of one in that 106 Billion change everything for the better?
As I was wondering how to newly think about this question, I came across something precious in my office. A couple years ago, Canon Carey and I were meeting weekly with a group of people looking more deeply into issues of faith in preparation for the Great Vigil of Easter, our other major liturgical celebration of the year. One evening, we all took a moment to ponder this question: “From what do you need salvation?” For many years, the church got by with “the wages of sin” as the primary answer. But that language doesn’t work for everyone any more. We need to find our own words to express our need for salvation before we can think about how Jesus’ birth might make a difference.
We all wrote our answers on cards, and I am holding those cards now. Here is what members of that group (including Canon Carey and myself) wrote on our cards:
I want to be saved from loneliness.
I want to be saved from darkness, including confusion, aloneness, and fear of inadequacy.
Again, I want to be saved from loneliness.
I want to be saved from being alone.
Saved from fear
From existential anxiety
Save me from unfulfilling work.
I want to be saved from being lost (not knowing where I am and not knowing where I should be going).
From the Rat Race
From meaninglessness
Again, from meaninglessness
I need to be saved from faithless fears.
I want to be saved from bad health.
From worry about health issues for my family and myself. I need to “let go, and let God.”
From dying “bit by bit,” as my body ages
For the first time, I have faced a life-threatening condition, and I want to be able to not have a fear of death, but look at it as a transition.
Save me from “faith-less-ness.”
From death
From the dark and broken places inside of me
I want to be saved from having a quick temper.
From a world of hate
Save me from unkindly thoughts and words.
I want to be saved from my failings and mistakes.
Being critical of other people who live a different life-style than mine
Save me from anxiety and fear that disables.
Save me from depression.
From feelings of inadequacy
I want to be saved from disorganization.
I need to be saved from myself.
As I read through these cards last week, I couldn’t hold back the tears. One of our Stephen Ministers told me that she has a note on her mirror intended to put her in the right frame of mind for the day which reads, “Everyone has a story, and if you knew it, you would love them.” Those who filled out these cards were telling their story with utter candor. My tears were tears of love. But they were also tears of empathy, because they weren’t just writing their own story, they were speaking for all of us, and for all humankind. I bet you could identify with one, or two, or more of those cards. They capture feelings that have been with us since Adam and Eve left the Garden, since they mourned the murder of one son and the exile of the other.
While I could not hold back tears, God could not hold back God’s on self in response to these feelings. That’s what we celebrated on Christmas. The One who created us in love chose to be born into our human condition to proclaim that our Creator is still at work in our stories, still dreaming dreams for who we can become, still forming visions of the life that is possible for us, and still doing everything possible to invite us into making those visions our reality. The birth of Jesus was different from all the 105,999,999,999 other births in human history. Today’s Gospel is true. What came into being through him was life, life for all of us, affirmed by God’s choice to be in the midst of our human experience. We received the gift of a light that cannot be overcome by any darkness.
But what should we do in those moments, days or seasons of life when it feels like a darkness is overcoming the light, when we cannot find our way back to the light? Thankfully, God has given us the gift of the church, so that we can lead one another back to the light in time of need. Hear these words again from our second lesson: God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" Our community assures that when you cannot cry out from your own lips for whatever reason, others here can cry out for you. Today, we offer the sacrament of anointing with holy oil and prayer with laying on of hands. This is a wonderful way to allow others to cry out on your behalf. If any plea on the cards I read speaks for you, carry it forward in your heart to the altar rail this day and claim your entitlement to God’s promised light. We have been promised that Jesus’ birth makes us all children of God. This is your right. Claim it!