A Sermon preached on Christmas Eve: 10pm Festive Holy Eucharist, 24 December 06

The Rev. Richard Nelson, Rector

      I like to image it this way: The night is well advanced; even the late crowd at the corner tavern has finally stumbled home.  The night is still and stealthily illumined as it is at about 3am.  Most people are asleep: some have troubled tossing; some are dreaming; some are fighting nightmares.  The insomniacs are awake with pre-occupations, the sick are hoping for relief.  Animals dose, happy to be free of human demands and cruelty for a time.  The night is still and secret, like millions before and thousands since.

      There is a cry:  A newborn baby’s cry.  It was preceded by the frightful sounds of a young woman in the birth struggle.  These sounds were mostly absorbed by the straw and animal bodies.  And she tried not to give in to the pain and fear.  But the sound of a newborn’s cry is different, more difficult to be muffled.  It is too piercing, too new, and too insistent.  A new cry goes out into the night, shattering the silence.

      Does anyone hear the cry?  I don’t know.  Perhaps some did: maybe the insomniacs and light sleepers; perhaps mothers with their own newborns, and mothers who treasure the memory of their newborns-now-grown.  I suppose some men could have heard it too: the tenderhearted, those alert to any sound out of the ordinary, one or two living in active fear of the police, or their enemies, or their friends.

      Even if some heard, many of these would not have thought much of it.  Another baby born.  Okay.  Another mouth to feed for some already overtaxed family.  One more little Jewish kid born under the oppression of Rome.  If you must rejoice, don’t get carried away; empires of greed and power always manage to grind joy into sorrow.  Many went right on sleeping.  Of the few who heard, some rolled over and went back to sleep; some only thought they heard something; not many gave a second thought.

      Do you want to hear the cry of the newborn?  Think before your mind answers.  Hearing the cry will start you think deeper thoughts, and not just about him.  If you open your ears to hear the newborn’s cry, you will hear another cry, too.  You will hear the cry from the cross.  At both we receive new life, through the One who screams those cries.  The last cry is an echo of the first; the first cry contains within itself the last.  Do you want to hear the cry?  Be careful, because to hear the cry is the first step in inviting the One who cries into your life.  His cry of life and death and living again will change you.  Jesus’ cry will pierce you, will undo you, will transform you and save you.

      The real challenge of Christmas is not just theological.  It is not about deciding that a one baby can have two natures, human and divine.  The real challenge of Christmas is both personal and cosmic.  Will we allow God’s story to become our story?  Will we seek to give our lives over to God’s purposes for us and for everyone?  Even if asleep will you wake up, although you may only think or dreamed you heard something?  Will we hear and follow?  Will you surrender your notions of how your life should be, how the world should be, how God should be?  Will you serve Jesus’ purpose in your life, and give your life to him each day?  Let no outward rebellion or inner pride prevent you. He cries your name in yearning love.  Listen with the ear of your heart, in the silence of this night, to the cry of the Savior.  Allow Jesus’ power, Jesus’ love and Jesus’ way of life to be your life.  This is true Christmas joy, and may your joy be perfected in Christ Jesus.  Amen.