Wednesday, December 17, 2025

Christmas Eve Sermon: Ponder

 


“Mary Treasured all these words, and pondered them in her heart.”

“Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

 

            With this devotional booklet,
I would like to invite you all into the 12 days of Christmas;
welcome to a season of pondering, as Mary once pondered.

            Pondering—a practice of both the head and the heart, love and contemplation wrapped together in imagination.

Considering the charged logic of the words that Mary received,
the combustible way they combine to make the Christmas story, our story.

Consider too, how precious these words are.
They are like the Velveteen Rabbit
—the stuffed rabbit is so cuddled and loved by its child,
that its eyes are worn smooth and fur is rubbed off,
and that sort of love makes it become a living bunny…
so too pondering these words can make the Gospel come alive!

            So yes, tonight I am setting you all up for 12 days of pondering all these words.

Prayer

 

Pondering all these words.

            Ponder both the fear and the joy of this proclamation.

“Be not afraid” the words of most every angel in scripture, the extraordinary among the ordinary
—heaven on earth
—is disruptive and frightening.

Think of the manger scene here,
and all those angels swirling about the tree
–to scale, that’s terrifying!
A host, an army of angels! Oh my!

            Fear placed next to joyous tidings,
Good News—Gospel…
Imagine if people were always so excited to meet a Christian because they knew the encounter with them would bring them good news!
Imagine, even, that, in a media environment saturated with bad news and sadness
—"It Bleeds it Leads”
we can share a story of joy!

            Joy and terror,
Awe and Gospel
—Isn’t that what Mary and Joseph are experiencing? Childbirth, bringing a new life into existence
—bringing a Holy Child here on earth…
Terror and Joy!

 

            Ponder the universal and the particular,
the old and the new.

            Luke’s Gospel insists upon its universality
—Jesus is for everyone.
In fact, in Luke,
if a man receives a miracle, then a woman will receive a similar miracle,
if an old person witnesses God at work, a young person will as well.
Luke understands this to be the fulfillment of prophecy from the book of Joel.
Sons and daughters,
youth and elders,
slaves and free
—“For all people.”

            At the same time, there is a particularly to the Gospel, “Born in the city of David.”
This good news for all people is grounded in the good soil of Hebrew Scripture
—God’s ongoing faithfulness to the Jewish people.
And what we read today is not an anomaly or a one off,
no, right before Mary Ponders, she sings
a song that is so similar to Hannah’s in the book of Samuel that Mary might have to pay copyright for it!
Right after today’s Gospel the Holy Family will do what all faithful Jews did at the time
—sacrifice in the temple.

            God doing something new flowing out of something old…
God’s goodness for everyone,
and yet found in a particular place and a particular time, upheld by a particular history.
The scandal of the universal
and the scandal of particularity.
God loves everyone
to which we human so often ask, “even him?”
Or more often, “Even them?”
AND ALSO
God loves YOU,
uniquely and not theoretically.
You in your messy wholeness and unvarnished history.

 

            Ponder this one who is born—Savior, Messiah, Lord. What kind of Redeemer, Chosen One, and King is he?

            Not simply a High Priest
—insisting upon right ritual, micromanaged until we’re all pure.
Not a new David violently reclaiming a Kingdom.
Not Caesar, maintaining order at all costs,
even if the bodies pile up.

Not that kind of Savior
—even if his name, Jesus, does mean Save us.
And he will…
save us from our alienation and our tendency to get tangled up on our self.
He will make meaning and right the world through self-sacrifice and accompanying love.
His authority will be lowly
—like his first crib and first guests
—manger and shepherds.
Humble Lordship that will culminate in kneeling and washing his students’ feet.

           

            Ponder the sign of God—the Birth of a child.

God with us in common things
—bands of cloth, a trough,
so unremarkable that he is squeezed out of the guest room…
you noticed that language in the new translation, yes? Inns/Guest Rooms, either way—ordinary stuff of life,
that’s the sign of God among us.
God with us in the everyday, because the redemption of our every day is the work of God!

 

            Ponder, lastly, the glory in heaven and peace on earth.

            Glory is literally the heaviness of God
—that which is too much for mortals,
yet that frightening too-much-ness
—that swarm of angels and all it implies
—offers favor and brings peace. Peace, he brings to us,
and peace he leaves for us,
the one who bears heaven to earth, God with us.

 

            Yes friends. Ponder in the coming 12 days of Christmas all these words.

 

“Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

Amen.

Tuesday, December 16, 2025

In the Valley, a Longest Night Homily



            It’s a Wonderful Life has an UNDESERVED reputation of being an old sappy black and white Christmas Movie…

but it isn’t saccharine. Instead, it’s a longest night kind of film
The main character, George Baley,
runs into disaster atop disaster,
doubts assail him and he is driven to the point of suicide
on a bridge modeled after the one in Califon
—he wonders aloud if the world would be better off without him…
into this despair, Clarence, his guardian angel, swoops in,
not to save him—in a traditional sense anyway,
but to give him what he wants,
a vision of the world without George Baley.

            It’s a movie Lisa and I try to watch every year around Christmas.
A few weeks back, we saw a “Radio Play” version of it at the Shakespeare Theater.
And at some point in that dark theater
(because I’m a Theologian and can’t turn that part of my brain off),
I had an Aha!  George Baley entered a thin place!

 

            What do I mean by that? Well, within Celtic Christianity, there is a concept of “Thin Places”
places where the veil between heaven and earth are thinner.

Where God and humans are just a little closer together,
 the divine and ordinary, meet in extraordinary ways.
Places sparking with potential, demanding reverence, awe inspiring and awful!

 

            These are places of immense beauty,
or overwhelming intense emotion
—lush forests, monasteries, and pagan shrines even.

            Often times these thin places are also high places, mountains.
For example, Elijah encounters the still small voice on mount Horeb,
the book of Genesis is littered with Shrines erected on high places.

 

            My own experience of an obvious thin place was visiting Har Meggito (literally the Hill of Witness)
—from which we derive the word Armageddon.
It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site,
an archaeological dig that includes multi-layered ruins of religious structures
—a mosque atop a church atop a synagogue atop a pagan shrine.
(Clearly I wasn’t the only one who sensed the gossamer veil between heaven and earth there.)

 

            Yes, Thin Places are often found on the heights…
but there are also similar encounters in the night and in the depths
Think of Abraham’s dark dream where he encounter’s God a flame in the mist of slaughter, and similarly Jacob wrestling on the Jabok river with A man/Angel/God…
or Moses chased and hunted down by God until he agrees to circumcision, or less obscure,
the people of God backed up against the Red Sea as Pharoah bears down on them…

           

            Yes, Thin places can kiss mountainous heights,
but they can also swoop down to the valley below.
Thin places, thin people, thin situations… in the valley.

 

Prayer

In the valley.

            Ezekiel is brought down into the valley, among dry bones
—bodies of slaughtered priests and the destroyed remnants of his nation
broken after the awful siege of Jerusalem.
Can these bones live?

            The Psalmist sings of the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
sheep, pilgrims, humans living life, traveling through the darkest valley
—the most dangerous leg of their pilgrimage journey.
Will they make it to green pastures and the house of the Lord?

            While Matthew insists that Jesus speaks from the heights
(Matthew needs us to know Jesus is a sort of New Moses giving a new law)
—he is speaking to those in the valley of affliction,
Down there in the depths,
Who have suffered sickness and ailments,
torments and possession,
gathered there to be healed.
Can they be blessed?

           

            These valleys too, are surely thin places:
-places near to possibility,
places of anticipation.

-situations of salvation and breath and reknitting and life and the Spirit’s return,
like at the moment of creation!
Isn’t that right Ezekiel?

-places we can sing Psalms about
—where there is a holy flow to life,
and rest at the end.

-people who are blessed,
finding comfort and mercy,
inheritance and the face of God
outlined in light, heaven meeting earth.

 

            These Longest Nights…
like George Baley’s night on that Califon Bridge… are Thin Places too!
These times allowing for mourning,
grieving changes of all sorts.

            These nights when we seem out of synch with the upbeat tempo of the season,
because we acknowledge the ragged discomforts of our own thinness…
“stretched like butter scraped over too much bread.”

These nights can be strained to the breaking point,
but somehow there is an opening in them too
—night’s dimness meets the clarity of day.
Tomorrow won’t be the longest night, only the second longest…

 

Think of Mary, heavily pregnant, traveling to Bethlehem…
pregnancy is surely a long night,
steeped in anticipation,
two worlds and possibilities a hairs breathe away…
Then the birth of the one who will be called God Among Us. A new day!

 

In this liminal time and space that we’re in together tonight,
we are pressed up against that curtain between heaven and earth.
Terrible awe, anticipation, potential—all swirl around us here.
I pray that
-our dry bones will receive Spirit,
-our shadowy journey will be led by a Shepherd,
-and our afflictions will be embraced by blessing.

Amen.