A Dirty Christmas
Sermon
Sermons On The First Readings
Series I, Cycle C
Under every Christmas tree in the midst of the brightly wrapped packages, the choo-choo train winding through that picturesque winter village, and the glorious Christmas creche with the virgin Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, and the baby Jesus ought to be a pail of dirt. And that dirt ought to be really dirty dirt, not like that sanitized stuff you buy at the local garden shop. No, that dirt ought to be the real grubby, crumbly, filthy dirt, the kind that lies around a construction site or in a dump. We need to place that pail of dirt out there in front of the tree where everyone can see it. Why? Because that pail of dirt, more than the bright lights, the bows, the ribbons, the gaily wrapped gifts, and even the cute little manger scene, reminds us of what God is really up to at Christmas.
Yes, it does take the innocent and uncluttered vision of a little child to see once again what God did that holy night in Bethlehem. That became abundantly clear to me many years ago when the nursery school children at my church went to visit a local farm on a cold, damp day in December. The purpose of the field trip was to have the children experience firsthand what it must have been like for Mary and Joseph to be turned away from a warm, clean room at the inn and to have to spend a cold night in the barn. The children went up to the farmhouse, knocked on the door, as if it was the inn in Bethlehem, and asked if they could come and spend the night. The lady who answered the door told them (of course, this all had been pre-arranged by the nursery school staff) that there was "no room in the inn." But there was room out back in the barn. So the children and the staff went around to the barn in the back, trying not to get stuck in the muck of the barnyard. When they finally arrived at the barn, they got to see the animals housed inside.
The reaction of the children to this field trip was most revealing. Most of the children were quite disgusted with the whole thing. Some had to be coaxed even to enter the barn. They just couldn't get over the filth and dirt inside. The animals were muddy and smelly, hardly the freshly scrubbed creatures we see standing around the manger in all the Christmas storybooks. And, of course, there was the manure, the stinking and slimy manure. And think that Jesus was born into this! The children were shocked!
When the staff reported this incident to me, I too was shocked. Why? Because I too had overlooked the significance of the fact that Jesus was born in a barn and laid in a manger, because there was no room in the inn. Too young to have their vision skewed by years of Christmas glitter and glamour, these nursery school children were able to see the unvarnished truth of Christmas. They were able to see how dirty it really is.
It is precisely in the dirt that we discover what is so special and so amazing about the birth in Bethlehem. Dirt, manure, terrible smells, these are not the things we usually associate with the presence of God. But Christmas announces to us that this is the kind of God we have. And it is the dirt of Christmas that makes this God so wonderful.
If God would have come in the midst of fire and smoke, in thunder and lightning, in an earthquake or flood, do you think anyone would have been surprised? Of course not! When we speak of the holy and almighty God, the creator of heaven and earth, it is these awesome images of power that come to mind. In the Old Testament, the holiness of God is often revealed in powerful and frightening ways. God comes walking in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening and Adam and Eve are scared. They run and hide in the bushes. God appears to Moses in the burning bush and Moses is frightened. When the prophet Isaiah encounters God in the Temple, God appears in the midst of fire and smoke and Isaiah is frightened.
The holiness of God is a powerful and terrible thing for us sinful mortals. And that is what makes Christmas so amazing and filled with wonder. In this birth of a baby God finds another, very different way to come among us. God doesn't shout. God doesn't use blinding light or deafening wind. There is no fire and smoke. Instead there are the cries of pain as a woman gives birth to a child and the cries of a newborn baby in the night.
This is certainly not how the people of Israel had always thought their long-awaited royal descendant of King David would come. Their expectations were fueled by such texts as tonight's First Lesson from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah appears to quote a royal enthronement ritual that was used every time a new king came to power. In our country, the Supreme Court Chief Justice inaugurates a new president on the steps of the Capitol in Washington, D.C., at the beginning of a new presidential term. The event is filled with high hopes and expectations for our new leader. In similar fashion, in ancient Israel the priests and other religious leaders began the reign of a new king by conducting an inauguration ritual. As with the advent of any new leader, the people's hopes and expectations were reflected in this ritual. Perhaps this king would not be just another scoundrel like so many of the kings that went before him. Perhaps this king would finally fulfill the hopes and dreams expressed in the words of this ritual. Perhaps he would truly be the noble and regal figure worthy of his position.
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.
-- vv. 6-7
But the birth of this baby in Bethlehem did not fit these regal expectations. This birth did not seem to be very becoming of the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. The birth in that dirty barn was not very regal or presidential and certainly not godly.
It is not easy for us to know what this meant to God, what must have gone through God's heart and mind when he decided to come into this world in circumstances like this. Perhaps it was something like this.
If you have ever lived in a more southern climate than Indiana, you will know what "lovely" creatures roaches are. I know that, if you are anything like me, you hate roaches. But suppose for a moment that you love roaches. And you want to tell them that you love them. But every time you get near them, they scurry away to hide behind the refrigerator or under the couch. Finally, it dawns on you that, in order for them to understand that you are not coming to kill them but to love them, you must come to them as a roach. Then they won't blink an eye. Then you can slip among them unnoticed. Then you can frolic with them in the garbage cans and the drainpipes. But what a coming down this is ... to become a roach! What a humiliation!
The birth in Bethlehem was this same sort of coming down, a falling off, a humbling, a humiliation. We are shocked, amazed, befuddled that God world love us so much that he would be so humiliated as to come into a smelly and dirty world, to be born in the midst of manure and filthy animals.
But what do we do with Christmas? It's not just the commercialization that takes the wonder out of Christmas. Rather, it is all of our attempts to make Christmas holy again, to glorify it, to set it apart, to make it something more fitting the glory and power of God. Nobody is supposed to cry at Christmas. Everybody is supposed to be happy and joyous. It's a time for peace and good will. There is no time for tears and pain. And so we work overtime, even frantically, to cover up and deny those very things that make us human beings and not rocks. Everyone has got to have the "Christmas spirit." And that means pretending that everything is wonderful even when it is not. And if we fail to pull it off, we complain about having "missed Christmas." The rest of the year may have its share of hurt and pain, but not at Christmas. Christmas has got to be "holy," "sacred," different from the rest of the year.
Even the Christmas story, the story of that dirty birth, is made holy. We build a fence around it and remove it from the ordinary, dirty world in which we all must live. And so it is a birth totally unlike any other birth in this world. There are no sounds of pain from a mother in childbirth. The stork must have delivered this baby. And the donkey talks and perhaps some other animals, too. A drummer boy appears on the scene. The shepherds are squeaky clean. And the three magi, who were actually some sort of bizarre magicians or sorcerers, become three kings.
And then, of course, we have our Christmas trees with their shining lights, decorations, and ornaments standing there in all their isolated glory reminding us that this time is like no other time. On this night there is no place for sorrow or pain. Grieving and weeping are not welcome. Everything must be neat and clean, shiny and new. Dirt is definitely out of place.
But if there is anything that Saint Luke's account of that birth in Bethlehem ought to make clear it is that Christmas is just the opposite of what our world and we want to make it. Christmas is about pain. A woman gave birth that night. Christmas is about God in the midst of dirt. That child was born in a barn, not in the clean and pleasant confines of the local inn.
But it is precisely in the debunking and dismantling of our Christmas mythology that we can begin to behold the true wonder and glory of Christmas. There is incredibly good news for us in this dirty Christmas. In this all too ordinary birth in Bethlehem we meet God, not in his terrible and frightening holiness that makes us sinners shake in our shoes but in his loving and merciful holiness, a holiness that is truly unlike anything else in this world. It is in this all too ordinary birth in Bethlehem and not in some stuffy royal court where having one hair out of place makes us feel like fools that God comes to meet us. Who of us would set aside our power and privilege and enter this world in the midst of the dirt and stench of a barn?
We wouldn't do it any more than we would want to become a roach. But God did. And that is the Good News! Why? Because when we find ourselves cold and dirty, when we find ourselves bogged down in the quagmire of a life that has never seemed to fulfill our dreams, when our eyes are filled with tears of pain and disappointment because another year has passed and the problems are still there, all we need to do is look to the dirty birth in Bethlehem. That child is Emmanuel. "God is with us" right smack dab in the midst of the dirt and the pain, to assure us that there is nothing too dirty to separate us from his love. God is with us to love us. And in this child God has chosen to carry all of our sins and grief, all of our dirt and pain, all of our sorrow and tears, all the way to the cross where at last they will be destroyed, once and for all.
So, in the meantime, don't be afraid to have your Christmas be a little dirty. Don't be afraid to let your house get a little messy. And don't be afraid to cry. Don't feel you have to hide your hurt and pain. Don't think that you have to pretend that everything is perfect when you know it isn't. That isn't real life. Real life is dirty. But because of that first dirty Christmas, there is still a reason to smile, to brush aside the tears, and sing a Christmas carol. For when we remember that the baby was born in a smelly, dirty barn in Bethlehem, we know that our God isn't going to let real life and a little dirt get in the way of his loving us.
And by the way, when you go home to sit under your Christmas tree in all of its glory, remember the dirt. You might even want to put a pail of dirt under your tree to remind yourself why that Christmas tree is so gloriously decorated at all.
Yes, it does take the innocent and uncluttered vision of a little child to see once again what God did that holy night in Bethlehem. That became abundantly clear to me many years ago when the nursery school children at my church went to visit a local farm on a cold, damp day in December. The purpose of the field trip was to have the children experience firsthand what it must have been like for Mary and Joseph to be turned away from a warm, clean room at the inn and to have to spend a cold night in the barn. The children went up to the farmhouse, knocked on the door, as if it was the inn in Bethlehem, and asked if they could come and spend the night. The lady who answered the door told them (of course, this all had been pre-arranged by the nursery school staff) that there was "no room in the inn." But there was room out back in the barn. So the children and the staff went around to the barn in the back, trying not to get stuck in the muck of the barnyard. When they finally arrived at the barn, they got to see the animals housed inside.
The reaction of the children to this field trip was most revealing. Most of the children were quite disgusted with the whole thing. Some had to be coaxed even to enter the barn. They just couldn't get over the filth and dirt inside. The animals were muddy and smelly, hardly the freshly scrubbed creatures we see standing around the manger in all the Christmas storybooks. And, of course, there was the manure, the stinking and slimy manure. And think that Jesus was born into this! The children were shocked!
When the staff reported this incident to me, I too was shocked. Why? Because I too had overlooked the significance of the fact that Jesus was born in a barn and laid in a manger, because there was no room in the inn. Too young to have their vision skewed by years of Christmas glitter and glamour, these nursery school children were able to see the unvarnished truth of Christmas. They were able to see how dirty it really is.
It is precisely in the dirt that we discover what is so special and so amazing about the birth in Bethlehem. Dirt, manure, terrible smells, these are not the things we usually associate with the presence of God. But Christmas announces to us that this is the kind of God we have. And it is the dirt of Christmas that makes this God so wonderful.
If God would have come in the midst of fire and smoke, in thunder and lightning, in an earthquake or flood, do you think anyone would have been surprised? Of course not! When we speak of the holy and almighty God, the creator of heaven and earth, it is these awesome images of power that come to mind. In the Old Testament, the holiness of God is often revealed in powerful and frightening ways. God comes walking in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening and Adam and Eve are scared. They run and hide in the bushes. God appears to Moses in the burning bush and Moses is frightened. When the prophet Isaiah encounters God in the Temple, God appears in the midst of fire and smoke and Isaiah is frightened.
The holiness of God is a powerful and terrible thing for us sinful mortals. And that is what makes Christmas so amazing and filled with wonder. In this birth of a baby God finds another, very different way to come among us. God doesn't shout. God doesn't use blinding light or deafening wind. There is no fire and smoke. Instead there are the cries of pain as a woman gives birth to a child and the cries of a newborn baby in the night.
This is certainly not how the people of Israel had always thought their long-awaited royal descendant of King David would come. Their expectations were fueled by such texts as tonight's First Lesson from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah appears to quote a royal enthronement ritual that was used every time a new king came to power. In our country, the Supreme Court Chief Justice inaugurates a new president on the steps of the Capitol in Washington, D.C., at the beginning of a new presidential term. The event is filled with high hopes and expectations for our new leader. In similar fashion, in ancient Israel the priests and other religious leaders began the reign of a new king by conducting an inauguration ritual. As with the advent of any new leader, the people's hopes and expectations were reflected in this ritual. Perhaps this king would not be just another scoundrel like so many of the kings that went before him. Perhaps this king would finally fulfill the hopes and dreams expressed in the words of this ritual. Perhaps he would truly be the noble and regal figure worthy of his position.
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.
-- vv. 6-7
But the birth of this baby in Bethlehem did not fit these regal expectations. This birth did not seem to be very becoming of the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. The birth in that dirty barn was not very regal or presidential and certainly not godly.
It is not easy for us to know what this meant to God, what must have gone through God's heart and mind when he decided to come into this world in circumstances like this. Perhaps it was something like this.
If you have ever lived in a more southern climate than Indiana, you will know what "lovely" creatures roaches are. I know that, if you are anything like me, you hate roaches. But suppose for a moment that you love roaches. And you want to tell them that you love them. But every time you get near them, they scurry away to hide behind the refrigerator or under the couch. Finally, it dawns on you that, in order for them to understand that you are not coming to kill them but to love them, you must come to them as a roach. Then they won't blink an eye. Then you can slip among them unnoticed. Then you can frolic with them in the garbage cans and the drainpipes. But what a coming down this is ... to become a roach! What a humiliation!
The birth in Bethlehem was this same sort of coming down, a falling off, a humbling, a humiliation. We are shocked, amazed, befuddled that God world love us so much that he would be so humiliated as to come into a smelly and dirty world, to be born in the midst of manure and filthy animals.
But what do we do with Christmas? It's not just the commercialization that takes the wonder out of Christmas. Rather, it is all of our attempts to make Christmas holy again, to glorify it, to set it apart, to make it something more fitting the glory and power of God. Nobody is supposed to cry at Christmas. Everybody is supposed to be happy and joyous. It's a time for peace and good will. There is no time for tears and pain. And so we work overtime, even frantically, to cover up and deny those very things that make us human beings and not rocks. Everyone has got to have the "Christmas spirit." And that means pretending that everything is wonderful even when it is not. And if we fail to pull it off, we complain about having "missed Christmas." The rest of the year may have its share of hurt and pain, but not at Christmas. Christmas has got to be "holy," "sacred," different from the rest of the year.
Even the Christmas story, the story of that dirty birth, is made holy. We build a fence around it and remove it from the ordinary, dirty world in which we all must live. And so it is a birth totally unlike any other birth in this world. There are no sounds of pain from a mother in childbirth. The stork must have delivered this baby. And the donkey talks and perhaps some other animals, too. A drummer boy appears on the scene. The shepherds are squeaky clean. And the three magi, who were actually some sort of bizarre magicians or sorcerers, become three kings.
And then, of course, we have our Christmas trees with their shining lights, decorations, and ornaments standing there in all their isolated glory reminding us that this time is like no other time. On this night there is no place for sorrow or pain. Grieving and weeping are not welcome. Everything must be neat and clean, shiny and new. Dirt is definitely out of place.
But if there is anything that Saint Luke's account of that birth in Bethlehem ought to make clear it is that Christmas is just the opposite of what our world and we want to make it. Christmas is about pain. A woman gave birth that night. Christmas is about God in the midst of dirt. That child was born in a barn, not in the clean and pleasant confines of the local inn.
But it is precisely in the debunking and dismantling of our Christmas mythology that we can begin to behold the true wonder and glory of Christmas. There is incredibly good news for us in this dirty Christmas. In this all too ordinary birth in Bethlehem we meet God, not in his terrible and frightening holiness that makes us sinners shake in our shoes but in his loving and merciful holiness, a holiness that is truly unlike anything else in this world. It is in this all too ordinary birth in Bethlehem and not in some stuffy royal court where having one hair out of place makes us feel like fools that God comes to meet us. Who of us would set aside our power and privilege and enter this world in the midst of the dirt and stench of a barn?
We wouldn't do it any more than we would want to become a roach. But God did. And that is the Good News! Why? Because when we find ourselves cold and dirty, when we find ourselves bogged down in the quagmire of a life that has never seemed to fulfill our dreams, when our eyes are filled with tears of pain and disappointment because another year has passed and the problems are still there, all we need to do is look to the dirty birth in Bethlehem. That child is Emmanuel. "God is with us" right smack dab in the midst of the dirt and the pain, to assure us that there is nothing too dirty to separate us from his love. God is with us to love us. And in this child God has chosen to carry all of our sins and grief, all of our dirt and pain, all of our sorrow and tears, all the way to the cross where at last they will be destroyed, once and for all.
So, in the meantime, don't be afraid to have your Christmas be a little dirty. Don't be afraid to let your house get a little messy. And don't be afraid to cry. Don't feel you have to hide your hurt and pain. Don't think that you have to pretend that everything is perfect when you know it isn't. That isn't real life. Real life is dirty. But because of that first dirty Christmas, there is still a reason to smile, to brush aside the tears, and sing a Christmas carol. For when we remember that the baby was born in a smelly, dirty barn in Bethlehem, we know that our God isn't going to let real life and a little dirt get in the way of his loving us.
And by the way, when you go home to sit under your Christmas tree in all of its glory, remember the dirt. You might even want to put a pail of dirt under your tree to remind yourself why that Christmas tree is so gloriously decorated at all.
