Isaiah 9: 2–7
Luke 2:1–20
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Send out thy light and thy truth, Lord, that they may lead us to thy
holy hill and to thy dwelling. Amen. ¹
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What a curious thing! Our story tonight of the Light of the
World entering into our lives begins in darkness! Not just
in some romantic twilight, but in the deep darkness, the desolation
of a people who walked in Isaiah’s day – before the great light
from heaven had shined upon them. The story picks up again 700
years later — once again on a dark evening. This time in
Bethlehem, where a young couple is told that despite their great need,
there is no room for them at the inn. And finally, the story
continues in the darkness that surrounded rough shepherds one night
out with their flocks on the Judean hills – a cold night like
tonight, when mid–winter winds were fierce.
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Why do we begin this wonderful story, this story of light leaking out
from heaven, in the midst of such dark notes? We begin in the
darkness so we can appreciate and celebrate the light as it slowly
dawns, transforming everything it touches. We begin in the
darkness because that is why Jesus Christ came. He was born to
enlighten the darkness of the lonely, the needy, the fearful, the
disorganized, conflicted ones among us – just as much as he was
born for those who seem to have it all together. So let me tell
you how it all started, one version of it anyway.
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Will Willimon tells the story of a time when all the angels were
gathered around the heavenly throne for a discussion God the Father
had called. Down on earth — surprise, surprise —
things were a mess. The Creator was concerned about the state of
Creation – for there were wars and fights, famine and bloodshed
all over the place.
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“I’ve tried everything,” God cried. “I
have spoken to them some of the most beautiful words they could ever
hope to hear. I have spoken to them in Psalms, in hymns, in the
poetic passages of Isaiah. They love to hear about peace and
goodwill, but they don’t want to live it!”
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“And then,” God continued, “I sent them the
prophets. Here again, they love Isaiah and Zechariah and
Habakkuk. They love to hear promises of release from their
sufferings, promises of freedom after exile. But do they
follow the precepts about justice and righteousness rolling down
like waters? Never!”
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At this point, there was an animated discussion of the sad state of
affairs on earth. Many of the angels – Gabriel, Michael
and others — had been on earth frequently. They had seen
for themselves the reasons for God’s lament. And they
shared his concerns.
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“I think,” God continued, “the only thing left is
for one of you, a member of the heavenly court, to go down to
earth. Live among them – not just for a moment, but every
day, day after day. Get to know them, become one of them, live
with them – and let them get to know you. Only then will
they understand heaven’s true intent. Only then will they
notice the great gap between the way they have been living and the
way they were created to live. Only then will I be able to reveal
to them who I created them to be.”
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The angels fell silent. They shuffled their feet
uneasily. They had, it is true, been to earth before – to
deliver messages from God or to effect some momentary intervention in
human affairs. But what they had seen was not encouraging, and
they weren’t about to volunteer for long–term duty in such
a murderous, difficult place.
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The silence lasted for an eternity. Finally, God broke the awkward
silence. Quietly, determinedly, but without resignation or
bitterness God said, “Then I will go.”
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This is the wonder of our story. God himself came to us, one
starlit night long ago: not in a flash of awesome power, but gently and
humbly as a vulnerable newborn baby. He had seen our darkness,
our suffering, our anxieties and limitations. And in great love,
great tenderness, he left the glory, the warmth and security of heaven,
the companionship of angels — and came to us through our darkness,
experiencing its loneliness, its sense of hopelessness and
despair. But that wasn’t all. For on that night, in
humility and love, he assumed our frailty, our suffering, our
anxieties and limitations.
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And then he began to live in our midst, showing us day by day how to
live into the light, how to choose the light instead of the
darkness. All the while, though, he never forgot the darkness he
had come through. He never forgot what he had learned about
us. In fact, it only made Him love us all the more
compassionately. For He is in love with our smallness and his
mercy knows no bounds.
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Maybe best of all, they called his name Emmanuel, which means “God
with us.” Not – “God was with us once,
long ago” . . . or —
“God will be with us
again,” . . .
someday”” . . . but
“God is with us now. He is with us
still.” For God did not simply come to this world once,
on that long–ago night in Bethlehem, and then live out his life
in Galilee, enlightening the lives of a small group of
disciples. No. He showed a great many people how to
live and love as He did. He passed that love and light on to
others. And with the help of the Holy Spirit, after Jesus had
risen from the dead, they, in turn, became bearers of that light as
they allowed the goodness of God to shine forth in their lives,
bringing glory to the Father in heaven.
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This is the life we celebrate tonight – the life and light of
Christ — as we invite him into our own hearts – and then
pass that life–giving light along to a sinful and broken world.
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To God be the glory!
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Amen.
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¹ Psalm 43:3
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