Christmas music was playing in Arthur Barnett’s this week. The crooning throughout the store assured us – “it’s the most wonderful time of the year”. It got me thinking … For weeks now, I have been planning for Advent and Christmas. I know I’m not alone there. It’s the way at this time of the year – much to plan, much to think about, much to do. It’s a busy and yes, wonderful time: the Christmas cake matures, the glorious music of Handel’s Messiah reverberates through my being, even as I revel in the glorious sunshine of an unusually warm beginning to summer. Messages come from friends far and near and, on a very personal note, our daughter, who herself was an Advent baby, is about to give birth to a Christmas baby. The joy, the hope, the love, the peace all bubble up within me; I want to celebrate with my whole being. It’s a wonderful time of the year …
And yet, that’s not the whole story by far. I know that this time of the year is exhausting and draining, that all the celebration and demands often leave one tired and empty. I know that accidents, illness and death don’t take a break for Christmas. I know that dysfunctional relationships are heightened and family violence increases at Christmas. I know that the charming face of a child on our Christmas Appeal envelopes and posters can mask “the sustained, unspectacular terror of deprivation”[1]which is the reality of so much of this world
My thoughts turn to Christmas Eve – to the service of worship which will be held in this Church in just three weeks time – where the church will be filled with people who come here perhaps only once a year – to participate in the wonder and mystery of midnight, candelight and carols. And I think of those who, over the years, have come to earlier Christmas Eve services and then later, when life has presented unbearable challenges for them, have turned to this church for pastoral care and support. And I find myself wondering, in my planning, how we might ensure our Christmas Eve service provides for those whose delight is great; as well as for those whose sorrow is overwhelming.
Too often, I fear, we are tempted to brush aside the pain and settle for a sentimental celebration, which ignores the suffering, injustice and devastation on this planet. And yet, choosing to immerse ourselves in the high sentimentality of Christmas is nothing short of a travesty of the Gospel. Ignoring the pain of the world not only intensifies the distress, trouble and sorrow experienced by so many; it also cheapens the Gospel. I’m not suggesting that tinsel, wrappings and festivities don’t have their place – but I am suggesting we need to delve deeper if we are to understand why, what and how we might celebrate the Christmas message.
Franciscan Richard Rohr[2] warns against accepting “an infantile gospel or an infantile Jesus” pointing out that “Jesus identified his own message with what he called the coming of the “reign of God” or the “kingdom of God,” whereas we have often settled for the sweet coming of a baby who asks little of us in terms of … the actual teaching of Jesus.”
Each Advent, the lectionary takes us into a new gospel. Through this design, we are invited to concentrate our reflection and worship – focussing on the good news of Jesus Christ through the lens of one of the gospel writers. In this coming year, we focus on Mark’s gospel – the opening verses of which we heard read this morning. And, I think Mark’s Gospel might help us as we consider what Christmas is really about.
Over the next few weeks, we will rehearse some of those narratives we associate with Christmas – stories of a baby born a stable, of angels, shepherds, wise ones, stars – stories coming from different traditions – which we will conflate and sometimes even assume to be accurate histories, rather than two very different parabolic overtures written to provide theological settings for two of the Gospels.[3] And, we could so easily fall into the temptation of thinking that these two distinct, and at times quite contradictory stories, are what Christmas is all about.
But Mark helps us not fall into that trap. Mark doesn’t use the device of birth narrative to set the scene for his Gospel. Rather, just the single sentence: the beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ. For Mark, there are no angels, no shepherds, no magi – no stories of a virgin birth, no travel to Bethlehem, nor slaughter of innocent babies – not even a genealogy. Nothing to distract us from the Good News of Jesus.
This Gospel of Mark, probably the first gospel to be written down, is the shortest gospel – it’s the one written with urgency – it’s the one that cuts quickly to the heart of things. It starts with no room for ambiguity – no place for secrecy – no need for suspense. The gospel writer simply proclaims his subject – the good news of Jesus Christ. This is the kernel of his story. …. Is there anything else that needs to be said?
There’s not much room for sentimentalism in this tough challenging story, with its promise of hope and healing in the midst of the most difficult of circumstances. The Good News of Jesus Christ is as counter-cultural today as it was more than two-thousand years ago. This Jesus comes with a strange risky option for life – God’s alternative to human greed, human betrayal, human power struggles; God’s alternative to war, injustice and hatred. When Christmas is stripped down – there, at the heart of what we celebrate – is the one who is our role model – the one we strive to follow – the one who walks into the pain of the world, offering healing, hope and hospitality.
If we’ve been seduced by the sentimentality, it’s possible that stripping away all the glitter, the trimmings, and the celebration, we might just discover, as in the peeling of the layers of an onion, that we are left with nothing but a lingering smell. But, Mark’s gospel reminds Jesus’ followers that stripping Christmas bare is as in the cracking of a walnut: we remove the outer layers – the skin and the shell – to reveal a seed, a kernel, which will nourish and has potential for new growth.
Here at this table, at this meal which Jesus strips bare – here in a sip of grape juice and a morsel of bread – we receive the nourishing seed of Jesus’ teaching: Here we are reminded of the reason why we celebrate Christmas – a reminder of the life, teachings and ongoing story of Jesus, a reminder that in Christ, all times are the most wonder-filled times in the world. Here, our fears and anxieties are replaced with a commitment to a new way of being; here we remember that even in brokenness, there is hope; that life comes from death; that Peace and Love will come again; here we are made whole, so that we may bring healing to the whole world. So be it. Amen
[1] William Loader quoted in last week’s sermon http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/MarkAdvent1.htm
[2] Daily Meditation: Advent -- Nov. 28, 2011, Center for Action and Contemplation cac@cacradicalgrace.org
[3] Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas: What the gospels really teach about Jesus’s birth 2007, pp 25-53.
No comments:
Post a Comment