“Not Back To
Matthew 2:1-12
First Presbyterian Church
The Reverend Donald E. Ray
January 6, 2008
The Epiphany of the Lord
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‘Twas
the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was
stirring--not even a mouse.’ That is not all together accurate.
There were creatures stirring, namely a rottweiler mix and a 70 pound chocolate
lab--and they were stirring. ‘When out in the living room there arose
such a clatter, Karen sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.’
There was the ripping of paper and the crunching of
something. ‘Visions of presents dragged from under the tree, shredded
and crushed rocked in our heads.’ But the presents were in tact. It was
only the day’s Post Journal that had been torn. The crunching, however
was of a bamboo nativity scene, an irreplaceable treasure from Karen’s years
in
Blue, the chocolate lab was an 11 month old “puppy”
rescued from the Humane Society by Jess, my son Matt’s fiancee. You may
be wondering why a tan colored dog would be named, “Blue.” There was a
deep sadness in the puppy’s eyes that attracted Jess’ attention at the
Pound. Blue was just the
appropriate name for this forlorn, obviously abused animal.
Matt and Jess had gone out for the evening, leaving the
dogs with us. Blue, feeling abandoned, was just acting out. Now she
had gotten into puppy mischief again and, at Karen’s cry of distress over the
mutilation of the Nativity set, Blue, all 70 pounds of her cowered, expecting a
beating as she had apparently suffered often in her former life. But Karen
is also a dog lover so Blue was not whipped this time. The dogs were
simply ushered back to the spare bedroom and this time watched a bit more
closely until their “family” returned.
Morning light revealed the damage was not as bad as feared. A
battered angel and disheveled shepherd were repaired with relative ease.
The baby Jesus however had suffered the worst. Much patience and fingers
singed with the hot glue gun got the infant back in shape enough that if the
manger bed was pushed to the back of the stable, he didn’t look too bad.
For the remaining days of her stay, Blue was treated with the kindness and
caring fitting for any creature, and when she left for home after our Christmas
celebration, it was strikingly evident her eyes were not so “blue.”
Infected
by my Seminary training with a homiletical mindset, I knew there had to be some
message to this happening. I wrote a rough draft of the story shortly
after the incident. For some twelve years, those scribbled lines have
somehow never been far from hand. Many times I have thought of finishing
it, but the week before Christmas this year, I felt a strong prompting to get it
out and take the story a step nearer completion. When Karen read the
present draft she asked, “Is this a sermon?” I hadn’t thought of it
as such, but then as Tom has so aptly said, in the hands of that unseen partner,
one doesn’t always know where a sermon is going.
With
the celebration of Christmas over, there is commonly a sense of relief in the
anticipation of a return to life as usual. We’ve heard it, likely said
it ourselves: “Now we can get back to normal.” But there is something
about Epiphany that says, “No! No!” From my years of pastoral
counseling, I wish I had the proverbial nickel for every time I heard, “If I
could just go back to the way things were.” Not only were things not so
rosy back there as we are inclined to picture them, there simply is no going
back. We are impacted by every experience in our lives, so even if the
past could be restored, we are not the same.
We dare not attempt return to normal after Christmas.
The story of Herod is a rude intrusion into the Scriptural Nativity stories.
Yet the tyrant’s brutal slaughter of innocent children and the agonized grief
of their mothers likely has more basis in fact than all the accounts of a
When Jess’ chocolate lab attacked the bamboo Jesus, our
family comedian hearing the tale, spun a diabolical plot around Blue going after
the “main man,” Jesus himself. One need not subscribe to the
ultra conservatives’ battling satan at every turn nor echo Martin Luther’s
“world with devils filled” to know that the way of Jesus lives in jeopardy.
It is the normal too easily accepted that threatens the way of love, the path of
peace.
That is the normal to which we dare not go back. If
we have celebrated Christmas—truly “Christmased Christmas,” we do not want
to go back to normal—indeed it would be very difficult to go back to normal.
The
day before Christmas, I sat at the computer to pull together a prayer for the
Candlelight Service. Checking my e-mail first, I found a note from a
friend of Irish heritage with a link to the YouTube production of Celtic Woman
Christmas celebration. I sat mesmerized, moved to tears watching and
listening to four superbly talented vocalists and a violinist rendering “O
Holy Night,” “Silent Night,” “Christmas Pipes,” “Carol of the
Bells,” and I was on a hill outside
Then
I came to Christmas Eve here where music, live and real and present, stirred and
warmed; the sermon made this place a new manger birthing room; a star shown over
the table where we gathered to “see” the presence of Christ; and the
lighting of candles made visible the hope that even a flickering, fragile flame
shines in the darkness, and darkness cannot overcome that light. Christmas
Eve Candlelight Service has long been the heart of Christmas for me, but this
year it was somehow even more so.
In the course of our preparations for our family Christmas
celebration, it was evident things were not going to be the same as in the past.
There was nostalgic sadness at the loss of many age-old traditions, but also a
little relief that some of the stress was reduced. With most of the tasks
done, there wasn’t that much to do the day before Christmas so I volunteered
to ring the bell for the Salvation Army Kettle drive. Assigned for two
hours to the Lakewood Quality market site, outside, I went dressed for the cold.
But two hours is a long time in the wind chill.
The hardest point was after an hour and a half. It
had already been a long time but too soon to start a countdown to the end.
At that moment a friend who had worked as an orderly during my days at WCA came
out of the store, handed me a hot cup of coffee and with best wishes for
Christmas, placed a donation in the Kettle. It gives a whole new meaning
to “whoever gives…even a cup of cold water (or of hot coffee) because he (or
she) is a disciple,…(Matthew 10:42) when you are on the receiving end even as
you are involved in acts of charity.
In reflection, I realize that it was that act of kindness
that touches the heart of what Christ in our lives and world is about that
sparked the greater appreciation of beauty in music and light. Then that
about Christmas, its spirit, magic, wonder, beauty, fans that spark to a steady
light and warmth. Yes, there is much of the Christmas celebration that
needs to be put away. We couldn’t deal with it year round and the
special blessing would be lost in routine. But the kindness and care, the
generosity in spirit, the things we do that make for peace; those we dare not
surrender to darkness or allow to stagnate in our “normal.”
What was it that happened to Blue that Christmas those many
years ago that lifted some of the sadness from her eyes. Was it that the
beating she expected didn’t happen, and the caring and acceptance she received
eased some of the ingrained despair? Was it perhaps that crunching on the
bamboo figure of a baby, she ingested a bit of Jesus? Was it that there
truly is a Spirit of Christmas that can be news of great joy, even to a dog?
This Epiphany, we have opportunity not so much to comprehend what or why or how it happens, but just to know that having celebrated Christmas there is no going back to normal. We return home but it is by a different way.
Vaughn Williams wrote:
Now when these kings their gifts had given
The star still shone for them from heaven,
To light them on their journey.
So home they went in hope and joy;
The star shone bright to show the way
That led to their own country.
The morning star still shines today
To guide men in the heavenly way
Where shall be joy and singing.
In the Christmas story, the music, the star, the candle,
the touch of love in family and friends, something is born in us, protecting
that from the normal, nourishing it in meditation and worship to keep the spirit
from starving in stagnation. Life takes on new meaning and treasure,
devotion and purpose.
As we gather at this table today and ingest a morsel of
bread and drink from a tiny cup, we ingest by faith and trust a bit of the love
and joy and peace that is Christ, the news of great joy, of peace and good will.
Something of the forlorn blue fades, and there is starlight in our
eyes—those windows to our souls.
Amen.
© Copyright 2008 First Presbyterian Church
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