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A Christmas Sermon: Midnight, December 24, 2006 by The Rev. Hartshorn Murphy (Editor's Note: so many of our members are out of town during the holidays − or choose to attend the children's service - that we publish the Christmas Sermon for their information as a courtesy). Tonight is the night when the prose of history is eclipsed by the poetry of faith. The birth narrative from Luke that we read together a moment ago is not − nor was it ever intended to be − an eyewitness news account of the birth of Jesus. Although there are historical elements to the story − the names of the principle characters − the gospel writers were writing symbolically and biblically. Biblically, in that the birth fulfills the prophesy of Micah who wrote these words 700 years before the birth of Jesus; "But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel." (See Micah 5:2-4 for complete text). Symbolically, in that the story of Jesus' life is foreshadowed in the story of his birth. Caesar Augustus, Emperor of Rome − a man who had declared himself to be a God − is the unwitting instigator of the drama in a census which compels Joseph of Nazareth to travel to Bethlehem, the city of David. In time, his whole empire will be impacted by this insignificant birth of a peasant who is, in fact, God become man. There is no room for them, in the Inn. Years later, pursued by Herod's soldiers, Jesus will complain that the Son of man − unlike, birds who have their nests and foxes who have their dens − he has nowhere to lay his head. As the condemned King of Israel, he has no crown but one of thorns, no throne but a cross. An angelic choir will sing this night in Bethlehem and Jesus will remind us of the rejoicing of the host of heaven when even one alienated person returns to God. And lastly, the shepherds. Who are the shepherds? The shepherds were men who had lost their land and their own flocks due to the confiscatory taxes of Rome. They were despised by the elite as destitute, dispossessed people of the land. Sleeping on the ground in good weather and bad, they had not bathed in months. Most had lice. Some had early stages of blindness caused by trachoma, an infectious disease of the mucous lining of the eyes, carried by flies and abetted by poor hygiene. The Pharisees condemned them for their failure to observe the ritualistic demands of the Torah. They are thieves and drunkards. At times, lust and bestiality exploded in them and filled them with shame and bitterness. When there was no work, they were left to beg or to starve, abandoned by the good people of Judea; they felt themselves abandoned by God as well. Resentful, guilt ridden and hopeless, they huddled about the rare luxury of a small fire − wood was scarce in the wilderness of the south − when at midnight, in a vision, an angel of the Lord appeared to them. Perhaps they had fallen asleep − angels most typically appeared in dreams. Or perhaps they were in that twilight time between wakefulness and sleep when sacred and secular draw near to each other − whatever the case − they fell to the ground in terror. Had the angel of God come to utterly destroy them from the face of the earth for their neglect of religion, their lawlessness? And the angel says: "Fear not − I bring you good news of a great joy − for to you is born in the City of David a Savior…" To you, shepherds. The word comes not to Caesar Augustus in far away Rome. Not to King Herod Antipas in his fortress or to the priestly clan in the Temple in Jerusalem or the ruling Sadducees of Judea. The good news comes − to shepherds − some of whom may well have themselves been born in stables. Coming to the stable cave, they were not uncomfortable with the animal dung swept to the side or scandalized by a child laying in a feeding troth so recently wiped clean of animal saliva. For in that sheltering cave − welcomed by Joseph and Mary − they found acceptance. There is a legend that the youngest shepherd will leave a baby lamb as a gift to the Christ child. It is the only birth-gift the child will receive. There are no Three Kings making their way across the desert in Luke − that's Matthew. There are only shepherds. And also in Luke, there is Mary's ecstatic song during her pregnancy: "God has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent empty away." And the shepherds return through the sleeping town − their hearts filed to overflowing with wonder and hope. And they loudly proclaim what they saw but also what they heard − a baby is born who brings hope to the poor, the despised and the outcast. No doubt, the good people of Bethlehem, whose sleep was disturbed by noisy shepherds presumed to be drunk, hurled some colorful comments − and maybe one or two old shoes − at them. And thus the shepherds become themselves a symbol − a foreshadowing of all the humble folk who will flock to Jesus; especially the outcasts who had grown disdainful of religion because religion had disdained them. You have come on this winter's night to this stable cave − an interesting group we are! I don't think that there is any of Herod's clan here. Herod's tribe values religion − but primarily for others. But I know that there is a good number of the Innkeeper's tribe here tonight. The Innkeeper bore no ill will to the Holy Family. There was simply no room left because others had gotten there first. We are Innkeepers when the chambers of our hearts and imaginations are filled to overflowing and there is no room for religion. We can only make room by a long overdue eviction notice. But it's a move we are hesitant to take. Business, work, making it, our careers comes first. And perhaps there are one or two shepherds here tonight. People who enter this season of Christmas with a measure of hopelessness and who feel themselves unloved and empty and a little bit afraid. You've given up on religion by and large but find yourself drawn once more to the story of the cave and this peasant family from Nazareth who are themselves despised, homeless and troubled. Are you here tonight, shepherds? You know, there's a bit of shepherd in all of us. We all run from the dark and destructive forces within ourselves. We all, occasionally, experience rejection and emptiness − it is what draws us tonight − to find in Bethlehem a God who loves us so much that he came to suffer with us, to endure with us and to hope with us. And in his birth, we are reborn. Shepherd Beatitudes (Modified from the writing of Morton Kelsey in Drama of Christmas) Blessed are the shepherds, for they give hope to ordinary people like you and me; they tell us no one is excluded. Blessed are the homeless − wandering, shepherd like people − when they follow immediately the angel's call. Blessed are we when we are hungry and thirsty, unhappy and unloved, for God has seen our misery and sent divine love bodily into the world at Christmas to heal our pain and loneliness and give us hope and even joy. Blessed are we when we know ourselves so well that we are aware of the demons lurking within us, for then we are prepared to accept the angels' invitation. Blessed are we when we are fearful, for the Christ came to take away our fear and to give us the fullness of heavens' love, now and for ever. Amen. Copyright © 2007 St. Augustine by-the-Sea
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