O God of wonder, open us to the beauty, awe, and
magic of this most holy night. Amen.
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.” Indeed, this night glimmers unlike any other. Christmas Eve shimmers with the warmth and radiance of a love that defies all explanation, that is full of possibility, and that is making all things well. As Christina Rosetti put it in a Christmas poem, “Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely love divine, love was born at Christmas.” This night is bright with the “wonders of his love.”
When
it comes to things that are full of wonder and awe-spiring, there are two sorts
of responses that we might have. One would be to dive into it to try to
understand it. When St. John set out to tell the story of who Jesus is and
where he came from, he tells us “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word
was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.” And you
might know that the word “Word” here means something like the overarching structure,
or logic, or rationale of all that is. We can plumb the depths of what it means
for Jesus to reveal the logic of God. And that can be good and holy work. That’s
what we call “theology,” which means “God words.” That would be one way to focus
a Christmas sermon, to consider the grandeur and majesty of what it means that the
Word became flesh. But that’s not what I’m going to do tonight.
I’m
going to take the other path which might be described by the words of one of
the great hymns of this night – “O come, all ye faithful, joyful and
triumphant, O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem. Come and behold him born the
king of Angels. O come, let us adore him. O come, let us adore him. O come, let
us adore him, Christ the Lord.” Tonight, let’s adore Jesus. Let’s wonder in his
love.
What
do I mean by “wonder”? I don’t mean let’s speculate or reflect on. I mean let’s
be awe-struck, let’s enjoy the glow of this night instead of trying to make it
useful. Let’s marvel at just how beautiful and amazing the gift of Christmas
is. One author has said that we wonder when we behold the beautiful. And that’s
exactly the grace and glory of Christmas – that the only thing big enough,
grand enough, powerful enough to have created all that is seen and unseen
became small enough and vulnerable enough to be carried in a human womb and
held in our arms.
God
comes to us as one to behold. How strange this is. Most people would expect God
to come in power to be served or praised. But our God comes to be received – as
we sing, “let every heart prepare him room.” Jesus did not come as a field
general might – to inspect the troops, give us a pep talk, or give us our new
orders. No, “mild he laid his glory by, born that that man no more may die,
born to raise us from the earth, born to give them second birth.” Because of
Jesus, we can sing with confidence “God and sinners reconciled.” Therefore, “No
more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground.”
In other words, all the things
that stood between us and eternal and abundant life in God, both on this side
and the far side of the grave, have been demolished. Jesus Christ has broken
down the dividing wall between us and God. Our sins are not damning, our doubts
are not defining, and our deaths are not final. All that remains is to grow in
faith, hope, and love, to enjoy our forgiveness, to share in the abundance of
God’s grace, to behold our belovedness, to wonder in his love.
Wonder is a way of being
in this world that is open to possibility, to imagination, to connection, to mystery.
One theologian has said that mystery is the only way that we can ever begin to
experience the love of God, which is beyond all human knowing. But we live in a
disenchanted world, a world that is closed off to mystery, that sorts,
categorizes, and explains everything. The busyness, seriousness, and stress of
life have us overly focused on the tangible and the expedient. We’re left
without much room for wonder and awe.
This is a dangerous place
for us to be – without wonder, the words “you are forgiven” are just a phrase, “this
is my body” is a fanciful incantation, and “the Lord is risen” is a legend. One
preacher has said that “without transcendence, Christianity devolves into
politics,” which explains a lot about both the modern Church and State. It’s not
surprising that there is so much vitriol, anxiety, and depression in our world right
now. We’ve lost the sense of what could be. We’ve become disenchanted and disillusioned.
Without the wonder of possibility and love, there’s not much to hope for, not
much worth pursuing, not much worth living, or dying, for. A world without
wonder turns us into mindless consumers who go from one screen to the next
seeking fulfillment that never seems to come.
But there’s something
enchanting about this time of year. Something wonderful about the darker nights
and colder weather. Enchantment is a multi-billion dollar industry around Christmas
time. It’s that time of year when we tell stories about flying reindeer, sing songs
that make us teary, and seem to have an extra store of generosity in our
hearts. Consider “The Nutcracker.” Sure, some lovely music, grand costumes, amazing
dancing. But, let’s be honest, it’s a two-hour ballet without any dialogue set to
music by a Russian composer in the late 1800s. Hardly what passes for entertainment
in our YouTube and TikTok based culture. And yet, we take our children to see
it. Is it really because 6-year-olds are clamoring to watch a two-hour ballet?
Of course not. But we are. Even if we’re not all that into theater, there’s something
magical about the music and dance. Or maybe it’s going to Polar Express as a 50-year-old
and getting to wear pajamas on a train ride. We say that the lights and
decorations are for the kids, and maybe that’s a tiny bit of it. But, in truth,
it’s the one time of the year when we’re allowed to satiate our deep yearning
for wonder and enchantment. And so we play Manheim Steamroller and Mariah Carey
as loud as our speakers can handle, we gladly pay more money to Duke Energy for
all those lights and inflatables, and we act as if calories will disappear come
January. To be clear, I’m not against any of that, but let’s name it for what
it is: we are binging on wonder because we are so starving for something bigger,
something deeper, something more wonderful.
We were created out of
the limitless and inexhaustible mystery of God’s love. And, as St. Augustine
said, “our hearts are restless until they rest in God.” We long for a story of
wonder that wecan find our part in. That’s why, perhaps, you had chills shoot up
your spine when you heard the organ roar to life with “O come all ye faithful.”
Maybe it’s why the hair on the back of your neck stood up when you heard “In
those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be
registered.” It could be that’s why you find your eyes watering in the sacred
candlelight of this night. We were made for wonder. We were made for mystery.
We were made for love. And so tonight, we behold the holy wonder that “a child
has been born for us, a son given to us; and he is named Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
There is a social
psychologist who writes about the power of elevation. He says it’s the positive
opposite of disgust or degradation. Elevation is more than happiness, more than
contentment. It’s something more like joy, like being swept up in awe and
wonder. Elevation is a transcendent moment of warmth, compassion, connection,
and courage. As the band U2 puts it in their song called “Elevation,” “You make
me feel like I can fly so high, elevation.” The lead singer, Bono, said it’s a
song about the ability of music to lift us up when we are feeling down and help
us to transcend our mundane lives. In other words, elevation is about wonder. It’s
no accident that this sermon has been filled with references to Christmas hymns
– as music is one of the ways that the Church helps us to behold the wonder of Jesus
and be in adoration towards God.
This is what wonder and
adoration are about – elevating us in heart, mind, body, and soul to the bosom
of our God where we can rest in God’s abundant grace, bountiful mercy, and
limitless love. Wonder though isn’t something that just happens. We have to make
room for wonder to happen. The icons in this church are intended to be opportunities
for wonder. When you have a chance, stand in front of one of them for 5 minutes
and see what happens when you let your mind wander and wonder. Or prayerfully
pray “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” as you come up to receive Communion.
You might choose a Psalm, or just a verse of one, and work on memorizing it so
that you can carry it with you as a way to meditate in adoration and wonder throughout
the day.
The important thing about
wonder is that we never evaluate or judge it. Wonder is something that we give
ourselves over to. Wonder if bigger than us, so we don’t need to try to control
it. Wonder is something that elevates us, and so we have to let ourselves be moved.
Consider Mary, she had an encounter of wonder with an angel and responded not
with “Well, God, I’m sort of busy right now,” or “I’m not quite ready,” or “That’s
not possible.” Rather, she says “Let it be with me according to your word.” Mary
is open to wonder.
And we have the shepherds
– they had an awesomely wonderful experience. They heard the angels singing the
song of heaven. Of course, our choir is fantastic. When I was in England
earlier this year, I had the chance to hear the choirs of King’s College Cambridge,
Westminster Abbey, and Salisbury Cathedral. But they are nothing compared to
the awe those shepherds must have heard. They heard that Gloria and their
spirits were elevated to the point where they got up and left their flocks and
went to go see the child lying in a manger.
Wonder is so unlike most
of our daily life that it might feel uncomfortable to simply enjoy instead of
evaluating. Adoration takes practice because we don’t often just sit and let
the being there be enough. Silence makes us think that our computer has frozen
up. Wonder is something to practice and cultivate. One artist has said that “the
most courageous thing that we can do is to behold.” That’s what wonder is all
about – simply beholding; being with God. And this is what Christmas makes possible;
it’s the gift of Christmas – Emmanuel, God with us. No matter the vigor of our
faith or the depths of our doubts; no matter our mistakes and shortcomings; no
matter our past or our future, the wondrous news of Christmas is that God is
with us. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in God tonight, met in
wonders of his enchanting love that makes all things well.
In a sermon nearly 1,700
years ago, a preacher told the congregation to “behold what you are and become what
you receive.” Talk about wonder. In the Eucharist and at Christmas, we behold
what we are – the people that God so loved as to come among us in Jesus. Abiding
in this love is the only thing that needs to be done. As Rossetti wrote in that
poem I referenced earlier, “Love shall be our token. Love be yours and love be
mine.” Love is our gift, our vocation, our source, and our summit. Behold the
wonders of his love. And, beholding this wonder, by the Spirit’s grace, we become
more like that love we have given. O come, let us adore him, tonight, and
evermore.
