So, let's face it...this, what we are doing right now, is weird. But then again, what isn't weird in 2020. The last time we were together in person when we felt safe was in Lent. We were beginning our journey with Jesus to the cross, and we were planning Wednesday soup suppers with communion, and working on all the different things we do at Holy Week. Looking forward to Easter and resurrection and ham and egg hunts and churches with lilies.
And then we weren't. Suddenly we were cut out of our churches and cut off from each other. And that was hard. But we endured. We endure a lot of things, we human beings. We always have.
But I think this Christmas is a special endurance for each of us in many ways. Because Christmas should be done in certain ways. Every family knows this. Some of you are Christmas Eve Present Openers, so of you are Christmas Morning Present Openers. So of you are Turkey, some are ham, and some are roast beef. Many a family has feuded over the acceptance of egg nog as a natural substance. And then there is always the great divide over the Christmas tree: live versus fake, up during Advent or not till Christmas eve. Every family has its certain ways.
Until they don't. Loss of loved ones change so much during Christmas, even down to place settings at the table. Divorce tears old traditions apart and forces the construction of new ones. Modern mobility makes the holidays more hectic and sometimes impossible.
And this new situation we find ourselves in, gathering only in our pandemic pods with people who are safe, or at least safer than others, fearing to welcome others in a season when welcoming is such a crucial part. Having to exchange physical hugs for virtual Can-you-hear-me's and You're-still-on-mute's...well, it seems like this all just crashing down around us, and we may as well just give up this year.
And I dig it. Even with church I dig it. Y'all, I absolutely hate that I can't be with you. And that you can't be with me. I hate that I don't get to grumble about decorating the church too early and then secretly peeping in to admire the decorations. I don't get to fuss over the feeling of hot claustrophobia that comes from standing at the altar surrounded by extra candles heating up the humidity coming off the poinsettias...and then making sure to take a picture of their beauty on my phone. Rushing from one church to another on Christmas Eve, standing outside with everyone else, all of us a bunch of old folks, still giddy when it gently snows on Christmas. People smiling, saying Merry Christmas, saying, “Father Steve, I'd like you to meet our youngest granddaughter, grandson, son-or-daughter-in-law” Whatever, it's still a gift you're so proud and willing to share...love and family.
But not this year. I've stopped into our naves over and over during the pandemic, and mostly I'd just look around and sigh. Listening to the Ghosts of Christmas pass, regretting the Ghosts of Christmas Present, and wondering whether future Christmases will hold ghosts at all or will we be filled once again with people.
A very blue Christmas, indeed. And probably each of us sitting around our own computer screens instead of pews, we each feel this tremendous loss of family, friends, traditions.
But, y'all. We will endure. Look by saying that 2020 has been a terrible year, I’m not saying anything new. You all know what you’ve lost. You know what you miss. You might even know what you don’t miss (I'm looking at you, eggnog). But what you might not know, and what I want you to hear, more than anything else, is this. Your losses, your pain, your anger, the despair, the frustration, the fury, the I-can’t-wait-for-2020-to-be-over, the I’m-honestly-a-little-worried-what-2021-will-bring, all that, all that is what it means to have faith.
The Bible is chock-full of all those things, well maybe not the 2020 stuff, but the Bible is full of people taking whatever it is they are living and naming it before God. The Psalms, the Book of Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Exodus, Micah, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Job, everything from Paul, the Gospels, even that fever dream Revelation -- they’re the stories of God’s people telling God they’ve had enough or don’t understand or can’t bear whatever life gives them any longer. But they keep on.
And here's the thing, ever since the beginning, ever since the story of Adam and Eve in Paradise, the most amazing thing happened, and happened over and over, and keeps happening even to this day. When Adam and Eve got tossed out of Paradise, when they are looking back and forth between the glory of what was and the pain is coming, the most amazing, wonderful part of the story is this: God says, “Now, hold on...I'm coming with you.”
That, also, is what it means to have faith. To really believe that God is here with us, even now. To really know in our hearts that that birth in Bethlehem centuries ago? That's not a fun Christmas story. It's not quaint. It's not a Hallmark movie. Because it's true. It is knowing that this is the very, very lengths to which our God will go to...to come with us.
And when that baby is born, go stand off to the side and witness that event. Be with that family that has had a rough beginning and will have more rough times ahead. When the shepherds come to visit, go with them. Stand with them on the fringes of society and the fringes of this scene and just wonder at what you are witnessing. And when later the wise men show up with presents, bring yours, too. All those sorrows and pains, all those joys and thanksgivings, wrap them up and lay them alongside the gold and frankincense and myrrh, gifts for a king who will bear our sorrows and celebrate our loves.
Even now, during a world that seems to have gone mad with sickness and power and greed, we have so much to be thankful for.
I am thankful for my mom and my family stuck in their own pandemic struggles in the new hotspot in the whole world, Tennessee. I am thankful that they have opened their hearts to me in supporting my life in Central New York, and I am especially thankful that they occasionally send me up southern food. The last time I was home was September, 2019, and the last time I physically saw my mom was the first week of November that same year. None of us knew it would be over a year, and will probably be longer, until we could see each other again. But I am thankful that they are keeping a home ready for me to visit when the visiting is good and they are loving me and praying for me from afar. And I'm mostly thankful that my Mom is a good sport when it comes to Zoom. I am thankful for many things, actually, but I guess, just being my Mom is at the top. These are truly Christmas presents.
For all of you up here in this savage land, I thank you because you have given me memories to cherish, and you'd better believe that they will one day become sermons! You’ve become a family here when my own is a thousand miles away. You’ve been willing to sample the Southern delicacies that are pimento cheese and fried okra (though, honestly, I think you do it more to satisfy me than yourselves), and you have shared with me the weird Yankee foods that are salt potatoes and spiedies (both of which, if we're honest, could do with some hot sauce). You've kept me alive in these winters when I would certainly do something stupid and end up in a frozen block of ice. You’ve shared so much joy, gratitude, frustration, so much life with me, and this place has become more than just home. Christmas gifts, all.
And this, also, is what it is to have faith, sharing these loves and and sorrows on Christmas. Because Christmas comes into our world no matter what our world looks like. Whatever this world holds, Christ comes into it. Christ comes to share in what we live, everything. Every joy, every loss, every sorrow, every should, every what-if, Christ comes to know this. That little bundle of warmth on a chilly night, that little swaddled, wailing child, that little savior comes here, in the midst of a pandemic, at the end of a wild year, in the middle of a divided people, that child comes here. Right where he should be.
This will certainly be a Christmas to remember. But Christ is born. On this night, Christ is born. And, y'all...because of that Christmas is always, always a Christmas to remember.
Merry Christmas, y'all.