What Jesus Wants for Christmas

Sermon for Christmas Eve
Luke 2:1-14

I want to start tonight by ruining the mental picture most of us bring to the story we just heard.  Mary and Joseph come to Bethlehem along with hundreds of other people, following the emperor’s order to go to their hometowns to be counted.  Mary is at the end of her pregnancy, and I hope she really did ride on a donkey or something because, as Mtr. Jean said on Sunday, it’s a 90-mile, arduous hike from Nazareth, across arid plains, and then up 2,700 feet of steep hills to Bethlehem.  But because of the crowds, Joseph and Mary find … what is it the story says?  They find “there was no place for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7).

So, what do we picture when we hear that?  A Bethlehem street lined with cheap motels, all with “no vacancy” signs?  Well, no – at least we know it wasn’t that.  Maybe we picture Ye Olde Inn from Shakespeare’s England, with a pub on the first floor?  Or maybe a ramshackle Old West bunkhouse, managed by a kindly, grizzled old innkeeper?  

Well, it turns out, the “inn” wasn’t like any of those because this place Mary and Joseph stopped wasn’t an “inn” at all.  We have that mental image because of maybe the most famous bad translation in history.  It happened in the early 1500s in one of the first English-language Bibles,¹ and it remains with us still.

The word translated as “inn” is kataluma in Greek, and it means a space for guests.  Here’s what that would have looked like in Bethlehem.  First, you have to know that, on the limestone hills there, people didn’t live in wooden houses or keep their animals in wooden barns because they didn’t have many trees.  What they did have was rocks, mud, and caves.  When I went to Bethlehem, we visited a cave thought to have been similar to a family’s house in Jesus’ day.  As you entered a cave house, you’d find a large space for the family to sleep; and in the back of the cave would be a smaller space, maybe hollowed out, where the family would bring in the livestock to protect them from predators at night.  And on the hill over the cave, a family might put up a small structure where extended-family members or friends or travelers could stay.  

It was this kind of small structure above the cave, the kataluma, that had no room when Mary and Joseph arrived at his family home.  Too many other family members had gotten there first as they followed the emperor’s order, and the space for guests was full.  So, Mary and Joseph had to bunk with the animals in the back of the cave underneath – which I imagine Mary didn’t mind too much.  At least she got a little privacy, as well as a feed trough where the baby could rest without lying in the animals’ muck on the floor.

So, now that I’ve ruined the nativity scenes on your Christmas cards, why am I telling you this? Because I think it matters where Mary and Joseph were staying and where the baby Jesus spent his first night.

Our image of the holy family looking for a room at a Rodeway Inn reflects our culture and our wiring.  If we’re looking for a place to stay, we take care of that on our own, finding somewhere we can join other travelers who’ve walled themselves off from each other in little rooms with locked doors.  It’s the answer we’ve come up with, one that fits our rampant individualism.  

But that’s not the world God entered 2,000 years ago in Palestine.  Instead, as Mary and Joseph came to the old homestead to bunk with the relatives, God came knocking right there, in the midst of everything this very normal family was going through.  They’d all come to Bethlehem because the emperor told them to; so, there they were, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the cave and its guest room above.  And in the midst of that extended family’s messy life – getting dinner ready, tending the livestock, corralling the kids, caring for the elders – in the midst of everyday life, God came knocking.  “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood” as one of them (John 1:14 The Message).

OK.  Other than historical curiosity, why does this matter?  Because Jesus still comes to us now in the midst of our day-to-day lives, bringing hope where we least expect it, knocking on the door and asking to be invited in.

Well, when the Sovereign and Savior of the world comes knocking, it might be good if we had something to offer him.  In a couple of weeks, we’ll remember the magi offering the Christ child their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  In the moment, those were perfect gifts for God’s king – rich treasure that symbolized both the honor of the nations and Jesus’ vocation as “king and God and sacrifice,” as the carol puts it.²  But when Jesus the King comes to us today, what kind of gift do you think he’s looking for?

Well, our culture says a king would be looking for markers of wealth and privilege and success – gifts only the finest could offer.  But this king comes among the rest of us, too, folks just doing their best with the life they’re given.

OK, well, our political system says a king would be looking for a power base – people to support his rule and follow his commands.  But this king says “no” to every offer of political power, disappointing his followers who want him to kick the Romans out.

OK, well, our religious establishment says a king would be looking for obedience – a righteousness most often based on fear of judgment.  But this king refuses to coerce people to follow him, honoring the free will that comes with being made in the image and likeness of God.

So, when Jesus comes knocking today, bringing hope where you least expect it, what kind of a gift do you think he’s looking for from you?  Ever more and harder work?  Spiritual perfection?  Unfailing kindness and concern for others?

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned to you that, when I offer the Confession of Sin to begin my daily prayers, I feel like I’m being asked to catalog the ways I let God down the day before.  Well, when I met with my spiritual director, we talked about this; and she asked the obvious question: “When you do that, what kinds of sins come to mind for you?”  And I said, well, usually what comes to mind are my deficiencies of love: not wanting to pick up the phone and call somebody, or not remembering some significant time in someone’s life, or not wanting to go to one more blessed parish event.  And my spiritual director said, “I’m not sure those are sins exactly.  Maybe they’re just aspects of who you are.  Maybe those aren’t so much sins to confess as parts of yourself to give to God and see what God might do with them.”

When Jesus comes knocking on our doors, I think what he’s looking for is the gift of a true and honest heart, a heart seeking to be healed.  He’s not looking for ever-harder work toward perfection but for the gift of … well … you and the life you inhabit.  

And I got to see a great example of this just last week.  Out of the blue, I heard from an old friend, someone I knew as a parishioner years ago in Springfield.  She had come to our little congregation broken, beaten down by a history of religious leaders making her feel unworthy of love and trying to manipulate her into following them.  She felt disrespected and dismissed, and it fed her deeper feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness.  But in that little congregation of other regular folks doing their best to find God in the midst of life, my friend found a community that welcomed her.  She came to see that those people were grateful for her tremendous gifts of compassion and intelligence.  

Now, her journey wasn’t easy.  Decades of mistrusting churches and their leaders made her path of spiritual growth more like one step up and two steps back.  But my friend wrote to me last week reflecting on how that experience in our little congregation had led her to offer herself to God – warts and all – in order to see what God might have in mind for her.  And now, 20 years later, she was telling me she’d earned her doctorate in psychology and had been helping students for years learn about living into the wholeness and well-being God intends for them.

The key to my friend’s story isn’t that she figured out God’s magic formula for success.  It was that she kept coming, kept opening the door when Jesus knocked, kept up the conversation, kept showing up with other fellow travelers who didn’t have the answers either.  My friend kept offering Jesus the one thing she had to give: herself.  She put herself in the offering plate and brought herself to the altar, over and over again, inviting our Savior to come and take flesh and dwell in her.  She kept showing up, asking God to strengthen the things that were good, and heal the things that were broken, and turn her away from the things that dragged her down.

This Savior we worship tonight didn’t come to criticize us or manipulate us.  This Savior didn’t come to demand we work harder.  This Savior certainly didn’t come to soak up the world’s glory.  This Savior came to move into the neighborhood and dwell among us, even dwell within us.  This Savior came to ask for the greatest Christmas gift you can offer, which is the gift of yourself – nothing more and nothing less, for there’s nothing greater you can give.

[Choir sings verse 4 of “In the bleak midwinter.”]

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a wise man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him—give my heart.³

1.      Interestingly, in the first English translation of Scripture, by John Wycliffe in 1382, kataluma is translated “chaumbir” (https://textusreceptusbibles.com/Wycliffe/42/2), close to the Greek’s intent. But in William Tyndale’s translations of Scripture (1522-1525, work that led English King Henry VIII to have Wycliffe burned at the stake), kataluma is given as “ynne” (https://textusreceptusbibles.com/Tyndale/42/2). That translation was retained in England’s official Great Bible of 1539 (https://textusreceptusbibles.com/Great/42/2) and the Geneva Bible of 1560 (https://textusreceptusbibles.com/Geneva/42/2). The Bishops Bible of 1568 used “inne,” as did the King James Bible of 1611. And so it continues, with “inn” used in the New Revised Standard Version today.

2.      “We three kings of Orient are,” The Hymnal 1982, 128, verse 5.

3.      “In the bleak midwinter,” The Hymnal 1982, 112, verse 4.

How Can I Practice Hope?

Sermon for Advent II, Dec. 8, 2024
Luke 3:1-6

As we cascade toward Christmas, we find ourselves at week 2 of this Advent season of “Hope Together.”  Last week, Mtr. Jean spoke about how we can find hope in tough times.  This week, our preaching series asks about our role: How can I practice hope?

And for the star of our show, this Sunday and next, we get the hairy prophet John the Baptist – “Creepy John,” if you’re a fan of The Chosen.  Back in the day, John must have made quite a splash, because all the Gospel writers found it necessary to deal with him.  He sure must have seemed like the messiah, because John keeps saying, “No, someone else much more powerful is on his way.”  So, in Advent – as we prepare ourselves to receive God wriggling in a feedbox, and as we prepare ourselves to receive God returning in judgment to set the world to rights – we first hear John the Baptist asking us to look deep within.

What John’s calling us to experience is “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Luke 3:3).  Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think about someone telling me to “repent,” I picture a self-satisfied preacher highlighting my failings and poor choices, and demanding that I turn away from them.  It’s the dubious Good News of the billboards.  You’ve seen things like this on the highway before, right?  “Prepare to meet God!  Or, “Get Right With God!”  Or, “Repent – Jesus is Coming!”

Now, I’d say those messages aren’t wrong exactly.  Jesus is coming, and we will be held accountable for the choices we make.  We do need to repent.  And at the same time, we need to be clear about what that means.

I won’t ask for a show of hands, but I may not be the only one who hears “Repent!” as a call to feel bad about how I’ve let God down this time.  And it’s not just the billboards that can make us feel that way.  Every morning, I listen to Morning Prayer on a podcast as I walk the dog.  And every morning, right off the bat, the officiant says, “Let us confess our sins against God and our neighbor.”  And every morning, I pause the podcast to think about how I failed yesterday.  And every morning, I manage to feel bad about myself.

But repentance actually isn’t about feeling bad about yourself.  In Scripture, the “repentance” that leads to forgiveness of sins isn’t just about remorse.  It’s about change.  It comes from the Greek work metanoia, which means a change of mind that leads to “a profound moral and spiritual transformation.”¹  So, to repent is to change your mind in such a way that it changes your heart, too.

I’d like to suggest that we try on a particular change of mind this Advent.  It starts with looking at ourselves with true humility – being aware of both our failings and our goodness without veering off toward one or the other, neither spiritual arrogance nor self-loathing.  So, when we look in the mirror, who do we see?  Someone who needs a lot of work?  Or someone worthy of being called God’s beloved?  What if the answer were, “Yes”?

If we repented that way – if we changed our minds to change our hearts that way – I think we might hear John the Baptist with new ears.  John says,

“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” (Luke 3:4-5).

On one level – in Israel’s history, when the people were exiled in Babylon – those words from the prophets meant Yahweh was coming to plow over not just foreign kings and their armies but even the desert wilderness itself to carve out a pathway for the people to return to the Promised Land.  On another level, in John the Baptist’s day, it meant God was about to vanquish the imperial and spiritual powers holding the Jews in subjugation. 

And, John would have said, those words from the prophets meant the people needed to get ready by changing their minds to change their hearts, opening themselves to God’s power and the hope it held for them.  Those crowds coming to John for baptism needed to change so they could participate in God’s work to change the world.  To welcome the One who would save them, they needed to stop doing what held them back – stop ignoring God, stop harming others, stop participating in Rome’s oppressive system.  But those crowds coming for baptism also needed to change how they saw themselves: that if God was about to send their Savior, that meant they were worthy of being saved.  Did they each have work to do?  Absolutely.  And, John says, God loves you deeply and seeks your well-being … enough to come in person to save you.

Today, if our minds and our hearts changed that way – if we really believed God loves us deeply and seeks our well-being – how would that change our preparation for the coming of Christ?  Here’s a crazy thought:  Maybe we’d prioritize our well-being more like God does.

But wait – isn’t that self-indulgence, to prioritize our well-being?  No.  It’s recognizing the value in which God holds you and the relationship God wants to have with you.  In two and a half weeks, the Sovereign of the Universe is coming to be born as one of us, to walk alongside us through the joys and sorrows of being human.  And, down the road, the Sovereign of the Universe is coming to restore earth and heaven to the unity God intended in the beginning and to welcome you into it forever.  Our hope is rooted in the fact that God wants nothing so much as for you to sign on, to recognize how worthy you are of being saved.  Well, if that’s true, if you’re worth that, then fostering your well-being isn’t self-indulgence.  It’s revealing the image of God you bear.

Well, if we’re going to prioritize our well-being, some of that’s physical, right?  But 18 days before Christmas probably isn’t the time to call any of us to eat better, drink less, exercise more, and rest.  OK, says pragmatic John the Baptist, let’s start with what might come more naturally this time of year.  Take these 18 days to prioritize your spiritual well-being.  Change your mind and your heart by opening yourself to what God’s doing with you and where God’s leading you.

What would that look like?  Well, I had a moment of clarity one morning recently, beginning my walk with the dog.  Before we head out, I put in my earbuds; and I start the Morning Prayer podcast as we head down the street.  Often, maybe more often than not, about three houses down the street, my earbuds cut out and disconnect from the podcast.  I don’t know why, and I let it frustrate me every blessed time it happens.  But one morning recently, I heard the electronic voice in my ears saying something new when it lost the signal, again.  Here’s what the voice says:  “Disconnected.  Pairing.  Connected.”  That may be an annoying message about my earbuds, but it’s also a pretty good model for prioritizing our spiritual well-being over the next 18 days.

So, first is “disconnected.”  Recognize where and how you’re disconnected from God.  What patterns aren’t working for you anymore?  What’s getting in the way of reaching out to God for conversation?  Where’s your energy going instead?

Then comes “pairing.”  Give yourself the Advent gift of “pairing” with the God who’s trying to come alongside you.  You’ll find some suggestions on the Advent page of our website:  Maybe read a daily devotional.  Maybe make space to say your prayers each day.  Maybe put an Advent-music playlist on your phone.  Maybe simply sit somewhere beautiful and quiet for a few minutes each day, and see what God does with your gift of time.  And, as I said in this week’s article in the Messenger, try journaling a little, using the booklets in the entryway to reflect on what you’re hearing, and share a few insights with the rest of us.

Then, finally, comes “connected.”  Pay attention when moments of God’s peace or insight come.  Notice what practices work for you and what practices don’t.  Feel free to pitch what isn’t helpful, but hold onto what works as the Holy Spirit’s Christmas gift to you.

Here’s one last thought:  It’ll be easier to prioritize our spiritual well-being this Advent if we’re clear about who it is we’re waiting for.  I mean, we know it’s Jesus, our Lord and Savior.  But who is that, in the minds and hearts of each of us?  If we’re expecting a judge who focuses on our faults and weaknesses, we’ll do our best to cover them up – often by pointing them out in others.  Or, if we’re expecting a baby in a manger whose birth makes us happy without threatening to change us, we’ll get a few days off and then just go back to the grind.  But what if you expected someone else? – someone who valued you, and walked alongside you, and wanted to guide your path?  Who would that Savior be?  What would you call him?  Parent?  Coach?  Friend?  Partner?  Whatever word feels right, that’s someone worth changing your mind and your heart for.

1.       “3341. metanoia.” Bible Hub. Available at: https://biblehub.com/greek/3341.htm. Accessed Dec. 6, 2024.