Blue Christmas

December 20, 2009

In the Name of Jesus.  Amen.

We are each here this evening for our own unique reasons. Some of you may be grieving the death of a loved one and, whether this is the first or the 20th Christmas since that death, it never fails to dampen your spirits, try as you might to shake it off.

Some of you may be grieving the death of a marriage, or some other relationship that, for whatever reason, stopped growing in love and mutual respect.

Some of you may be grieving a livelihood that has been adversely affected by the downturn of the economy in the past year or more.

Some of you may have recently received grim medical diagnosis, and you are trying to find your way to coming to terms with that.

Or, there may be something else going on in your life – or NOT going on in your life – that makes this holiday a little less than bright.

Into this dark reality, into this sadness, like the angels’ “Gloria” bursting into the silent, dark night when Christ was born, comes Jesus’ bright and clear good news: This end is not the end. God, the author of existence, promises in Jesus to create a hope and a future out of what seems like hopelessness and dead ends; eternal life out of death -- and the light of God’s glory overcomes our darkness yet again.

This new life in Christ doesn’t begin when we die. New life in Christ begins when we are baptized. When you were baptized, God assured you of your future – a future lived with God’s grace poured all over you, and Christ’s resurrection promised to you. Our baptism changes not only how we look at and experience death; it changes how we look at and live our lives. The birth of Christ into a suffering, struggling, grieving world assures us we are not alone. Jesus’ presence isn’t dependent, you see, on how we feel at any particular moment, on any particular day. Like that well-known poem about “Footprints in the sand,” Jesus assures us that he is seeing us through, whether we can clearly see him or not.    

Still, being human, any loss is a difficult thing. It is true that no matter how prepared we think we are to face life’s battles, no matter how well we know that life is a gift, and we vaguely realize that struggle is a part of living – even so, when struggle and disappointment come, it is deep and real. Scripture tells us that we will certainly grieve in life, but not as people without hope. We grieve children as children of a powerful, compassionate, and gracious God.

That hope doesn’t lessen the loss. It does not magically dispel our grief. And I suppose this disappointment or grief or sense of loss may tempt some of us to view this holiday season as something less than a “holly jolly Christmas.” At times like this, I think of these words, from “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear”…

And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps, and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;

Oh, rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing!

 ...and I know that, far from being something to be held off at arm’s length because we are grieving, the coming celebration of Christmas is EXACTLY what our hearts yearn for. 

What is Christmas if it isn’t the unexpected good news that we do not “toil along the climbing way with painful steps, and slow” all alone and without hope? 

What is Christmas if it isn’t God’s divine intrusion on our grief, giving us “rest beside the weary road [to] hear the angels sing”? 

What is Christmas if it isn’t Jesus himself, who sliced through all of life’s superficialities, who “became flesh and lived among us…full of grace and truth…from [whose] fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” (John 1)?

I don’t much care how “the world” celebrates Christmas, with all its glitz and commercialism. It isn’t a matter of celebrating on those terms or not at all.  We have another choice. We celebrate the true good news of Christmas:  Emmanuel, “God with us” – most especially at times like this. Here, in the beauty and peace of this sanctuary, with others who know and love God, we can truly rest beside the weary road, and hear angels sing (from “Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming”):

O Savior, child of Mary, Who felt all human woe;

O Savior, king of glory, Who triumphed o’er our foe;

Bring us at length, we pray, To the bright courts of heaven,

And into endless day.

What the future holds, we cannot know – and, frankly, I have come to be grateful that I didn’t know ahead of time some of the loss and grief that I’ve experienced. But we do know that Jesus walks with us, perhaps even a step ahead of us, holding us by the hand, making a way through for us. 

What heaven is like, we cannot know until we get there. But, we can hold onto the promise of Jesus that there will be no more pain ... no more death ... no more grieving...and that our loved ones are already singing “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace.”

In our darkest moments, what we draw strength and hope from is that on Christmas the new dawn has come, in Jesus, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief – who came to turn sin and death on its head, forever.

May you rest confidently in that hope, that promise, through our Lord and

Savior, Jesus Christ.  Amen.

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