“What’s done is done." We say it when we want to pronounce the final words, when we want to speak the ultimate truth. "What’s done is done", as if so obvious a truth really needed stating. "What’s done is done.” It becomes a way of insisting that there is no more to be said, no more to do, no more to pay attention to. It’s over. "What’s done is done”.
We say it when we are asked to accept some new fact, something that we would have done differently if we could have. But we can’t, and so "What’s done is done". That family heirloom you dropped and broke beyond repair; what else can you say, now, after this clumsiness, except, "What’s done is done"? Tomorrow, somewhere within this church family, some child’s brand new toy will break down or get stepped on or get chewed up by the family dog, and, unless there is an exceedingly kind store manager out there somewhere, well, "what’s done is done.” Saying it makes us feel a little better, makes us think we can’t do any more. Might as well accept it.
Or deeper. The pink slip comes down from the boss; after the anger, it somehow helps to say, “What’s done is done”. The midnight call from the hospital emergency room; after the shock and the grief, a shrug of the shoulders and the obvious and yet always necessary claim, "what’s done is done."
Our lives are filled and shaped by the things we cannot change and must accept; filled with the misshapen happenings of the past and the awkwardness of the present; haunted by the ghosts of Christmas past and shadowed by the spirits of Christmas present. And we, like old Ebenezer Scrooge, carried away in memory, might wish it could all be changed. But it can’t. And so we pronounce, "What’s done is done."
Except. Except that at Christmas what’s done is what God has done. What’s done is what God has chosen to do, at the right time, in the fullness of time, to repair our brokenness and undo our doneness. At Christmas it is not we in our clumsiness who have the last word; it is God in His grace and truth. We think that we are in control; we imagine that we are the movers and shakers who make things happen. But I tell you that it is not over until God announces that what’s done is done.
Consider the promise made to God’s people: "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given. And the government shall be upon his shoulders, and his name shall be called wonderful counselor, mighty God, the everlasting Father, the prince of peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this."
Consider that promise. It says that despite the brokenness of this world, there will be order; that despite the hostilities that continue to break out, there will be peace; that despite the atrocities and the unfairness with which so many are treated, there will be justice. And all of this is told us with definiteness, a certainty. Unto us a child is born ... of the increase of peace there shall be no end ... the zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this. Now we think we know something else. We know of Bosnia and Rwanda; we know of Korea and Haiti; we know a hundred places where peace has evaporated. What’s done is done; or maybe not yet. Not yet.
Consider the promise, but consider also the gift of the child. The story is full of human beings making their own decisions, acting in what they thought was freedom. But in the midst of it all, what our God purposed was done. Augustus in Rome decided, or thought he decided, to impose a registration. Joseph in Nazareth decided, or thought he decided, to go up to the city of David called Bethlehem, to be taxed. An innkeeper in Bethlehem decided, or thought he decided, to send a very pregnant young woman and her anxious spouse to a stable. So many people just did what they thought they were to do, at the time. But behind it all, in the midst of it all, was God, doing what God will do. "And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered." The days were accomplished. What’s done is done, for God is doing it. And despite all our not yets, it is done. It is.
Consider the promise, consider the gift of the child, but consider also what became of him. For the story of Christmas is not merely the story of a warm and cuddly infant cradled in a manger and surrounded by kindly beasts. The story of Christmas is not only the shimmering loveliness of angels’ wings or the adoration of humble shepherds. This child will grow; this child will be taught and disciplined; this child will work and sweat, know and be known, this child. This child will make things happen. This child, this man will grace the tables of the poor and overturn the tables of the moneychangers. This child, this man will turn water into wine and sickness into health. This child, this man will turn fishermen into prophets and cheaters into givers, this child. This child, this man will even turn death into life, but … But this child, this man will himself come to the moment of death. A cruel cross, a soldier’s spear, a borrowed tomb … how far they all seem from this manger-side!
And how awesome. How much all that seems to be a contradiction, a denial of God’s promise and God’s gift. How can it possibly be, that the one on whose shoulders the government would fall is now burdened with a cross? How can it possibly be, that the Christ child of Bethlehem has become the agonizing Jesus of Calvary?
But listen. Listen. Listen for God’s declaration that "What’s done is done." "When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, ’It is finished’, and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit" It is finished; it is done, it is accomplished. Never hear this word as the whimper of defeat, but hear it as the cry of victory and accomplishment. It is finished. It is done. What’s done is done, for God has done it. In the midst of what seemed to be the worst and most terrible of setbacks, God has done what God purposed to do. Thanks be to God!
Walter Wangerin in his little book The Manger Is Empty tells of the Christmas he became an adult. He was only ten years old, but nothing seemed the same as before. His six younger brothers and sisters gurgled in delight at all the preparations for Christmas, but he was determined not to enjoy any of it. They dabbled their little hands in cookie dough and sugar; he kept his, this year, in his pockets. They sang with total abandon in the children’s choir, but he delivered his Isaiah lines in the pageant with a fierce and awesome defiance: "Mighty God! Everlasting Father! Prince of Peace!" The scowling Walter was determined not to be disappointed again this year. If he would not hope, then he also would not be disillusioned.
So when every child was given a stocking of nuts and fruits, Walter received his with a stolid silence. "No, ma’am, you will not entice me into gladness or gratitude, not this year."
Walter’s father and mother had certain Christmas Eve traditions. One of them was to drive home slowly, taking a meandering route to see the lights of the city. Every child had his or her nose pressed to the windows of the van; but not Walter. He sat staring straight ahead. Stupid lights. Dumb colors. Let’s get home and get this over with.
At home, the tradition was that every child would change from church clothes to pajamas and then gather at the room from whose door the doorknob had long since been removed. It was a long, slow, tantalizing wait before that door would be opened, and all the others banged on the door and clamored, "Now, now, let’s open it now." Walter too wanted it open, but for different reasons. He just wanted this to be over. He was no longer a child. He didn’t need this, not any more.
And so when the door was opened and the children were admitted to a sweet-smelling room with a blazing tree and seven piles of gifts, Walter stood in the doorway and watched the others dive in with unbridled joy. As they tore at the wrappings and fell over one another trying to see everything at once, Walter looked up and saw his father standing there watching him. Looking at him and him only. As if there weren’t enough children to watch. Looking at him, and with a tear in his eye.
In that moment young Walter saw that somehow his own disappointment was mirrored in his father. Somehow his ten-year-old anxiety as to whether the promise of Christmas would ever be fulfilled -- that anxiety was captured in his father too. His father too had wondered if Christmas would ever reach its expectations, but the father had risked disappointment and pain in order to find out. He, the father, had committed himself and had done what needed to be done, knowing that some of his children might be disappointed. But what’s done, you see, is done.
Walter’s father walked slowly from the center of the room and spread wide his arms, embracing his oldest child; in a flash Walter knew what it was he had been looking for all along. It wasn’t the presents or the candy; it had never been the lights or the pageantry. It was the father himself he sought; it was the father’s love. And that, that was done. What’s done is done, truly done.
In the midst of all the changing seasons, God has done what God would do. What’s done is done. The wondrous love is given. Lift up your hearts! Thanks be to God!
In the midst of all earth’s strife and hatred, God has done what God would do, and what’s done is done. His wondrous love is given, and God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven. Lift up your hearts! Thanks be to God!
Even in the midst of our lives’ uncertainties, our growings up and tumblings down, God has done for us what God would do, and no matter how we feel about it right now, what’s done is done. The Christ child has come. Lift up your hearts! Thanks be to God!
For "when the fullness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons."
