I got a recording of the Messiah for my 20th birthday. That was the summer after I dropped out of my first college; I was living at home getting ready to go to my second one and trying to make some kind of sense out of my life. There was no way on earth I could make sense out of anybody else’s. That year my father was on a Fullbright lectureship to Colombia, helping build up their university’s foreign languages program, and, encouraged by their macho Hispanic culture to blame all their marital difficulties on my mother, was writing her abusive letters almost every week. She didn’t have anyone else to confide in, so I got the full brunt of it. This was not a fun way to spend a summer.
So I spent a lot of time either walking on the beach or in my room listening to music. And the first aria of the Messiah was “Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God.” I wasn’t a Christian yet... but I almost became one, that summer, just listening to the music. It seemed to be written directly to me. “Comfort ye”, “your warfare is accomplished,” “your iniquity is pardoned.” Our translation says, “she has served her term” instead; the allusion is really to completing a term of military service and being allowed to go home. But I heard it as, “the war is over. No more fighting.” Or, at least, your part in it is done, which was close enough for me. I hate conflict. I had spent my entire life, it seems, trying to keep the peace in the family, and now it was all falling apart and I couldn’t do anything about it. And on top of that I had blown my scholarship and, bluntly, totally messed up my life. So having my iniquities, my sins, forgiven also sounded pretty good. You mean it wasn’t all my fault? That I wasn’t to blame, somehow, for what was going on?
Well, what does all this have to do with Christmas, anyway, that was a long time ago and far far away and besides it was in the middle of the summer.
But you’d be amazed - or perhaps not, it’s less of a secret than it used to be - that Christmas is an extremely stressful time. More people die between Thanksgiving and Epiphany than at any other time of the year. Expectations are so high... We’re expected to HAVE FUN and to LOVE EVERYBODY and to BUY THE PERFECT PRESENT and HAVE THE PERFECT DINNER when underneath it all is grief over the death of a loved one or the breakup of a relationship, unresolved family conflicts exploding into unforgivable words under the pressure of too much togetherness, financial pressures reaching the breaking point as the bills mount up.
And to top it all off we’re supposed to keep our spiritual lives polished up too, and considering how hard it is during the rest of the year to keep any kind of disciplined devotional life, how can we be expected to be even better at it during this supposed-to-be-holy time? And even if you can carve out a little time with Jesus early in the morning or late in the evening, what good does it really do against the barrage of contrary messages our world sends us? Christmas carols are everywhere, but all it seems to be for is to get people in the mood to buy more stuff, and so by the time December is half over it’s a wonder you want to sing them any more at all. Sometimes it’s hard to know whether exhaustion or guilt is the most prevalent emotion at Christmas. Peace usually arrives, if at all, rather late on Christmas Eve, when if you haven’t gotten it done yet it won’t get done at all, so you might as well relax and get some sleep. Unless you’ve gotten someone a gift that “requires assembly,” in which case you might as well plan on an all-nighter. When people say, “Christmas is for children,” what they really mean is that the grownups are usually too exhausted to enjoy anything except the knowledge that they’ve given their kids some special memories. (The toys won’t last.)
I sound pretty cynical, don’t I. But I’m not; just realistic. That’s what Christmas is like for far too many people. And the only way to make it better is to quit trying to meet everyone else’s expectations and listen to God instead. Because God is the only one whose opinion really matters, isn’t it? And, incidentally, his message is NOT, “Do this, go there, accomplish that, and when you’ve done it maybe I’ll let you sit down. And, by the way, don’t forget to smile.”
This isn’t really a sermon about crass materialism, although it started turning into one when I wasn’t looking. What I really want to talk about is that so many people feel guilty if they don’t come into this season filled with love and peace and joy, but instead come with anxiety or grief or loneliness or exhaustion. Christians, especially, are prone to this because this is the most joyful season of the year, isn’t it, the time when we remember that God became human for us, gave us his very self as a forever gift. And so we tell ourselves that we ought to be feeling grateful and holy and all that sort of thing. But there is nothing more corrosive to your spiritual life than feeling guilty because you’re not having the “right” feelings.
“Comfort my people,” says God. Some people think the latter part of Isaiah was written after the Babylonian exile, to people who were about to return and rebuild Jerusalem. But I don’t think so, and I won’t bore you with all my reasons. I think Isaiah wrote the last half of his book ‘round about the time the northern Kingdom of Israel was finally destroyed. It was a time when everything looked absolutely hopeless. And God tells Isaiah to comfort the people who were walking in darkness into a future they could not see, and to assure them of three things: (1) they don’t have to fight any more, (2) they’ve been forgiven for whatever part they’ve played up to now, and (3) it is in the midst of the wilderness that God will come to them - if they are ready.
“Comfort my people,” says God, and Isaiah says, “What shall I cry?” and God answers, “All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of YHWH blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, “Here is your God!” [Is 40:6-9]
Now, of course this was written for a whole people, and its subject is the coming of the Messiah, the one who will restore and bring peace to a renewed and reborn Israel. But God works similarly with individuals, as well. The fancy word for that is microcosm - each one of us occupies a little world of our own, and God works with as much care and attention to our little worlds as he does to the whole universe. And although we are part of the family of God, and citizens of the kingdom of God, we are nonetheless still aliens and strangers, exiles and refugees wondering when - sometimes even if - we can go home. Even at Christmas.
The comfort is, as it always is, that God is the one who is in charge, and he knows what we are like. God doesn’t wait for us to be perfect before he comes to us. His coming is not dependent on how much we accomplish or how busy we are. Unlike Santa, God is not “making a list and checking it twice.” He is coming regardless of whether we have all our ducks in a row or not. As a matter of fact, He has already come. And the only things we have to do to receive him are the same three things Isaiah told the people of Israel so long ago.
First of all, we have to stop running around like the proverbial headless chickens. We may not think of ourselves as being at war, but in a way we are ... fighting our own sins and shortcomings, fighting the limits of time and money, fighting to change our spouse or our kids or our parents or our boss. Stop fighting, at least for a little while, and accept things as they are. Be who you are, where you are, and let the knowledge of God’s perfect love and providence create a reservoir of peace around you. All things are like grass... whatever doesn’t get done will fade right alone with the things that do get done. And two, remember that you are forgiven. It is in accepting and extending the forgiveness of God that the circle of peace around you can grow into something that lasts beyond this season into the next. And last, remember that God comes - not even in the wilderness, but especially in the wilderness. You can see God most clearly where there is the least clutter.
So if you, like so many others this Christmas, are looking for a comfort that seems at time elusive, don’t go frantically chasing after it, or despair of ever finding it. It is - He, the Comforter - is already here, and only waits for the right time to turn your wilderness into a garden.
