Merry Christmas! It’s great to be here in Milton on this night. Christmas Eve is always special. I’m not sure about you, but on Christmas Eve a wonderful calm seems to come over me and everything around me. I remember that this is the night that our Savior was born. I think of a beautiful, frightened, pregnant young woman accompanied by her brave husband journeying to his ancestral hometown to be registered in a great census. Close your eyes and see them---tired, hungry---going from door to door seeking shelter---a warm dry place to spend the night---and no one would have them. Door after door closed. Finally, reluctantly, a tired overworked Inn Keeper, with his last ounce of pity allows them to make a place in the stable among the animals. Anything will do. Anything quiet and warm. This beautiful, gentle woman needs to sit, rest, be quiet. A stable will be fine----wonderful. They settle in the stall and then she knows---the time is at hand. The child is coming. Her kind loving husband holds her hand and prays. The ox and the ass, the sheep and the fowl gather and bear witness to the birth of Him who was promised generation after generation. The birth of the Savior takes place in the presence of God’s most humble of creatures. Their breath on this cold night warms the child and mother. The new child cries. The cry is a symphony to a waiting world that isn’t listening---at least not yet. A father touches the finger of an infant and again prays, trusting in the will of the God that he has always held close to his heart. The night sky is brightened by a star. Not understanding the reason, young men and boys are drawn from the fields where they have been tending sheep. They are compelled to move, led to the stable. Entering, they gaze upon an infant---and know without question—with no hesitation that this night, this place, this child, is special. Nothing will ever be the same. Foreigners enter. Majestic. Regal. Bearing gifts. Their eyes fall on the child, they fall on their knees. They recognize him. They know that this child is the one that has been written about age to age. They present their gifts---pay homage. Each person gathered in that humble stable breathed deeply and understood that this night changes everything. Quietly sheep and ox settle in the hay. Kings and shepherds bow and withdraw. The baby cries. A new mother takes her child to her breast, a tear of joy wells up in the corner of her eye ---a father stands watch. The world is recreated. The angels rejoice and proclaim “Peace on Earth, Good Will to All”. It must have been good to be in Bethlehem that night. It’s good to be in Milton this night and to remember and celebrate in our beautiful, warm meeting house, and to think about going back to our homes to continue our celebrations of Christ’s love and our love for family and friends.
In a small hut in Soweto or on the plains of the Sudan this night an infant boy is limp in the lap of his mother. Flies crawl on his cheek looking for some remnant of food. The child breaths shallow breaths ---the mother lifts him gently to her breast---there is nothing there—no milk, no nourishment. She gently touches the baby’s cheek, gazes at his distended belly, watches his chest rise and fall, and then stop. It’s over. Death comes to her boy this night. A tear of sadness wells up in the corner of her eye. It’s sad to be in Soweto or on the plains of the Sudan this night. And in the distance a baby cries.
A young teenage Jewish girl sits alone in her bedroom in a tiny apartment in Meir Charim this night—the orthodox section of Jerusalem called in English The Hundred Gates. She thinks of the celebration of her family’s holy days. She recalls the Seder, the Passover meal. The celebration of her people passing out of slavery into freedom. She hears the words of her youngest brother asking the question, “What makes this night different than every other night?”. As she recalls the telling of the story, in her heart she knows what makes this night different. This night her brother, just turned twenty, is a soldier in the Gaza Strip. She remembers the frightened look in his eyes the day he picked up his rifle and left that small apartment. She worries that she may never see him again. This night she worries about getting on a bus in the morning to go to school. She worries that while sitting in a small café a bomb may explode. She worries about just seeing someone that looks different than she looks and speaks words that she can’t understand. She worries when she looks into her father’s eyes and sees fear. She worries when she looks into her mother’s eyes and sees sadness. She sits in her room and prays “Dear God, please make this night different…” and a tear of fear wells up in the corner of her eye. It’s frightening to be in Jerusalem this night.
And in the distance a baby cries.
A small Palestinian boy runs from doorway to doorway in a small West Bank village this night.
This night it is said that the soldiers are coming to look for some of his neighbors they say are bombers. He knows what that means. The soldiers come with guns and tanks. They come crushing homes and dragging away neighbors and relatives. When the soldiers come, death and destruction comes with them. As he cowers in a darkened doorway this night and hears the tanks rumble in the distance a tear of defiance wells up in the corner of his eye. It’s infuriating to be in the West Bank this night. And in the distance a baby cries.
This night a father in Baghdad listens to broadcasts of bombings. He knows what the war has brought. Good and bad.. He has seen and heard it. He has seen the blood and the death. He stands, crosses the room and stares at his children quietly sleeping. He wonders why this is all happening. He has tried to be a man of faith. He has tried to follow his God. He hears the words from the radio warning of the violence that surely will come. He looks at his children and a tear of confusion wells up in the corner of his eye. It’s confusing and troubling to be in Baghdad this night. And in the distance a baby cries.
This Night sitting on a hillside outside Kabul, Afghanistan, a U.S. soldier looks into the night sky at a star. This single mom thinks of her five year old son back home in Georgia with her parents. She prays he is well and, as she prays, a tear of loneliness wells up in the corner of her eye. It’s lonely to be in Kabul this night. And in the distance a baby cries.
This night an elderly woman sits quietly in a convalescent home struggling to remember. Struggling to remember almost anything. She has images of the years past---a husband, children, friends, but she doesn’t remember when she saw them last. She can’t even remember dinner. She doesn’t remember what this night is. She doesn’t know where she is this night. A tear of unknowing wells up in the corner of her eye. And she thinks she hears her baby cry in the distance.
Along the railroad tracks in Cuernavaca, Mexico. In this place called The Station a child is born this night. Neighbors from their homes made of Cardboard and tarpaper, bedsprings and abandoned boards, hear the news and come bringing gifts from what little they have. Joy and laughter fill the small hovel of a home this night. The people speak of the great things that this child could do, the great man he could become. They pray for this child this night. A tear of hope wells up in the corner of this mother’s eye. It is hopeful this night in The Station. And the baby cries.
In Milton this night we remember the reason we are gathered. We remember that Jesus came to bring Peace to all peoples everywhere. We know that God’s love is for all people of every race and religion, of every nationality and persuasion, every free person and every person oppressed or imprisoned. God’s love is universal and never ending. We know that we are God’s children and we resolve to share God’s love with all our brothers and sisters in every place on this planet and even beyond. It is good to be in Milton this night. May the tears of joy, and sadness, fear and defiance, confusion, loneliness, and hope run together to form waters of new birth and new life for a new world, our world, and may each of us here share that life. It is good to be in Milton, this night. If we accept the promise of this night the possibilities are wonderful. I wish you each of you everything that this night is. Amen
