Homily for Christmas Eve

Missing people we love, yet strangely sensing their presence

It sometimes feels to Christians as if heaven and earth are somehow closer on this night when we celebrate God born in a stable. And if loved ones from your life who have already died feel strangely close to you on this night, maybe that is because they are. The same can be true about others we love who are still alive but are not physically present. Time and distance can seem strangely irrelevant, in light of a presence we sometimes experience on this night, a night replete with sacred and unfathomable mysteries.

The Nobel prize winning physicist, Werner Heisenberg, once said, “Not only is the universe stranger than you think, it is stranger than you can think.” On this night of holy mysteries and deep love breaking into the world — to Mary and Joseph, to shepherds and wise men, and to you and me — let it suffice for me simply to say, “It is a mysterious and sacred privilege to welcome each of you here on this holy night.” Because, in welcoming you, we are welcoming more than just you.

From the time I was little, as a life-long Episcopalian, I remember being taken to the midnight mass on Christmas Eve. And when Cherry and I had our own little ones, we always took them to the late service, usually in their footie pajamas; and now that they’re grown, they wouldn’t miss it. Our conviction as parents was that children are naturally drawn to the wonder of this holy night. Not just to Santa Claus and the reindeer, but to the baby lying in a manger, the tired but joyful Mary and Joseph, the star, the angels and the shepherds, the candle light, and the music that is alternately majestic, intimate, and sublime. And besides, Cherry and I learned, if you put children to bed at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, you can actually get some sleep yourself!

The Divine becoming a human being, so that we human beings might become divine – this is one of the most ancient but now neglected teachings of Christianity: that Christ is a sign of our true life, Christ is a sign of who we really are. “This shall be a sign for you,” the angel says, which is why I say that it is a sacred privilege to welcome you on this holy night. Because on this of all nights, I am especially mindful of the profound Christian conviction, that in welcoming you, I am welcoming Christ.

The 19^th century Russian novelist, Ivan Turgenev, wrote about a dream he had, in which he was a little boy kneeling in a humble, wooden church. There were slim candles flickering in front of the icons all around, and as he knelt, he sensed that someone was beside him; and all at once, somehow he knew: this person was Christ. Turgenev writes,

It was a face like everyone’s, a face like all men’s faces…the hands folded and still, the clothes like everyone’s. “What sort of Christ is this?” I thought. “Such an ordinary, ordinary man! It can’t be!” [In his dream, Turgenev turns away, but his eyes are drawn back to the figure beside him.] And suddenly, my heart sank, and I came to myself. Only then did I realize that just such a face – a face like all men’s faces – is the face of Christ.

The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins says something similar when he writes, “Christ plays in ten thousand places, / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the features of men’s faces.” Christ, in other words, in the likes of you, and me.

And of course, Jesus himself said it most succinctly, “I am in you,” he said. “So, love each other. Feed, clothe, visit, and care for each other, because in doing this, you are doing these things to me.”

This Christmas message of God in human flesh is why the Sisters of Mother Teresa’s order in Calcutta bring in the dying from the streets. And once inside, they gently wash the body of each dying person on a slab that is underneath an unadorned sign that simply says, “The Body of Christ.” A reminder of whom they are in fact washing and caring for.

It is fascinating to know that the earliest Christians did not have anything like our Confession or our Creed in their worship. But they had something simpler, and maybe more profound. They had the Peace. Their belief was that if they were in a right relationship with each other, they were in right relationship with God. If they could love and embrace each other, then they would be loving and embracing God.

On this holy night, we are reminded that the message of Christmas is not complicated. But there is nothing more profound. The message of Christmas is that the perfect image of God’s presence in the world is not a Greek or Russian icon hanging in a church or museum; the perfect image of God’s presence in the world is not even in the most sublime music or extraordinary work of art. The most profound and perfect icon of God’s presence in the world is sitting right next to you.

In a few moments, we will come forward to receive the Body of Christ in the blessed sacrament of his Body and Blood. It is an ancient ritual that is precious to Episcopalians, and it is so important to us that we are eager to share it with everyone, whoever you are, and whatever you believe or do not believe, whatever you have done or left undone. Many of us bow upon stepping out of the pew and approaching the altar. Some genuflect before the sacrament, and many reverently kneel or make the sign of the cross, just before holding out their hands for the precious bread, the host of the divine presence.

But all of this reverent practice is not an end in itself. No, the whole point of genuflecting before the sacrament, bowing and approaching the altar reverently, … the whole point of these things is that we are trying to remember that we really should be bowing and genuflecting before each other, approaching each other with reverence and tenderness befitting the reverence and tenderness we want to show Christ himself.

Christians might not agree on politics. Christians can be liberal or conservative. But kindness is not optional.

Christians, by definition, are people who are learning, and daily trying to remember, that we cannot sarcastically mock another child of God; we Christians cannot denigrate, demonize, or in any way treat another human being as if they were anything less than a bearer of the divine, created in the image and likeness of God, one before whom we should perhaps bow.

Christians are people who are bowing, genuflecting, and kneeling, all because of the message of Christmas, the message that because of God in human flesh, there is now only one sure way we can love God, and that is by loving each other.

“This is how all people will know that you are my disciples,” he said.

I am sure that my colleagues here on the church staff, along with the vestry and people of St. Andrew’s On-the-Sound Episcopal Church, … I’m sure they all agree with me that it is a mysterious and sacred privilege to welcome each of you here tonight. Because at Christmas, we are especially mindful that in welcoming you, we are actually welcoming the Lord, along with all those you love but no longer see.

As the physicist put it, “The universe is not only stranger than you think, it is stranger than you can think.” And it is far more beautiful, joyful, and full of loving presence than we can imagine.