CHRISTMAS
The way my long-time friend Robert Smith, District Superintendent of a United Methodist District in New Jersey, sees it.

In shopping malls, up and down most streets, on lawns and the fronts of homes in every neighborhood there are indications of the Christmas season dressed up by “full blown” imagination and bright lights. Underlying the giant snow globes, blow-up magi, and that “jolly ole’ elf”, there is an assumption that this is a season of joy and happiness drenched in a 2010 more cautious extravagance. And if most of us were asked, we’d have to admit that it’s fun. I confess to enjoying the drive home from my office. It gives me uplift from my too often somber mood. But does any of it represent the mood of Christmas depicted in scripture?

I read the early church’s Christmas stories in Matthew and Luke and don’t see the bright lights, bells, and whistles of the way we do it now. On cards, at cantatas and Sunday School pageants we tend to view the legends of Jesus’ birth through the lens of singing angels, a bright star, and gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh making it a light, bright, and happy story. Is that it, really? It’s not. In fact, the stories and events depicted are dark... a scary darkness.

Mary and Joseph are forced by a foreign occupying military to march from their homes in Nazareth to the town of Bethlehem eighty miles away. Mary is pregnant and there is no mention of riding a donkey; she and Joseph may have walked the entire way. When they get there all the guest chambers are full and after Mary gives birth the baby is placed in the only space available, a manger. Almost all the major players in the story are dark figures. The soldiers couldn’t care less about the Jewish citizens of Palestine and are willing to carry out forms of genocide through stoning and crucifixions. The Roman governors only want peace in order to extract heavy taxes that will be sent to the Roman Emperor and for the glory of Rome. Herod, the vassal of Rome and Pretender to the throne of David, kills prophets and anyone who threatens him. It is this pretender who kills innocent babies in an attempt to maintain his illusionary power. Because of him Mary and Joseph are forced to flee for Jesus’ life and theirs to another country.

The real story is not about angels or magi or a bright star, it’s about Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. It’s the only part of the story that really works for me. I love the other stuff, the fancy, the gift-giving, the tree with bright lights and a star at the top; but the part of “The Story” that really works for me is Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. I have other stories, too; and I share them because it’s through them I came to an understanding of Christmas that sustains me every Christmas Eve. It’s about darkness and Immanuel.

     A few weeks before Christmas 23 years ago, Doug, a 24 year old, had a middle of the night argument with his mom and ran out of the house. He got into his car, put the pedal to the metal and about a mile away skidded off the road and hit a tree. I was called to the hospital. I knew one of his brothers, but had not met his parents or other siblings prior to this time. We are now best friends. Doug was placed on life support and it became clear that he would not survive. I’m sure they would describe it as the darkest day of their lives. Doug had already bought presents for everyone and they were wrapped and ready to be given. Gift-giving took on another meaning that year and every year since.

In the fall of that year a young woman gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, but two days later she died because of a blood clot that stopped her heart. Miriam’s death was another pitch dark day for her husband, older children, and for me. The story of the birth of a child and a mother’s labor had a different sense of risk and danger that year and every year since.

In another church a baby was diagnosed with cancer and hundreds of thousands of people prayed. Within a few months she died. Lily’s funeral was held the week before Christmas in a sanctuary fully decorated to help us scale the heights of a season of joy. I can’t tell you how dark it seemed when we placed Lily’s small casket in the middle of hundreds of poinsettias and white lights. Placing that beautiful baby in that manger that night made me realize how death surrounds life, all of it, and put me in touch with a darkness I’ve touched every Christmas season since.

On December 24th every year each of those families is present for the candle-lighting service. Through my tears and my intense gratitude for their presence I see these heartbroken families lighting their candles, holding them up, and trying to sing, “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…with the angels let us sing…Christ the Savior is born, Christ the Savior is born.” No angels sang in the middle of their darkness; no gift made them happy; it was all about Jesus, Immanuel, God with them, no matter what, with them and with me. In their darkness they were not alone and the story that is told, the real story, is simply God is with us, no matter what, with us, Immanuel.

Some darkness is just there, pitch dark, and will never be flooded with light. Some mid-night skies will never produce angel choirs or unusually bright guiding stars. Some wars will rage on and on endlessly and never be interrupted by peace. Some prayers will never change the suffering of children or our own heartache. Some pain will only be relieved by drugs that get us through the days of our lives. And some day we each will know that our final manger is a grave. Yet in the dark of it all, there is God, God with us, Immanuel. And that IS enough. And that IS Christmas.