Christmas Eve Sermon

Below is the text of a sermon I gave last evening, on Christmas Eve:

In the local tradition of many places in Mexico, every December area communities gather for a series of special events culminating in the celebration of Christmas. Know as Las Posadas (or, “the inns”), these gatherings are a kind of commemoration and re-creation of the sacred events we celebrate tonight on Christmas Eve. At the Posadas—each of which can take up to several hours—large numbers of people from the community gather at a central location and begin to walk together in a kind of collective procession. Going from door to door within one neighborhood or among several, the faithful sing carols and re-trace the steps of Mary and Joseph in their search for hospitality in the moments leading up to the birth of Christ.

As in the original story, it’s customary in Las Posadas for the pilgrims to encounter repeated rejection in their initial attempts to find shelter. The owners of these first several homes simply cannot or will not accommodate the people’s need. The journey then continues to the next house, and then the next, where a similar story unfolds, until finally, after many tries, the group at last arrives to a more inviting and welcoming place. The proprietors at this “inn” do in fact have room and they welcome the hungry, tired pilgrims in for rest, company, and merriment. At this family’s home there is always abundant pozole (a thick, hearty corn-based stew), tamales, and champurrado (a delicious hot chocolate drink). Festive songs and company are shared and both pilgrims and hosts find joy and warmth amid the festive, communal celebration.

Simple but moving, commonplace yet extraordinary… the genius of Las Posadas comes not so much from any complex theological language or concepts associated with it but from the childlike simplicity of a meal shared together with friends in hospitality and companionship. It’s there in the breaking of the bread – or, in this case, in the unwrapping of a tamal from its cornhusk or the sharing of a warm cup of chocolate – it’s there in the outpouring of care, comfort, and community that the pilgrims of Las Posadas discover Jesus present again in their midst. Here, amid the affection and care of sisters and brothers, each companion on the journey encounters the living Christ present among them.

Las Posadas are a lively and heartfelt example of this Christmas miracle of Christ’s presence, but there are many others like it. Whether meals shared with loved ones or carols sung among friends; whether compassion and outreach shared with those in need or moments of quiet reflection and prayer shared in silence with others; whatever our own traditions, whatever the observances that speak most profoundly to each of us, at their core their essence is the same. No matter how we do it, at Christmas, when we’ve really touched the heart of what the season is all about, in truth we’ve arrived at the very same destination as the pilgrims of Las Posadas – a place of community and prayer, of solidarity and hope, of hospitality and transformation. Like the pilgrims, we too find love and mercy rekindled as we witness the birth of the Christ child among us once more.

This sacred place, this moment and space into which Christ is born is one and the same with the experience of Las Posadas and the many others like it in this season, and even too with the very passage from Scripture that we read together tonight. Christ’s birth took place amid the humblest of circumstances, and yet scripture scholars tell us that for the early Christians that was in fact the point.

In more recent centuries we’ve grown accustomed to associating our modern understanding of commercial inns or hotels with the content of Luke’s nativity story. But in truth the original story wasn’t about a proprietor with no vacancy but an extended family-group or community which, having already extended hospitality to many other travelers, nonetheless did not hesitate to welcome in and make room for still more weary folk. The contrast, then, isn’t so much with the innkeepers as it is with the larger surrounding context that we hear about at the beginning—when Luke talks about the latest arbitrary decree-from-on-high issued by the Roman imperial authorities.

It’s the empire and its entrenched system of domination that contrasts so clearly with the story of the gospel. Whereas the regime and its henchman conceive of themselves as gods at the center of the known universe, an ordinary child’s birth seems at best insignificant by comparison. Whereas an all-powerful empire can order its subjects around arbitrarily and at will, a poor immigrant family has nothing save for the care and compassion of its kinsfolk and companions.

And yet it’s here precisely, not within the imperial palaces of Rome but amid the humble sharing and solidarity of a family in need, that the true miracle occurs. Here it is, where family gathers, where warmth is shared, where affection is felt all around, that the Christ child is born—not just in the manger, but in the hearts of all those transformed by the outpouring of love they witnessed that night.

Though ours is a different time and place, we too have arrived once more tonight at the threshold of this same blest moment. We too are among the pilgrims who have been traveling long and from afar. We too have encountered rejection at various “inns” in our lives and likely a good deal of adversity along our roads. We too have dealt with the effects of the numerous systems of domination that reign in our own time. We too have grown weary at times from the rigors and perils of the journey…

And yet here we are once more, at the doorstep of a place and of a moment that at last offers us posada – rest, renewal, rebirth. Like the pilgrims of Las Posadas who at last find delicious food, welcome shelter, and gracious warmth, we too have come to a moment of rest and renewal for our journeys. Coming together as community—as brothers, sisters, and friends—we stand at a point of sacred encounter in which we join together, the many as one, united and transformed by a love that knows no bounds and therefore overflows and is born around us, within us, among us. Here we are once more at the moment when heaven touches earth, when angels sing, when hearts are opened and when Christ, the light of the world, is born.

“Come on in,” he tells us. “The tamales are warm.”

Embracing Change

One final comment observation from the MacCulloch book:

"[O]rdinary Christians experienced their God through the Church's liturgy and in a devotional intensity which seized them in holy places. Once they had experienced the divine in such particular settings, having absorbed one set of explanations about what the divine was, anything from outside which disrupted those explanations threatened their access to divine power. That would provide ample reason for the stirring of rage and fear" (222).

This comment about some of the frequent dynamics of Christian (and other religious) belief offers a helpful reminder that none of us--however genuine, sincere, and heartfelt our religious experiences may be--has a corner on absolute truth. Rather than feeling threatened by or resentful toward different explanations or approaches to the sacred, perhaps what we're called to do is to stay open. Both as individuals and institutions, it seems to me that religious folk would do well to keep some perspective on our beliefs and a degree of openness to change and growth. We might not always agree with others' perspectives but remaining open keeps us alive and allows the Spirit to continue to move and work in our lives and hearts.