Christmas Day
In the name of God, with us. Amen.
This year, the world has been daring us to pay closer attention, it seems. Even the processes and systems and mechanics of the earth itself are making us take notice.
Remember where we’ve been.
Back in April, right after Easter, there was an earthquake. Michael and I were packing the car to go into the path of totality to see the total eclipse of the sun, and right there – as we were on our way to experience a rare, natural phenomenon, we experienced another rare, natural phenomenon.
And then the eclipse. It was one of those experiences that people say really has a deep, spiritual impact on them – and from our perspective, it delivered. Seeing the sun completely obscured, and listening to the birds settle down for the unexpected night in the middle of the afternoon, and looking around at a sort of combination sunrise and sunset in every direction… It was something beyond amazing. It was spiritual.
We watched the eclipse with Marty’s sister and step-mother whom we’d befriended at Eric’s wedding. I’ll never forget – Marty’s step-mother Jeane was afraid to take off her eclipse glasses during the moments of totality. She wanted to be sure to not damage her eyes. But for those four and a half minutes, it was safe to stare straight into the direction of the sun. With your glasses on, you wouldn’t see anything. Marty’s sister, Susan was crying out to Jeane, “Take off your glasses! You’re missing it!”
Michael and I just stood there in a kind of stunned silence. Actually choking back tears. With our arms draped around each other. It was a mystical thing. Perfectly natural. Easily explained. But still, somehow, it seemed to mean more in the experience of it than it was in the explanation of it.
And then, later in the spring and really throughout most of this year, we’ve been on aurora watch. The one night that everyone seemed to get the best pictures, we were in a theatre and missed it all. But there have been a lot of other “pretty good” nights. One night Michael and I went aurora-hunting and came up empty. A couple of nights later, I went alone, and had a little luck, but still nothing like some of the pictures I saw from others.
But again – the bright colors of the aurora are pretty easily explained. They’re from storms on the surface of the sun that produce mass coronal ejections. The particles that are sent out eventually make their way to us, here on earth, where they interact with our magnetosphere and produce magnificent displays of light.
The thing about all of these things is that, even if they are somewhat rare – or at least rare from our limited perspectives – they’re all perfectly natural. They’re easy to explain. But that doesn’t make them any less special.
Christmas is like that. A baby was born. It happens every day. And while it’s a miracle every time, and while it brings joy and wonder into the world every time (in some way or another), it’s still something more important and more meaningful than you might initially think.
And while this baby proved to be different, the real miracle is how utterly ordinary it was.
It’s easy to say that it happened because God wanted to be nearer us – that God wanted to know us more intimately, and for us to know God more intimately. But just because it’s easy to say and easy to imagine, doesn’t make it any less special.
Ordinary things are extraordinary every day. And every once in a while we’re aware enough to notice.
“The Word became flesh and lived among us.”
It sounds so simple. But if we really step back and think about it – if we really take it in – it’s anything but simple. It’s glorious.
Seeing that eclipse is a moment I’ll never forget.
And when we see Christ in our midst – and when we actually recognize it – those are moments we never forget, too. Those are moments that change us.
I hope you got all the presents you were hoping for this Christmas. But I really hope you’ll see Christ – somehow and somewhere today, or in the days to come.
You have the Word. Let it become flesh and live among us. Amen.
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