The Nativity of Our Lord
Exodus 40:17-21, 34-38; Titus 3:4-7; John 1:1-14
In the name of the Father and of the ☩ Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Merry Christmas!
The reading from Luke 2 that we heard last night ends with the Shepherds. They had found the Holy Family in Bethlehem. They spoke with Mary and Joseph. They saw the Infant Christ in the manger. Did they ask to hold the Child? How long did they stay and marvel over Him? We don’t know how that went. But they were filled with wonder by it all.
And yet, once they left, and they started going around sharing this good news with everyone, they didn’t tell people about their experience with the infant Christ. That’s not what the text says. Instead, we’re told, “they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child” (Luke 2:17). The shepherds can’t stop talking about the sermon they heard from the angel. That’s what they talk about. They tell people what this birth means.
It was about 20 or 30 years ago that a Vicar was assigned to preach the sermon for Christmas Day. I don’t know where this was, what congregation, or even who the vicar was. But it’s one of those memorable stories shared by professors at the seminary, because when this Vicar preached the Christmas Day sermon, this is what happened. He used a prop. I’m not a fan of props, but that’s what he did. He wrapped a present, and he said that this present was our Christmas gift to baby Jesus. Inside that box was what we give to Jesus in our devotion to Him. And so after spending some time building up the anticipation, he finally opened that gift, and in front of the eyes of the congregation, he pulled out three large iron nails. I guess the image was a bit too shocking for the congregation, because after the sermon, a parishioner confronted him. Maybe it would be more accurate to say she accosted him. And her complaint was, as she said, “You’ve ruined my Christmas.”
Well, if Christmas can be ruined by pointing to the cross, then let us all this morning have a thoroughly ruined Christmas! In fact, that is exactly what St. John is doing when he writes his Gospel. Because John had already read the accounts of Matthew and Luke. He knows how they start their Gospel with the nativity. He knows about Mary and Joseph, Gabriel and the angelic host. He knows about Bethlehem and the shepherds, the manger and the Magi. But when John begins his Gospel account, he does this instead. He cuts right to the chase and tells us what the birth of Jesus means.
Here it is. This is what you need to hear. Verse 5, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).
And you need to hear that because you know that darkness. It’s the sort that isn’t driven off by presents and decorations. It’s the darkness of sin and death and a world that continues to fall apart. When the prophet Isaiah speaks of this world’s darkness, he often pairs it with the word “distress.” It is the gloom of anguish. It’s unmet expectations, piercing grief, longing and anxiety that never seem to lift. John will not pretend there isn’t a darkness, and neither will we. We point it out. All of it. All of the sorrow and agony of this life. We point it out for the same reason John does, because that’s why this Child is born in the darkness: that He might ruin it.
Of course, the Christ child does not ruin this world’s darkness by looking cute in the manger, but by trading that manger for a cross. This is what John is getting at when he says, “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him” (John 1:10-11). Already there in the first few verses of the book, John grabs our heads and turns us to look to the end, pointing us to Good Friday.
That is where Christmas is headed. Otherwise, this day means nothing. If not for Jesus’ death on your behalf, then there would be no good news of great joy from the angels. There would be no peace on earth, goodwill to men. Why in the world would we even bother to gift each other presents this day if not for the three iron nails that are assigned to pierce Him?
But the Word became flesh precisely for this. For you. God gives His Son, places upon His Son all of your darkness, your guilt, your failures and embarrassments, your worries, your despair, your aching heart, your fears—you have those. Jesus takes all of them. And then, that life that is the light of men is snuffed out at the cross and laid into a virgin tomb. Jesus is not just the firstborn of Mary, He’s the firstborn of the grave. He is raised and so forever drives off the darkness.
And though we still feel it, though our hearts are still burdened by difficulties with family, and health problems, and overwhelming stress, behold, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” The darkness cannot overcome it. Soon Christ will return, and the darkness will be wiped away and consumed by the Light as easily as a flame to a cobweb.
Until then, we gather where that Light is already breaking through. We have a glimpse of it in the Sacrament. Last night, we sang “Oh come let us adore Him,” but this is how. We gather here this morning to adore the Christ in bread and wine. That seems shocking to some. “Those Lutherans look like they’re worshiping the bread and the wine.” Well, we are! For it is Christ Himself. It is the same body and blood that was laid in the manger. So we do worship. We bow. We adore. But most importantly, we eat and we drink the only source of peace in this dark world. This is your assurance of the Light. It bursts from His empty grave and it dispels your own darkness. Here it is, dear child! Here is your tear-drying peace, your worry-banishing rest, your forgiveness and redemption. This is what ruins the darkness. The Holy Mass of Christ-mass.
In ☩ Jesus’ name. Amen.
The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Amen.
"If God is for us, who is against us?" 