First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
December 24, 1997
Here he comes, ready or not!
I could have said, “Here it comes,” referring to Christmas. That’s because everybody wants to know if I am ready for Christmas. They want to know if I have shopped enough, bought enough, baked enough or mailed enough. They want to know if I have got it all in, before it gets me all in. Christmas readiness is a strange thing. When I was young, Christmas couldn’t come soon enough. Now that I am no longer young, it almost always does.
But the calendar has a way of forcing the issue, doesn’t it? So you might as well sit back and take a deep breath, for time has run out on you. There’s no one left out there to take your money or deliver your mail. It is Christmas Eve. The world still turns….but seldom more slowly than it does tonight. That’s because everyone is getting ready for birth.
Not that birth is without a frenzy of its own. I remember waiting nine months and three weeks….and still not being ready either time. By contrast, Leigh Hook was ready several weeks ago. She was afraid to come to church last Sunday morning, because she didn’t know how she would handle the 482nd person who came up and said: “Oh, you’re still here.” But Leigh is not here this evening. That’s because Leigh and Matt brought Joy Elisabeth home, earlier this afternoon. Fortunately, she weighed in at 9 pounds, 8 ounces, meaning that she will be able to hold her own against her trio of brothers and sisters.
Being veterans at such things, Matt and Leigh didn’t get caught in one of those frenzied rushes to the hospital. But lots of people do. I recall the young wife who wrote:
At 3:00 in the morning, I woke my husband to tell him that my labor pains were starting. Upon discovering that the car was precariously low on gas, he attempted to siphon the fuel from our power lawnmower. But it was empty. So we had no choice but to get in the car, sweat it out, and pray for good fortune. Fortune smiled in the form of an all-night service station. When the attendant approached the car, my husband rolled down the window and excitedly blurted out: “Boy, am I glad you’re open. My lawnmower is out of gas.”
Well, this is labor day….and I trust that you are not out of gas. This is the night, you see, for the baby Jesus.
This is the night, says Ron Goetz, when (in response to the cries of the righteous for some answer to the terrible silence of God) God sends an infant who, at that moment, can do little more than cry.
This is the night, says William Willimon, when God….stooping once more to our level, and bending over this violent playpen we call home….gives us truth in the only way we can handle it, lying in a manger.
This is the night, says Barry Johnson, when a world which couldn’t care less, comes face to face with a God who couldn’t care more.
This is the night, says Carlyle Marney, when earth becomes a visited planet.
Or listen to the author of the Letter to the Hebrews, who writes: “In many and various ways, God spoke of old to our fathers by the prophets; but in these latter days He has spoken to us by a Son.”
And so He has. Therefore, on the night of Jesus’ birth, I suppose it is entirely fair to ask you a question. Are you ready to be parents? In a world where motherhood and fatherhood often comes as a surprise….and an unwelcome surprise for many….the question begs an answer. Are you ready to be parents? God wants to know. And Jesus needs to know.
Are some of you too young, wanting to taste a bit more freedom first?
Are some of you too stretched, wanting a baby, but not knowing what you are willing to give up in order to fit one in?
Are some of you too old, believing that the best babies are the ones that your children have….thus allowing you to borrow them, spoil them, and then send them back at the end of the day?
Are some of you too concerned about the times in which we live, nervous because the world corrupts far too many of its children (far too soon), while abusing….and even murdering….others?
Or are some of you too insecure about your skills, not knowing if you are ready for the awesome responsibility that new life requires?
In every church I have served, a manger scene has graced the front lawn for the benefit (and edification) of passing traffic. Here at Birmingham, we have an extremely substantial manger scene….meaning that the figures weigh a ton. Our custodians try to anticipate when we will want to set it up, so that they can take vacation time….or call in sick. Which means that nobody is going to mess with our manger.
Not so in my last church. The figures were life size, but were made of molded plastic. One year we put the holy family out on a Wednesday and had a horrific winter storm on Thursday. Which pretty much finished off Joseph. Anchored to the ground by nothing more than a 12-inch peg, he was blown over. But not all the way over. Joseph ended up leaning backwards….not looking at Mary….not looking at Jesus….not looking at the passing traffic on Eleven Mile Road….but looking, instead, at the sky. He leaned that way all day long.
Late that morning, I was meeting with a pair of clergy colleagues in a study group that met in my office. Which was when they noticed Joseph, bent backwards by the wind. “He looks astonished,” said one. “About ready to fall over,” said the other. “As if he is saying, ‘Oh God, it’s a boy,’” said the first. “Or perhaps: ‘Oh boy, it’s a God,’” said the other.
All of which is understandable, given that astonishment accompanies every birth. Followed by an awesome sense of responsibility. As Ron Goetz reminds us, we asked for God to come, but didn’t count on another mouth to feed and another bottom to diaper. Ready or not, you and I are parents. Call it any way you see it….foster parents….step-parents….grandparents….teenage parents….single parents….surrogate parents….we now have the baby Jesus on our hands. To tend. To feed. To love. And, in time (as proud parents will), to boast about.
But first we have to take this child home. We can’t stay at the stable. And neither can he. Earlier this week, Bruce Hayden handed me a New Yorker cartoon depicting the Holy Family being evicted from the barn. The caption reading: “Sorry, folks, but your insurance doesn’t cover more than one day in the manger.”
The question is, how shall we wrap him for the trip? Luke says that Mary wrapped him in swaddling cloths. This was not so much a particular kind of cloth, but simply the common “wrap” that any Palestinian mother would have provided for a newborn babe. The word “swaddling” is taken from the Greek verb “to swaddle”….meaning simply “to wrap or encircle.” So the text gives us few clues about the cloth’s size, shape or fiber content.
Today’s babies are often wrapped in gift blankets. Earlier this morning, I called Matt to offer him an Albion blanket to bring Joy home. Being a trustee, I figured I might as well start lobbying early.
Other people opt for something more exotic….and expensive. I recently heard of a father who decided he would teach his young daughter the value of money. So he pulled out a shiny new penny, a nickel and a dime….laying each coin in front of her. He then explained the value of each and asked her which one she wanted. Without hesitation, she pointed to the shiny penny. Somewhat discouraged, the father pocketed the nickel and the dime, and replaced them with a quarter and a dollar bill. He carefully explained that the quarter was worth 25 of those pennies, and the dollar was worth 100 of those pennies. Again he asked her which one she wanted. She hesitated….having sensed her father’s disappointment in her previous selection….but then pointed to the shiny new penny and said: “I’ll take that one,” and then pointing to the dollar, she said: “But wrap it up in that one.”
But the greatest things in life cannot be safeguarded with mere money. They require a more personal investment. So I ask you:
Is the child safe in your hands?
Is love safe in your hands?
Is anything safe in your hands?
For you and I, as surrogate parents, are about as good as Jesus is likely to find. But we may be good enough. For just as no one is ever ready to be President….or senior minister of this church, for that matter….most people eventually grow into the job. And as to whether you think you are up to it….or whether I think you are up to it….it doesn’t really matter. Because God thinks you are up to it. So much so, that He has made no contingency plans. And, by the way, with modern maternity care being what it is, you can take the baby home with you when you leave.
* * * * *
Christmas Eve, 1997….a quiet hour….in a comfortable place….with a good congregation….and a gracious God.
This Christmas finds me stronger….mellower….happier….and more confident about my life. This Christmas also finds me surrounded by an army of friends who would rather laugh than fight….including one who is going to Pasadena and has written of his intention to “streak” the Rose Bowl at halftime, wearing only a Michigan helmet and a ribbon that says: “My name is Bill Ritter.” Watch for him. But don’t believe him.
This Christmas finds me grateful for people of talent to surround me, and a pair of incredible women (one wife and one daughter) to support and love me. Tonight the three of us will go home around 1:00 a.m….light a fire….peel some shrimp….eat some lobster bisque….open a gift ortwo….pause to remember Bill….and quietly give thanks for the life we have together.
Which is when it will occur to me that though the woods be dark and deep….with miles to go before I sleep….I know what it feels like to have “friends on earth and friends above”….to companion my journey and brighten my way.
My only wish is that the same be true for you and yours. So Merry Christmas, dear ones. Merry Christmas.
