Brothers and Sisters, we’re here. We’ve made it. We’re in the cave of the nativity. With the eyes of faith, we can see Mary and Joseph. It is wintry tonight and dark, and each of our journeys have shared in some small way with that of Mary and Joseph. And unto us too a child is born.
So we hear the story again. Every crib, nativity play, how many carols, how many drawings and paintings retell it – ever fresh. I’m always struck by how it begins: Caesar Augustus issues a decree in Rome and local government – Quirinius – enforces it. We’re in the world of politics and power. And what happens? People’s lives are disrupted, but God’s purposes are fulfilled and the baby is born where he’s meant to be. Maybe getting it right occasionally by accident is the story of politics. And so a couple from Galilee arrive in Judea, Joseph following the law and Mary following nature, her time having come. “And there’s no room at the inn.” That’s become a proverb, and now it’s often a social policy. So on to the cave, half underground, where animals are sheltered. And the baby is born, is wrapped up warm and laid in a trough. It’s all fringe and marginal. And we’re left to wonder who is this mother, who is this child? What’s so special? And as if to answer the question, the scene shifts – up to the surrounding hills and shepherds working at night. And suddenly, a burst of light, an angel, a message, a choir of angels, the heavens opened and the hills alive with the sound of music: Glory to God in the highest and peace to people of good will. It’s an annunciation happening. It’s a word from above explaining what’s happening below. Tonight’s Gospel begins with an edict from a human Emperor and ends with an angelic announcement from heaven, with good and joyful news: not a tax increase, but a Saviour born in the city of David, Christ the Lord. The real Caesar is in town. Don’t be scared. Just believe. Third animal pen past the pub.
Such is the story. It admits of so many retellings.
Why does it have such a hold on us? The Song of Songs, the Old Testament’s love song, begins with the woman saying of her beloved, “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.” Christmas is God’s kiss of us. Between woman and man a kiss is not the whole thing, but in a way it already can be. A union of hearts, St Bernard calls it. At Easter on the hard bed of the Cross, the Lord will love to the end, and a tomb will become a womb of everlasting, risen life. At Christmas, the great romance of God and man is beginning: sweetly, gently, un-alarmingly. And everything’s already there. Here in this child is the whole self-gift of God. On the Cross the gift will be broken open and, in the Resurrection and Pentecost, fully shared. But any child is as much a person as any adult, and this child all the more; he is personally God and already freighted with the fulness of love. And in Bethlehem – meaning House of Bread – he already gives himself to us. He feeds our souls as Mary feeds his body. Here is God’s kiss, giving life, awakening love. Here is the kiss that assures us we’re loved and gives us courage to live. It sets us alight. For unto us a child is born.
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light”. Light’s the great image of tonight. In the midst of life’s winters, the cold decrees, the bureaucratic decisions that push us here and push us there; in the midst of life’s inhospitality – no room at the inn – a warm light welcomes us. There’s a novel with a famous title, Heart of Darkness, and it tells a story of human madness and brutality, centred on a cruel perverted man. And it leaves us wondering whether darkness actually is the heart of things. Christmas says No. Christmas says otherwise. “Unto us a child is born”. Here is the heart of light. What’s truest and deepest, what’s realest, first and last is the light of God’s love. Sin is a secondary thing, subsequent, soluble. It has been outplayed, outshone. “Grace has appeared”, says St Paul, an epiphany from the luminous heart of God.
So, it isn’t just Jesus who’s born tonight. It’s the human being as such – reborn by grace, and so by God’s grace in our appointed time each and every one of us, in conversion of heart. Tonight we are kissed by God as God was kissed by Mary. Tonight our lamp is lit again, as Joseph lit a lamp in the cave. From tonight we can go forward. There’s a truth to live by. Often when we go on the Internet, we’re offered an AI Co-pilot. No, thanks! Tonight we’re offered something much better: unto us a Child is born. Divine Intelligence, DI. Christ our Co-pilot forever. Let’s click “Accept” to him!
St Mary’s Cathedral, Aberdeen, 24/25 December
