The gifts may be opened, New Year’s champagne popped, and even the tree placed gingerly on the curb, but, in the church, Christmas is still kicking. The little wise men of our crèches draw nearer, day by day, to the manger. We persist in our celebration of Christ’s birth.
Indeed, what do we celebrate? We claim to be a society without hope, but, in recent moments, we have certainly contradicted ourselves. At the dawn of a new year, we dance, sing, gather with loved ones, pop poppers, share memories. Perhaps we shed a tear for those we’ve lost. Why would we celebrate life, why mourn death, if we were hopeless? Why resolve to improve ourselves? Why kiss? Why love at all?
The most conclusive proof that we are not as cynical as we proudly claim to be is our reaction to the sight of a child. If we did not have hope, if we did not ourselves “so love the world,” we would pity little ones for having been born. We don’t. We smile at them, coo, make silly faces. We want to see them smile back. Their very newness, openness, and fullness of possibility gladdens our hearts.
Christmas is made of this same gladness. When we celebrate the Christ Child’s birth, we celebrate the advent of love incarnate. We celebrate the greatest news: there is hope. This little baby, who is from God and who is God, is also just like us. God with us, entering into our condition and our tumultuous world. Embracing what we sometimes long to shun—humanness, uncertainty, vulnerability. God so loved the world, the world God made and saw was good. God did not forsake the creation in need of redemption, but engaged with it in the ultimate act of empathy. We are called to do the same. We are called, whether shepherds or kings, to the manger to adore the humbly-housed figure of hope. We bring all we can offer and follow the light. Amen.
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