Christmas Eve, 2024
Isaiah 9:2-7
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20
Psalm 96
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Merry Christmas! We made it! We’ve got the lights on the trees, and the poinsettias on the Altars, and the red ribbons on the wreaths, and it smells like heaven in here. (To those of us who love incense, at least.) We’ve even made it past the darkest night of the year, and we are heading into the light. You’ve survived the parties and the shopping and the holiday concerts and recitals and now here you sit, in St. Timothy’s Church in Massillon Ohio, surrounded by beautiful sounds and smells and colors. Well done everyone.
So now let’s turn our attention to something that’s not the least bit colorful: the cover of our Christmas Eve bulletin. It’s probably not a stretch to say that it’s different from every Christmas Eve bulletin you’ve ever seen. Normally, a Christmas Eve bulletin will have lots of deep reds, and perhaps a close-up of a renaissance-style painting of white Europeans wearing lots of fabric while being lit from the side. But this year, you’ve got a print of a woodcut from an artist named Eric Gill from the early 1900s. Why?
Because I love Eric Gill’s work, that’s why. If you see a woodcut print around these parts—like on both sides of my worship binder—you can rest assured that it’s by Eric Gill. Back in 2016, before I started here at St. Tim’s, I convinced my previous parish to use his woodcuts for their Stations of the Cross. And they went all out and made huge prints on giant canvasses that still adorn the walls of their sanctuary out on Long Island.
So, the print on the cover of your bulletin is called “Adeste Fideles,” and it’s from 1916. It was made to accompany a woodblock printing of the words of the hymn we know as “O Come All Ye Faithful.” So why did I choose this print by this artist for this important night? Because of the people. I mean, just look at it. The faithful people in question are regular people who do regular things in a regular world.
We would expect the “faithful” to be pious people with their hands folded and their heads bowed, while carrying nothing but their religious perfection as they approach the place where the Savior of the world is born.
But here, the faithful people are . . . people. People carrying a baby and the tools of their trade. I mean, you know, maybe Jesus needs someone to build a roof over his head, right? Or maybe they need a ditch dug around the stable to catch all the rain from the renaissance painting they’re usually stuck in, somewhere in northern Europe. But the point is, these are real people, faithful people, on their way to adore him, Christ the Lord. No barriers, no rules and regulations, no social hierarchy, no prejudice and systems of oppression to prevent them. All are welcome. No exceptions.
Now, as long-time listeners already know, Luke is my favorite of the four gospels. (But please don’t tell the other three I said that.) And one of the reasons I love Luke’s gospel so much is the emphasis on the little people: the lost, the lonely, and the left out. Only Luke tells us about the lowly shepherds—who are the FIRST to hear the good news. Only Luke describes Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem—the least of cities, as the prophet Micah says. Only Luke tells us about the prodigal son and the good Samaritan. In Luke the lost are found; in Luke Jesus asks the Father to forgive us from the cross; in Luke people have thoughts in their heads and they ponder things in their hearts. And, as I said on Sunday, only Luke passes the Bechdel test, where two women, with names, have a conversation, that is not about a man. Luke is for the people. Luke is for the Adeste Fideles, who bring their children and the tools of their trade to worship the new-born Christ child.
But back to the artist Eric Gill. As I said in my Christmas letter last week, this amazing artist was a deeply flawed human being. Indefensibly so. And maybe that has something to do with why his woodcuts are so good at depicting regular, ordinary people. Because no matter what you have done, no matter how you have lived, God is still here for you. Jesus comes into this world for the holy and righteous, and Jesus also comes into this world for the broken and twisted. Which means Jesus comes into this world for you and for me. Because not one person is completely good or completely bad. And Jesus is here for every single one of us.
So, does that mean . . . this baby is born for everyone? Like everyone? Yes. As we heard from the angels tonight: “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” All the people. ALL. Jesus shows up for everyone. Bishops and laypeople, presidents and the voters, obscenely wealthy CEOs and the working poor. Everyone. But most important of all, Jesus is here for you. Whether you go to church every week or never go to church. Whether you were dragged here tonight, or because your parents used to drag you here as a child.
Why ever you are here, God meets you here. Because God loves you. Not because you deserve it, or have earned it. God loves you even if you think you don’t deserve it, or think you have done something to lose God’s love. God loves you because God created you, and Jesus is born to remind you of that love. And there is nothing you can ever do that will change God’s mind, or in any way decrease God’s relentless love for you. You are loved. Like it or not.
So come, all ye faithful, Adeste Fideles, bring your children, and the tools of your trade, and the work of your hands, and the sound of your voice, and the pondering in your heart. Come and let us adore the one who comes to proclaim good news to all the people. All the people. Christ the Lord is born this day. So come, let us adore him! Merry Christmas.
Amen.
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