Christmas Eve Reflection: God with Us
Pastor Ned Allyn Parker
Scripture: Luke 2: 1-20
I was born in 1976, which makes me (you can do the math on your own time) – which makes me a Bicentennial Baby! At that time, while the nation celebrated the 200 years that had passed since its own birth, my parents and two foster brothers were living in the small town of Bar Mills, Maine, where my dad was the pastor of the local Baptist church. Just about eight months after I was born, the Bar Mills Baptist Church prepared for a rural New England Christmas: lights were hung, carols dusted off, jello molds taken out of cupboards, and pasta salad recipes hung magnetized to refrigerators along with annual Christmas letters and postcards with holiday greetings. The congregation gathered together for fellowship, for Christmas cheer, to extend the great tradition of pot-luck dinners, and… to offer our small family with this new child [THIS new child] a gift of the season.
The members of the church purchased a large unfinished ceramic nativity set at a local hobby shop. Each figurine was then hand-painted by a member of the congregation. Their final act before firing the ceramic in the kiln for the last time was to carefully etch names onto the underside of each of the characters.
Now these name etchings could go one of a number of ways. Each of the painters could have etched their own name onto the figurine as a physical representation of the memory of our time together as a church. Another option was to etch the name of the character: Mary, Joseph, or Jesus… although the ability to give proper names to all of the characters in this scene ends there. “First camel,” “second camel,” “Shepherd with the sheep” and “2nd shepherd from the left” don’t really carry poetic weight, do they?
The figurine of the baby Jesus, carefully sculpted within the rustic feeding trough, or ‘manger,’ was an image of peace, rest, and serenity, which somehow incorporated the beauty and mystery of new birth – new life. At least this is how I remember it, within my own imaginative recollection of those early holidays, though the memory might have altered slightly through the long process of nostalgic reinterpretation.
Now, if you turned the baby Jesus over – ever so carefully, of course – and looked at the bottom of the manger, you wouldn’t find his name – any of his names as offered in our gospel infancy narratives. “Jesus” wasn’t etched into the figure, nor was “Prince of Peace,” or “Mighty Counselor,” or even “Emmanuel – God with Us.”
The tiny statuette of the Christ child had none of these names. Instead, if you flipped it over, the name you would find was my name. “Ned,” right there on the baby Jesus.
Now maybe this sounds slightly sacrilegious – and maybe it was slightly sacrilegious – but there was also this simultaneously simple and profound beauty about it – both simple and profound like Luke’s narrative of the first Christmas that Justin read for us. The baby had my name.
My mom’s name was on Mary, and my dad’s on Joseph. I can’t remember exactly which characters had my brother’s names on them. Sam’s was probably on a shepherd or the little drummer boy and I’m almost certain Dan’s was on the donkey, but maybe that was a later projection on my part. I’m sure his name occupied something more angelic.
This nativity provided the backdrop for every Christmas I can remember during my childhood. Whether we placed it on top of pianos in churches that my parents were pastoring, or we set it up above the mantel of the fireplace in our home, the ceramic pieces with our own names permanently etched in them, looked over our holiday proceedings year after year.
This nativity set was one rendition of many that depicts the very scene that we celebrate tonight. We are reminded year after year the baby Jesus represents God’s entrance into the world – that he would not only be known by “Jesus,” but also by Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” And so year after year, many of us set up the nativity, or crèche, in our homes and churches to remember that moment the child’s entrance surrounded by the chaos, filth, and pungency of a manger pointed to God’s entrance into a world that can sometimes be chaotic, pungent, and filthy – despite our better efforts.
What is very interesting about the gospel of Luke, whose Christmas story we consider this evening, is that Luke doesn’t limit God’s Spirit to inhabiting this single child. In Acts, which Luke also authored, he recalls the words of the prophet Joel. God’s spirit will be poured out on ALL flesh – man AND woman, slave AND free and our young shall prophecy.
When we see Jesus as Emmanuel, we have the opportunity to recognize “God with us,” yes… AND as the Spirit is poured out on not only one child but on all flesh, we should also be reminded of God within us. Every Christmas is not only then a celebration of God’s entrance into our world, but a celebration of God’s entrance into our world through our own presence in it.
Why is it that December 25th is the reminder. Instead, shouldn’t it be the child – the child who we’ve all been – the children that surround us that remind us of this divine presence within and around and embracing and inspiring? The birth of Jesus marks God’s entrance into the world and should remind us that God enters the world through every child – that God entered the world through each of us, each of you.
Emmanuel: God with us. A spirit poured out on all flesh: the God within us.
This year we recall the Christmas Truce, which took place 100 years ago this very week on the Western Front. During our Sunday morning service on the third Sunday of Advent pastor Tim Phillips reminded us that those soldiers had names – those soldiers had been someone’s children, too. He reminded us of the strength it must have taken for that first soldier to stand up, to leave his shelter, and to sing Silent Night out toward the front line – and how much strength it must have initially taken for that soldier on the other side not to shoot him dead. Silent Night, Holy Night they sang to one another, as other soldiers joined in. With a strength perhaps inspired by Christmas – by this nativity scene – they didn’t just sing a quiet song of peace… They. Made. Peace. A. Reality. We join our voices in singing that song together momentarily, and in so doing, we etch our own names on this image of peace.
Each and every Christmas for 18 years we unpacked those figurines from the Bar Mills Baptist Church, and set up the nativity scene. I would unwrap the statuette of the baby Jesus from the tissue paper and run my fingers over the letters of my name. I remember sitting in an old rocker in our living room one year when I was about 16. I held the ceramic Jesus as I rocked back and forth and thought, “This is kind of weird, my name on the baby Jesus.”
But these many years later, I realize my name was on that small child, because his presence is within me – because his presence reminds me that we have this potential inside of us to be the Something Bigger that points to God’s love present in the world. My name was written there because it reminds us to see all children as God’s entry point into the world. On this Christmas, as I consider these memories of years past, I am left to wonder: was your name written there, too? I’m sure it was.
May it continue to be so.
Click to return to Christmas On Line...
Scripture: Luke 2: 1-20
I was born in 1976, which makes me (you can do the math on your own time) – which makes me a Bicentennial Baby! At that time, while the nation celebrated the 200 years that had passed since its own birth, my parents and two foster brothers were living in the small town of Bar Mills, Maine, where my dad was the pastor of the local Baptist church. Just about eight months after I was born, the Bar Mills Baptist Church prepared for a rural New England Christmas: lights were hung, carols dusted off, jello molds taken out of cupboards, and pasta salad recipes hung magnetized to refrigerators along with annual Christmas letters and postcards with holiday greetings. The congregation gathered together for fellowship, for Christmas cheer, to extend the great tradition of pot-luck dinners, and… to offer our small family with this new child [THIS new child] a gift of the season.
The members of the church purchased a large unfinished ceramic nativity set at a local hobby shop. Each figurine was then hand-painted by a member of the congregation. Their final act before firing the ceramic in the kiln for the last time was to carefully etch names onto the underside of each of the characters.
Now these name etchings could go one of a number of ways. Each of the painters could have etched their own name onto the figurine as a physical representation of the memory of our time together as a church. Another option was to etch the name of the character: Mary, Joseph, or Jesus… although the ability to give proper names to all of the characters in this scene ends there. “First camel,” “second camel,” “Shepherd with the sheep” and “2nd shepherd from the left” don’t really carry poetic weight, do they?
The figurine of the baby Jesus, carefully sculpted within the rustic feeding trough, or ‘manger,’ was an image of peace, rest, and serenity, which somehow incorporated the beauty and mystery of new birth – new life. At least this is how I remember it, within my own imaginative recollection of those early holidays, though the memory might have altered slightly through the long process of nostalgic reinterpretation.
Now, if you turned the baby Jesus over – ever so carefully, of course – and looked at the bottom of the manger, you wouldn’t find his name – any of his names as offered in our gospel infancy narratives. “Jesus” wasn’t etched into the figure, nor was “Prince of Peace,” or “Mighty Counselor,” or even “Emmanuel – God with Us.”
The tiny statuette of the Christ child had none of these names. Instead, if you flipped it over, the name you would find was my name. “Ned,” right there on the baby Jesus.
Now maybe this sounds slightly sacrilegious – and maybe it was slightly sacrilegious – but there was also this simultaneously simple and profound beauty about it – both simple and profound like Luke’s narrative of the first Christmas that Justin read for us. The baby had my name.
My mom’s name was on Mary, and my dad’s on Joseph. I can’t remember exactly which characters had my brother’s names on them. Sam’s was probably on a shepherd or the little drummer boy and I’m almost certain Dan’s was on the donkey, but maybe that was a later projection on my part. I’m sure his name occupied something more angelic.
This nativity provided the backdrop for every Christmas I can remember during my childhood. Whether we placed it on top of pianos in churches that my parents were pastoring, or we set it up above the mantel of the fireplace in our home, the ceramic pieces with our own names permanently etched in them, looked over our holiday proceedings year after year.
This nativity set was one rendition of many that depicts the very scene that we celebrate tonight. We are reminded year after year the baby Jesus represents God’s entrance into the world – that he would not only be known by “Jesus,” but also by Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” And so year after year, many of us set up the nativity, or crèche, in our homes and churches to remember that moment the child’s entrance surrounded by the chaos, filth, and pungency of a manger pointed to God’s entrance into a world that can sometimes be chaotic, pungent, and filthy – despite our better efforts.
What is very interesting about the gospel of Luke, whose Christmas story we consider this evening, is that Luke doesn’t limit God’s Spirit to inhabiting this single child. In Acts, which Luke also authored, he recalls the words of the prophet Joel. God’s spirit will be poured out on ALL flesh – man AND woman, slave AND free and our young shall prophecy.
When we see Jesus as Emmanuel, we have the opportunity to recognize “God with us,” yes… AND as the Spirit is poured out on not only one child but on all flesh, we should also be reminded of God within us. Every Christmas is not only then a celebration of God’s entrance into our world, but a celebration of God’s entrance into our world through our own presence in it.
Why is it that December 25th is the reminder. Instead, shouldn’t it be the child – the child who we’ve all been – the children that surround us that remind us of this divine presence within and around and embracing and inspiring? The birth of Jesus marks God’s entrance into the world and should remind us that God enters the world through every child – that God entered the world through each of us, each of you.
Emmanuel: God with us. A spirit poured out on all flesh: the God within us.
This year we recall the Christmas Truce, which took place 100 years ago this very week on the Western Front. During our Sunday morning service on the third Sunday of Advent pastor Tim Phillips reminded us that those soldiers had names – those soldiers had been someone’s children, too. He reminded us of the strength it must have taken for that first soldier to stand up, to leave his shelter, and to sing Silent Night out toward the front line – and how much strength it must have initially taken for that soldier on the other side not to shoot him dead. Silent Night, Holy Night they sang to one another, as other soldiers joined in. With a strength perhaps inspired by Christmas – by this nativity scene – they didn’t just sing a quiet song of peace… They. Made. Peace. A. Reality. We join our voices in singing that song together momentarily, and in so doing, we etch our own names on this image of peace.
Each and every Christmas for 18 years we unpacked those figurines from the Bar Mills Baptist Church, and set up the nativity scene. I would unwrap the statuette of the baby Jesus from the tissue paper and run my fingers over the letters of my name. I remember sitting in an old rocker in our living room one year when I was about 16. I held the ceramic Jesus as I rocked back and forth and thought, “This is kind of weird, my name on the baby Jesus.”
But these many years later, I realize my name was on that small child, because his presence is within me – because his presence reminds me that we have this potential inside of us to be the Something Bigger that points to God’s love present in the world. My name was written there because it reminds us to see all children as God’s entry point into the world. On this Christmas, as I consider these memories of years past, I am left to wonder: was your name written there, too? I’m sure it was.
May it continue to be so.
Click to return to Christmas On Line...