Why Does the Story Never Wear Out?
Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
December 24, 2008 Christmas Eve
It has been a long time since I have consistently read stories to young children. But I seem to be doing it more these days. And one thing I am discovering - or, I guess, re-discovering - even when reading to our 19 month-old grandson, is that when you get to the end of a favorite story or picture book, the child will often want you to read it again, and you'd better read it the same way. It would seem that children, unlike adults, know the value in repeating a good story.
And yet, on this night, it would seem that there is one story before which we are all children, one story we do not seem to tire of, because it stirs something in us each time. Whenever we gather in the candlelight of Christmas Eve, like children we say, "tell it again...tell it again!" I think the poet, Carl Sandburg caught the feeling of this night when he wrote:
The silver of one star
Plays crosslights against pine green
And the play of this silver
crosswise against the green is an old story...
thousands of years.
And sheep raisers on the hills by night
Watching the woolly four-footed ramblers,
Watching a single silver star -
Why does the story never wear out?
And a baby slung in a feed-box
Back in a barn in a Bethlehem slum,
And a baby's first cry mixing with the crunch
Of an ass's teeth on Bethlehem Christmas corn,
Baby fists softer than snowflakes of Norway,
The vagabond Mother of Christ
And the vagabond men of wisdom,
All in a barn on a winter night.
And a baby there in swaddling clothes on hay -
Why does the story never wear out?
Mary and Joseph went to Bethlehem to be enrolled...tell it again! There was no room at the inn...tell it again! Mary gave birth to her first born son, wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger...tell it again! There were shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night and an angel brought them good news of great joy for all people...tell it again! God so loved us that God came to us that night in a tiny child born in a small corner of a big world...tell it again!
The story is not new. People who don't even know there is a Gospel of Luke, know this story. People who have no idea where the front door of this church is and really have no desire to learn, know this story. We know it by heart, and have heard it again and again and again. And yet... why does the story never wear out?
If you are a member of this church, you will someday hear the story of the Sunday this church decided to declare itself open and affirming, meaning we welcome all people into full participation in our church life without regard to ethnicity, culture, marriage status, age, physical or mental challenges or sexual orientation. As you might guess, that last one was the controversial one. People felt very passionate about this issue and about this vote. The minister, me, feared it might be divisive, even as I supported it. But on that fateful Sunday, toward the end of our discussion, before the congregational vote, there was a moment people remember and talk about to this day. One of our oldest members, outspoken, conservative, a curmudgeon who was both loved and kind of feared, sitting in the back, of course, got up and made the long slow walk down the center aisle to the microphone. A hush fell over the congregation. What was he going to say? I'm quite sure I put my head in my hands thinking, "this can't be good." He got to the microphone and he began to speak about his family, people in his family. He may not agree with them, but he loved them. Then he spoke of our church as a family, about our need to be loving and accepting of each other, caring for each other, even when we don't always understand or agree with each other. “Of course”, he said, “of course we have to vote yes on becoming Open and Affirming. It is the loving thing to do, it is what Jesus would have us do.” At that moment, a snowflake falling on the church carpet would have made an ear splitting sound. People couldn't believe what they had just heard. The vote was taken, it passed overwhelmingly and we tell the story to this day. It's a story that defines who we are as a church or maybe better who we would like to be. It is a story of amazing grace, discovered in an unlikely source, a story of hope and light coming when we least expected it. It is, for us, a story that never wears out.
And so we come here tonight to tell and hear that old story we know so well. It is as unlikely a story as we could possibly imagine. We don't know if it was factually true. But we tell it still. Why?
Well, maybe it has something to do with the power of a promise, with our unreasonable desire to believe, with hope and light when we least expect them and amazing grace found in unlikely places - say, a manger in a stable, for instance. Listen to preacher and writer, Barbara Brown Taylor, as she provides her own unique spin on this familiar story. She writes: "You know it by heart - how the whole town was clogged with travelers, none of whom was there by choice. The emperor wanted them all counted and taxed and he could have cared less where they slept. Joseph and Mary got a stall instead of a room, which was not as bad as we sometimes make it out to be, but still, not an ideal situation. We know they got a feed trough, because that is where they laid their treasure, and that is when the picture was taken - the one we see on all the Christmas cards - while the star was still overhead and the angels were still singing in the rafters."
"But twenty minutes later, what? The hole in the heavens had closed up and the only music came from the bar at the inn. One of the cows stepped on a chicken and the resulting racket made the baby cry. As she leaned over to pick him up, Mary started crying too and when Joseph tried to comfort her she told him she wanted her mother, she wanted to be back home where she belonged instead of competing with sheep for a place to sleep. Then she said she was sorry and Joseph said not to think another thing about it. They both hurt all over and there was nothing to eat and it was as cold as the dickens. But you know what? God was still there, right in the middle of the picture. Peace was there, and joy and love - not only in the best of times, but also and especially in the worst of times. It was God-With-Us, the God who comes to us in the midst of our lives, however far from home we are, however less then ideal our circumstances, however much or little our lives reflect the Christmas cards we send. That is where God is born, just there, in any cradle we will offer him, on any pile of straw we will pat together with our hands."
And maybe that's why the story never wears out. For it opens our eyes to see, if not science-defying miracles, then at least the miracles of ordinary life on earth. And we seem to go through so much of this life with eyes closed. This story simply will not allow us to give in to hopelessness or despair. For just when the powers of the world have convinced us that there is nothing new under the sun, that our hopes and dreams for something more, something better, are futile, just then, an angel sings, we catch the glimpse of a star, and someone reads a story. The story of one who comes among us as truth and grace, who comes to a world overcome with darkness to be the light that will forever shine, who comes to a world overrun by the noise of senseless violence to sing a melody of peace. We hear the story, and for just a moment on a cold and rainy December night, we dare to believe that God, the Holy One, intends to make the world right.