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A Quiet Christmas

We have a ‘Quiet Christmas’ service every Christmas eve at 8pm. It’s for anyone who wants a real Chistmas service, but can’t face the pressure to be jolly.

Here are the few thoughts that I’ll be offering this evening to whoever comes along.

It’s good that we’re here tonight.

But this is one of those services that we’d still do even if nobody came.

Because tonight is about us, about you. Each of us has our own burdens that we carry on our hearts: for some it is physical pain, of illness or injury; for others it is grief, as we miss the presence of someone dear to us who has died; for others it is anxiety at what the future may bring for us, and for those we love and for the world. For still others, it may be a sense of disconnection with the festivities of the season, and an urge to get back to the heart of things, without the tinsel.

Whatever burden you bring tonight – and we will have each brought something – this service is for us, this service is for you.

But it’s also about everyone who isn’t here: those who were too tired, or too sad, or too shy, to come. Those stuck in hospitals and hospices and prisons and at home. Those afraid to come out in the dark, those who don’t feel that church is for them. Those for whom some hurt or grief is so recent that they daren’t re-open the wound. Some of those people you may know, and think ‘if only so-and-so had thought to come to this. For some, their burdens are known only to God. We bring their burdens too.

Every candle we light, every note we sing, every prayer we say, every silence spent in reflection, is for ourselves, for our loved ones, and for the countless multitudes who know their need but have nobody to care or pray for them.

So it can seem as if this service is more about absence than anything else: the people who could be here but did not come; the people who we are separated from by distance, by conflict and disagreement, or by death. And in a way, it is.

But tonight is more about presence.

Not our presence here, coming to find God, but his presence in the world, already coming to find us. When we feel lost or alone, remember that God is the great seeker after souls. He is the one who came to us, and who chose to come into what is still one of the earth’s darkest most difficult places, because when you are the light of the world, the darkness is where you are needed most.

Into all our emptinesses, all our absences, all our lostness, may the presence of God come and dwell and settle. The hopes and fears of all the years, and our own hopes and fears, can indeed be met in him tonight.

A little bit of heaven touching earth

hymns

I wrote this for midnight mass last year, but I’m posting it now in case anyone’s desperate for something – it’s a reflection on the additional collect for Christmas day.

Lord Jesus Christ, your birth at Bethlehem
Draws us to kneel in wonder at heaven touching earth:
Accept our heartfelt praise as we worship you,
Our Saviour and our eternal God. Amen.

Tonight we have each been drawn here, to this place, to kneel in wonder at heaven touching earth. Whatever we have brought with us tonight – the burdens we carry, the concerns of our hearts, our hopes and fears and dreams – we have come, as we are, into the presence of God, perhaps we’ve come seeking God’s blessing, perhaps to be part of something that is bigger than any of us, perhaps to capture a glimpse of something that usually feels out of our grasp.

And so heaven touches earth at the birth of Jesus, the Christ-child, whenever and wherever we celebrate it, and however we celebrate it.

Heaven touches earth in the dramatic: the prophet Isaiah’s vision of good news, of salvation and singing, the triumph of God over the forces of evil. Heaven touches earth in the angel choir, through which we glimpse the joy of heaven overspilling into time and space, and through which we make an echo in our own singing. And later still, heaven touches earth in the star that drew the wise men from the East, the very fabric of the universe proclaiming that ‘Christ is born’.

But heaven also touches earth in the humble things, in the very human: when the angels have gone back into heaven, the shepherds are left with something altogether less majestic: a night-time walk down the hillsides on the outskirts of Bethlehem, and through the backstreets, to find a newborn baby lying in an animal feeding trough, and a couple of very tired parents.

And he shall be called Wonderful, counselor, mighty God, Prince of Peace – yes, perhaps, but not only that. He shall also be a child: weak, fragile, and dependent. Leaving the glory of heaven for the messiness of earth.

Heaven touches earth in the way that Jesus became what we are truly meant to be, but so often refuse to be – that is, fully human, dependent upon God the Father who made us and loves us still.

Heaven touches earth: in the grand and the majestic, in the brightness of the angels and in the small and humble, the tiny child in the dingy stable. They are all signs of God’s love and grace breaking through into the world.

The birth of Jesus is God’s ultimate reaching out to his damaged and wayward creation. Reaching out with everything: with love, with grace, with forgiveness, with risk, with humility.

And because of Jesus, heaven is always touching earth. God has come to us, never to leave us. That’s what the word ‘Emmanuel’ means: God with us. God is still with us.

We have been drawn here tonight to kneel in wonder at heaven touching earth. Heaven touches earth here in this place where the centuries of prayer have worn thin the veil between earth and heaven. Heaven touches earth in every carol we sing, every time we lift our voices to join with the choirs of angels. Heaven touches earth in each moment when we glimpse beyond the material world around us and see something of eternity.

Heaven touches earth when any one of us prays, ‘Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me for ever.’ Heaven touches earth whenever we allow the glory of God into the messiness of earth, and the love of God into the messiness of our own lives.

Heaven touches earth here in Buckden, in this church, in this moment. Heaven touches earth in our communion with one another tonight. Heaven touches earth every time we manage to lay aside grievances and long-born resentments, and open our hearts to our fellow human beings. Heaven touches earth in every act of forgiveness, in every piece of generosity, in every moment of tolerance and patience, in every decision that upholds peace and truth and mercy.

Heaven touches earth not just in the easy places: the carols and crib scenes, the happy reunions and the family celebrations.

Heaven also touches earth this night in the difficult places, for the light of the world came first to shine in the darkness. So tonight, heaven touches earth not just here, but on our streets, in our inner cities, in hospitals and hospices, in prisons and homeless shelters. And heaven surely touches earth tonight in the dusty streets of Afghanistan, and in every conflict zone on this battered world.

For there is no place on earth that’s too dark for the light of God to shine there tonight.

So as heaven reaches out to us tonight, along with so many others, scattered across the globe, let us dare to clasp the hand of the tiny child in the manger, and so find that our little bit of earth has been touched, and changed, by a little bit of heaven.

Pleased as man with man to dwell?

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Some sermony thoughts for 18th December (Advent 4B) – 2 Samuel 7.1-11,16 & Luke 1.26-38.

What constitutes a fit dwelling place for God?

King David found himself wondering this, as he contrasted his royal palace with the tent that housed the ark of the covenant, the symbolic presence of God among the chosen people. Could it really be right that his house was nicer than God’s house?

When our fine early medieval churches were built, most of the surrounding dwellings would have been little more than huts – the money, the time, the craftsmanship and skill, were all ways to make the house of God feel like an important enough place for the presence of God among his people.

If we fast-forward about a thousand years from David (and back a thousand from our earliest church buildings!) to our gospel reading, we find Mary probably wondering some of the same things: what constitutes a fit place for God to dwell? ‘Why me?’ she must have wondered. Her virginity alone couldn’t have been what made her a suitable place for God’s human form to grow and develop, for there were plenty of other young women around who could fulfil that particular criterion. We can get too hung up on Mary’s virginity being the one thing that set her apart, and attribute all sorts of moral meanings to virginity that can be unhelpful. There must have been more to Mary than that. Undoubtedly God could see further, and would know what kind of family Mary and Joseph would make, but again, that couldn’t have been all it was. It seems to me that the key criterion for Mary is less her inherent worthiness, and more her willingness – we don’t know how many women the angel approached before he found one who said yes!

This is good news. Because it rather calls into question the idea that Christian life is all about creating a place which, in and of itself, is worthy of God. If it were about that, then we would all be doomed to failure. If God was only willing to be in places that were worthy of him, he’d have stayed in heaven.

This is a recurring theme and concern of many of our favourite Christmas carols. We cannot, it seems, quite believe that God actually wants to be here:

“Thus to come from highest bliss / into such a world as this.”

It’s hardly surprising that many Christmas carols feature the dualistic divide between earth (bad) and heaven (good). Why would anyone in heaven want to come to a place where “o’re the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong”? Man is indeed at war with man, and sin and strife cause such great suffering on a global scale and on a personal scale. We can focus more closely and look at our own lives, too, and find them wanting: I know I look at myself and ask myself why on earth God would want to spend any time in close proximity to me. If we ask ourselves the question, ‘Is the world, and are we, a fit place for God to dwell?’ there can only be one answer, and it’s not one we will be comfortable with.

But, what the carols also tell us is that that’s precisely why God was, and is, here. You don’t light a lamp when the sun in shining, and people who are well don’t need a doctor, as the grown-up Jesus would go on to say. It’s precisely because we’re not inherently alright, because we’re not in and of ourselves, fit places for God to dwell, that he comes and dwells with us. It’s because it’s bad that God chooses to be here.

One final problem with the question ‘what makes a fit place for God to dwell’ is that it kind of makes the assumption that God is in heaven and comes to earth. But the continuity between David’s story and Mary’s story that the lectionary draws out today isn’t just to give credence to Jesus’ genetic pedigree, but is also to underline the fact that God has always been here, and has always been willing to slum it with us. In the Old Testament lesson, God tells David that he’d been OK about the tent, and in the prologue to John’s gospel (which most of us will hear at various carol services this coming week) we learn that God ‘dwelt among us’ – literally translated, this is ‘pitched his tent with ours’. God isn’t some honoured visitor that we clean up for, sweeping all the junk from the sideboard into a big black bin bag and stuffing it into the garage so that the house looks tidy (it’s not just me who does that, is it?) God turns out to have been here all along, not an honoured guest, but a member of the family.

In our ultimately futile task of making ourselves worthy, we can run the risk of making God into a guest at his own party, or a visitor in his own house. Mary did not take God in as a guest. She took God in as a member of the family. If we, like Mary, let God grow in us, and shape us, and transform us, gently, from the inside out, we’ll find that God is indeed at home with us.

How to make a Christingle – some prayerful reflections

children's ministry, church resources, random thoughts, sermons

You may wish to have all the ingredients for a Christingle handy as you read this:
An Orange, and a sharp knife
A red ribbon (or red insulation tape)
Four cocktail sticks
An assortment of small jelly sweets, marshmallows, and raisins
A 1x10cm candle, and a box of matches.

The Christingle tells a wonderful story – the greatest story ever told.

It starts when God made the world and everything in it, out of nothing.
Or actually, he made it all out of love – he loved the world into being.

Hold the orange in your hand, and imagine that you are God, holding the world in your hands, and loving it so much.

And into the world God poured every good gift – the changing seasons, the plants and trees, the animal world, and human beings, with their variety and beauty, and imagination, and potential.

Push the raisins and sweets onto the cocktail sticks, and then push the sticks into the orange, and as you do so, think about those blessings. What blessings would you like to thank God for today? What good things are you thankful for in your life? Think of them now, and be prepared to think of them again as you taste each sweet.

But even though God had blessed the world so richly, it was not the bright and light place that God intended it to be. Human beings have never really taken proper care of the world, or of each other, and we have often made the world a dark place.

What makes the world a dark place? What stops it being the place God wants it to be? ‘Name and shame’ the darkness now: war, famine, bullying, pollution…

So God sent his Son into the world to be the light of the world – not a light to shine on the world from heaven, but a light to shine from the earth itself – so Jesus was born in Bethlehem, God’s Son becoming a human being like us, to bring God’s light to a world in darkness.

Cut a cross shape in the top of your orange with a knife. Light your candle, and push it into the orange. Feel how firmly fixed it is.

And it was a very dark world that Jesus came to: his own people were oppressed, he was born in a dark and dingy stable, and if you read a little further in the story, you’d find out that Jesus and his family then became refugees – they had to run away to escape from King Herod, who wanted to kill the baby Jesus. There’s no doubt about it, he was born into a very dark world. But that’s exactly why he chose to go there.

When would you switch on a light, or light a candle? Only when it’s dark. Swich off the lights in the room where you are now. Enjoy how the light of a single candle flame takes the darkness out of a whole room.

But the world didn’t like the light – Jesus showed up all the wrong things that had been hidden in the dark. He showed up the injustice in the world, and lived a life that showed how we should treat people who are poor, or ill, or people we find difficult; he talked about how the leaders hadn’t been caring properly for everyone, and how people had forgotten what really matters.

But God still loved the world. On our Christingle we place a red ribbon around the orange – God’s love has always encircled the whole world…

Add the red ribbon to your Orange. How do we see God’s love for the world and for us? How do we know that people love us? And how do we know we love other people? Think of as many ways as you can that God’s love breaks into the world.

…that love was shown most deeply when the grown-up Jesus died on the cross, so the ribbon is red, for Jesus’ blood.

Blow out your candle. Watch the last spark dwindle and die. Wait a moment and then re-light your candle.

But even though Jesus died, the candle flame still burns brightly, because Jesus came alive again, showing that the love of God was deeper than all the hatred of the world, and the peace of God was stronger than the violence of the world, and the light of God was brighter than all the darkness of the world.

That’s the story that the Christingle tells. The story of the light and love of God. Jesus came to bring the light and love of God to every dark corner of the world.

So where do you think the light and love of God are right at this moment? Where in the world, and in what situations, would you most like the light and love of God to be now? In all the war-torn places of the world, in every place where people suffer and die, in every place where there is still injustice and oppression, and carelessness of one another… Let the images from the News, or your own memories and imagination, come into your mind now. Feel the weight of the ‘world’ in your hands, and feel the warmth of the candle flame, and see the light play on the surface of the orange.

Jesus said, ‘I’m the light of the world.’ And he also said, ‘You’re the light of the world’. But how does that light get from Jesus to us, and into the world? Christingles are best lit from one another: when our own flame has been lit with the light of God’s love, our next job is to pass it on – that’s how the light and love of God will spread through the world.

How will you share the light and love of God today, after this service, and over these next few weeks? What acts of kindness, of love? What words of peace? What prayers, what thoughts?

Today, and this Christmas, we remember how much God loves the world and each one of us. And we thank him for all his blessings. Just as he has so richly blessed us, we take those blessings and become a blessing ourselves to those around us and to the world.

Making the most of your child’s baptism

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My little book about baptism was published by SPCK last month – and I’m so rubbish at the publicity stuff that I’ve completly forgotten to write anything about it here!
Anyway, it’s very much a little book – 32 pages – and it’s for parents, trying to help them make sense of the baptism service by linking the words and actions with real life. SPCK have done a smashing job of making it look really beautiful, and I’m really proud of it! (I now want to go and write a similar one for wedding couples…)

Here’s how to find out more:

Click here and read all about it, or order online direct from SPCK, or from Amazon.

You can read the blog article I wrote for SPCK here.

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