Luke 2:1-20
Year C
“Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”
All. The. People.
Let’s consider “all the people” who might show up in your church sanctuary this Christmas.
The C and E’s: Those who only show up for Christmas and Easter out of a feeling of family obligation, respect for Grandma’s wishes or a desire to experience something beautiful.
The regulars: The members every pastor expects to be there. If they are not in their seat for worship, then we must call 911 because clearly they have fallen and can’t get up.
The atheistic or agnostic: A defiant young man with long hair and a heavy metal t-shirt or a Goth girl with black eyeliner might come to mind. But this rebellious category includes plenty of “regular” folks, people who attend church every Sunday, maybe even stand in the pulpit, but are filled with doubts and struggle with the supernatural. They are here, though, because they want to believe, and are hoping for something to stir within them. They long for an experience of God, that might help them feel a little less empty.
The shy stranger: She slips in after the first hymn’s begun; she’ll leave before the benediction. She’s never darkened the church’s door before, but she’s alone, lost and scared. Seeking a sense of direction, or just a little respite from the emotional load she’s carrying, the lights of the church called to her while driving around town because it was too painful to be home alone at Christmas.
The unmentionables: All the people who you wish weren’t there. The condescending super-mom who makes you feel small. The handsy dude who insists on a drowned-in-cologne suffocating hug. The brat behind you who throws Legos at your head and plays video games unmuted. The book-banning conspiracy theorist who launches into a rage whenever the pastor, quoting Jesus, gets “too political.” Churches are full of people we’d prefer weren’t on Jesus’ guest list.
But when the angels proclaimed their good news of great joy for all the people, they meant it. All means everyone who shows up in the sanctuary this Christmas, and even those who don’t. Luke’s Gospel is universal in its welcome, even jiggering with the historical details to make this message clear. (Roman censuses were organized locally and didn’t require people to return to their places of birth.) Luke insists we pay attention to the vulnerable and excluded, making his case with the angels giving special audience to the shepherds — field hands who weren’t worthy of being counted in the census. Christ’s birth is the beginning of a new kingdom, a place of peace on earth in which everyone is a citizen, everyone is invited to the table; a sanctuary in which everyone has a seat.
We often use the phrase “beloved community” in reference to God’s vision for the church. This Christmas, when more people pack our pews than any other Sunday, might be a good occasion to reflect on what beloved community really means.
The idea of “beloved community” originated with Josiah Royce, the turn of the 20th century American philosopher. For Royce, beloved community represented the greatest hope for humanity. The place where all God’s people live together, reconciled to one another in the embodiment of universal love. But it was Martin Luther King, Jr, whose references to beloved community in his sermons and speeches popularized the term. King dreamed of racial reconciliation in beloved community. “I have a dream that one day little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”
The challenge presented by beloved community is its inclusiveness. Beloved community is not just for Christians, not just for the people we like. Often, people say they know “beloved community” in their church or friend group, but this is only true if that group includes both friends and enemies. Beloved community upends and disrupts our tribalism, our tendency to “other-ize”, our desire to avoid and exclude.
The truth is, we are far from beloved community. Today, our differences and divisions feel insurmountable. We are at war, nation against nation and neighbor against neighbor. The people showing up for church this Christmas are exhausted, angry, increasingly isolated, and lonely. We don’t trust each other or any diverse community to be a space of love and welcome.
Yet even in the face of today’s high conflict, the angels show up to share their good news.
There is something about the birth of a baby, a tiny, fragile human the size of a small sack of potatoes, that speaks to our potential. What will this baby become? We ask in wonder. What will they do? How will they live? Who will they love? In this poignant moment, nothing is known and everything is possible. This possibility is the hope for which we come and to which we cling at Christmas.
Every Christmas takes us back to the beginning, to the birth narrative, to the place where all are included, and everything is possible. What will be born from this moment in our human history? What will be born for the C and E’s, the regulars, the atheist and agnostic, the shy stranger, the unmentionables? What will be born for me, for you, for beloved community? Only God knows. But this Christmas, we are all reminded that with the birth of this tiny, fleshy God-child, everything is possible.
Questions for reflection
- Luke 2:1-20 is likely a familiar passage. What thoughts, ideas, feelings or images come to mind as you read this passage today?
- Picture your sanctuary on Christmas. Who do you imagine seated in the pews? Why do you imagine they are there? Why are you there?
- What do you believe is God’s desire for us this Christmas? What do you believe God wants to be born among us and within us? What does that birth look like today and in the years to come?
View the corresponding Order of Worship for this service.
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