Christmas Homily
Given by James Covington on December 23rd, 2007
Someone asked: So what is it with Unitarians and Christmas? We say we don’t believe that Christ was born as Savior, of the virgin Mary. Then why are we here singing these old familiar carols and lighting candles? We do it every year. There are atheists, agnostics, Jews and Buddhists in our midst. Aren’t we being hypocrites singing Christmas carols and making a big deal of Christmas?
No I don’t think so. That’s because, in my opinion, we focus not on the details of virgin birth, a literal manger, or angels in the sky. We reference the far-fetched aspects of Christmas story not as literally true, but as metaphors, poetry, conveyors of truth and meaning which go far beyond the literal story. In fact, we may actually do Christmas right.
One of my seminary Bible professors actually said that we don’t know enough about Jesus to write a decent obituary, much less an accurate birth story. According to the Jesus Seminar, a symposium of historians and Biblical scholars that met in 1985, Jesus was not born of a virgin, not born of David’s lineage, not born in Bethlehem, no stable, no shepherds, no star, no Magi, no massacre of the infants, and no flight into Egypt. The birth narratives are pure fiction - the stuff of myth and legend - written to impress upon the readers his cosmic importance as Savior, Son of God, Messiah.
And so what? Despite the fictitious nature of the story, it has captivated people down through the ages. Why? And what does it mean for Unitarian Universalists?
The birth stories of Jesus are mythology. Mythology in our literalistic time is denigrated because it is not reducible to scientific fact. Mythology is more poetry than prose, and we live in a prosaic period. In this instance, the Nativity stories stand as a sublime portrait of the birth of a prophet of the human spirit. The lovely legends surrounding the birth of Jesus break through the matter-of-factness of our time and remind us there is more to life than fact.
I believe there are two kinds of truth: objective and subjective. Objective truth has to do with facts that can be demonstrated. Subjective truth has to do with values which are very hard to substantiate. The fact that objectively there never was a “first Christmas” - at least in the biblical sense - is of little moment . Subjectively, however, there is much of value.
Here was an infant born to poor peasant parents in a donkey-shed in small, remote town in a minor province among a conquered people of no particular importance. No royal birth; no Messiah; no Son of God; no “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” as we hear in Handel’s Messiah. (Isa. 9:6). No, simply an infant, reminding us again how utterly dependent we are. The defining feature of a newborn child is its utter helplessness and dependency on others for everything. That’s the first thing.
Here’s the second thing: Alongside the helpless is also potential. I find the humble birth stories in Matthew and Luke indicative of potential –the infant who became a person for others, who had a special calling to serve the world’s outcast, downtrodden and the poor. Matthew and Luke spun more than a good yarn - they caught up in charming poetry the drama of love and birth, of peace struggling with strife, of our need for heroes - for prophets of the human spirit - for those whose lives show us a better way.
And here’s the third point I want to make today: What really happened on the “first Christmas” pales into insignificance beside the kernel of truth in the Nativity - the constant renewal of life. Birth is a constant reminder that the Creative Life Process has not yet given up on the foibles of its creatures. Birth is a metaphor reminding us we can begin again and yet again.
David Rhys Williams wrote: “Let us withdraw from the cold and barren world of prosaic fact if only for a season; that we may warm ourselves by the fireside of fancy, and take counsel of the wisdom of poetry and legend.”
Again this season we gaze upon the familiar scene, the story that never wears out. In imagination we are in Bethlehem peering into a stable by the light of a star. There is the age-old trio of mother, father, child. There are glistening angels, the quite ordinary animals, the faithful shepherds, and the wise ones from the East.
We look for the miracle of which we have heard. But there is no miracle. There is only love and light and birth, as common as everyday. Or is this the miracle? It all depends on what you mean by miracle.
• Is it not miracle that human love creates new life, which
creates new life generation unto generation?
• That the fiction of the Nativity story lives as if it happened
yesterday and was recorded on living tablets of the heart?
• That our minds can yet recall the words and melodies of those
songs, that voice can send them out in music that stirs the
surrounding air?
• That friends remain by our sides, families still come together?
• That hurts heal?
• That smiles and laughter grace this darkest time of the year?
Is it not miracle that we are - at all? We are, then, gazers at stars - bearers of myth - tellers of tales - lovers of legends - observers at birth and death - singers of songs - worshippers of words - vehicles of love and life - bearers of this moment’s miracle.
For all these reasons, and more, that night of birth of a helpless babe in a manger 2000 years ago, so beautifully and magically written about and passed down through the generations, was indeed a Holy, Holy Night. As we read in the responsive reading earlier, every night a child is born, is a holy night, because it is potentially that child, appreciative of its own helplessness and dependency, who with deep gratitude, will know one day to feed the poor, visit the sick, care for the weak, comfort those in sorrow, love her neighbor, love his enemies and work for peace among all his or her brothers and sisters in the world. Amen! Christmas! A Holy Night. A holy time! How could it not be otherwise?