Christmas memories.
Let me tell you a story and every word of it is completely
true (wink, wink). When I was a little
boy I wanted a new bicycle for Christmas, but my mother, knowing that I had been
a terrible brat and trouble maker all year, said I didn’t deserved it. She told me I was going to need to take a
long, hard look at my behavior and make some changes. My mom told me to write a letter to Jesus,
confess my sins, and petition the Savior for the bike I wanted.
Well, after I threw a temper tantrum and got sent to my
room, I settled down and sat down to write a letter.
Dear
Jesus,
I’ve
been a good boy this year and would appreciate a new bicycle.Your friend,
Keith
Now I knew that Jesus knew this wasn’t true, so I
ripped up the letter and gave it another try.
Dear
Jesus,
I’ve tried
to be a good boy and I really want a new bike.Yours truly,
Keith
Again, I realized this wasn’t true, so I crumpled up
the letter, threw it in the trash can, went running out of the house, and
headed straight to our neighborhood church.
I knelt down in a pew and told Jesus all the bad things I’d had
done. Finally, after an hour of
unloading my burdened soul, I stood up to leave. Just then I happened to notice the crèche
figures in a nearby display. I walked
over and took in the beautiful sight. Impulsively I grabbed the figure of Mary and
ran out the door.
When I got back to my room, I sat down and wrote a
final letter:
Jesus,
I’ve
got your mother. If you ever want to see
her again, you’d better get me a new a bike for Christmas.You know who!
Christmas memories.
This story is true. Tonight, as
every Christmas Eve, my mind drifts back to this day in 1995 when I was serving
a church in a small town in Iowa. The
doorbell rang at the Rectory, which was located on the parish grounds. It was early afternoon on a day when the
temperatures were in the teens and a biting cold wind was howling out of the
north. Before me stood a man who introduced
himself as Michael Araba from the Anglican Church of Nigeria who was in America
hoping to study at a The Virginia Theological Seminary. He was having immigration problems because
his visa had expired and his only hope for renewal was to be at a meeting with
officials in Rochester, MN the day after Christmas. Michael was traveling with his wife and
infant daughter. Their car, in which
they had slept the two previous nights, had broken down several times and their
money was exhausted. They had no way to
continue on with their journey and nowhere to turn.
Michael came to the Rectory because it was the
nearest Episcopal Church and he was desperate.
I gave him $150 dollars from the discretionary fund and, because he had
only a sweater, I gave him one of my coats.
His wife and child were adequately clothed so we gave them a handful of
diapers and wipes, some warm blankets, food, and a few of the girls’ toys for their
baby. They said they didn’t need
anything else so, after I said a prayer with them, they were on their way. There is not a Christmas Eve that goes by
that I don’t think of that visit. It was
almost like the Holy Family had come to our door.
Do you ever wonder why so many divergent thoughts
flood your mind during a worship service, especially this service on Christmas
Eve? Far from being distractions to what
we are really supposed to be doing, memories like these are vital and necessary
ingredients in the complex recipe that makes for meaningful worship. Something wonderful happens as we connect our
story to God’s Story. Something powerful
happens when we are able to hear the sacred stories of the people of the Bible
and through God’s Spirit find a way to see how our own experience is in
communion with theirs.
A Roman
Catholic theologian by the name of Johann Metz once said, “Without memory, the
Church would cease to exist.” No other
time of the year is as pregnant with rich memories as Christmas time. What memories of yours are coming alive
tonight? For those of you who grew up
here at St. Paul’s, I wonder what you remember and who you are thinking
about. For those of you who have moved
around, as I have, I wonder what memories you bring with you from other
places.
I have specific memories of Christmas Eve at every
parish where I have served. I think what
I will remember most about St. Paul’s is the view I have of the Altar Cross
from where I sit as we sing the carol “Silent Night.” From my vantage point, it is backlight by the
candles that are nestled in red poinsettia.
Dark on the front when the lights are turned off, the outline of the
Cross radiates with a golden glow as it is illuminated by the candles’
flames. It is a sight I have come to
cherish and will always carry with me.
Metz distinguishes between two kinds of
remembering. First he says there is nostalgia. This kind of remembering is merely a trip
down memory lane, perhaps with the wish that we could live in the past, in the
good old days. While nostalgia has its
place, it is not the aim of this evening’s worship.
In addition to this, there is something Metz calls
“dangerous memories” that have the ability to provoke us into some future
activity that challenges the status quo of life. I prefer to call it “creative
remembrance.” It differs from nostalgia
in that it takes the memories of the past and, as Metz suggests, calls us to
some kind of action in the future. This
happens most keenly when our stories fold together with The Story. So, for example, when our memories of family
gatherings, festive celebrations, and delicious meals mesh with the story of
the Inn Keeper in Bethlehem, we find ourselves breaking through the clutter of
the Christmas season to reach out to those in need of friendship, hospitality,
and a helping hand.
Creative memory might encourage you to make contact
with a long lost friend or to reach out to someone in order to right a wrong of
long ago. Tonight, creative memory might
inspire you to deeper ministry in our community or greater engagement with our
parish. There is no telling where
creative memory might take you, but make no mistake, it is a vital part of what
makes worship meaningful.
My German is not so good, but the expression “gabe
und aufgabe” says that worship services like ours tonight consist of both gift
and task. The gift of worship is God’s
self – revealed in word, in sacrament, and in our faithful gathering as the
Body of Christ. The task of worship
comes to us through creative memory. It
is what we hear God’s Spirit calling us to do.
And we hear this calling by being attentive both to this present moment
and to the remembrances that come to us.
You see, if it is true that Christianity is a story
that is made real to us through remembrance, it is equally true that
Christianity is also a dream. It is a
dream of the future that becomes a part of the present through our imagination
and hope. In this sense, worship is a
moment that invites us to look both backwards and forwards.
We are invited to bring the future to the present; to
dream of a time when our endeavors to share the rich blessings God has bestowed
upon us will usher in the elimination of need and want in this world; to dream
of a time when our efforts at reconciliation will become a part of the
foundation of Peace on Earth; to dream of the time when we will be reunited
with those we love but see no longer. We
are invited through hope to imagine the joy of such a future and to make it
real (at least partly) in this present moment.
So tonight we hear again The Story of the birth of
God’s only begotten Child; a story reverently recorded and faithfully handed on
for two millennia. Our remembrance makes
us contemporaries of the Holy Family and invites us to journey with the
shepherds to the manger. As we go
backwards, the events of that night so long ago become a part of our present
experience. Through imagination and hope
we begin to dream of the future where these events realize their perfect
fulfillment. That future too becomes a
part of our present experience.
Without memory the Church would cease to be. Without imagination the Church would be
ineffectual, gathering only for the vain purpose of nostalgia. So tonight I call on us to be people who
remember and to be people who imagine.
And in so doing our worship takes on a deep, rich meaning where God
draws close and becomes known in a life-filling way.
