As we bask in the glow of Christmas Eve and the relative peace of this night, I’d like to share one of my family traditions with you. I’ve asked my family to help me out tonight by putting together one of our nativity sets. My grandmother made this one for my family when I was a boy, and she left two of the animals for me to paint. I was very young, and being trusted with something so special made me feel very special, too.
The pieces of this little scene have brought me so much joy through the years. I used to always place the baby first and set the scene around him. Later in life, I would set the scene for his arrival but wait until Christmas to place him there. When I realized that the wise men did not even get there until after Christmas I started waiting on those guys, too.
There are a couple of characters that I’ve always loved that aren’t really in the story. One is this guy who just looks exasperated like he ran a long way to get there. Somehow it seems costly for him to be there, and he still seems a little unsure of what’s going on. The other one is this old guy with the food. He seems like a practical guy, but I wonder how costly it might have been for him to give out of his poverty.
The stable was made by my grandfather, and like most of us, I’ve always thought of it as being more like a barn than anything else. That seems most logical to most of us. It’s where you keep livestock, right? Well, it wasn’t necessarily for them. Here’s why this matters.
They didn’t have supermarkets, and they didn’t have motels. I know, the text says “Inn,” but in Greek, it’s the same word for “guest room.” In fact, it’s the same word used to describe the upper room where Jesus and his disciples shared the Passover.
Anyway, they had markets, but those that had livestock generally kept them in an area in the back of the house. They usually had more than one family to a house, and the space for guests was either on the roof or out back. So, Jesus was born in a stable. He was placed in a manger, and all of these things were the best the family could offer.
All of this was happening during a time of relative peace, a time known as the Pax Romana. In fact, Caesar Agustus was referred to by some as the “Prince of Peace.” It was a time of peace that was based on the boot of conscripted soldiers. It was a time of peace that required so much taxation that it became necessary for a woman to give birth in the filth of a stable.
Of course, this birth – as messy and sweaty and worrisome as it was – was the way in which God chose to enter into our lives. This birth was connected to hospitality, not just the hospitality of family and strangers, but of God. That’s why the army of angels did not challenge soldiers but instead went to shepherds.
The peace of God that was offered to them and to you and to me is not just peace in our time. It is peace for all time. It is the kind of peace that does not dismiss conflict but instead seeks justice.
This peace enters into the mess and sweat and worry and dung of our lives and welcomes us to a table, to this table, to the Lord’s table. This table is the place where we, like Mary, may treasure and store and reflect on the memories of our experience of God. This table is the place where we, like the shepherds, might be amazed by the grace and mercy of God. While this table does call us to remember the brokenness of Jesus on the Cross, it calls us to something more. It calls us to proclaim, like the shepherds of old, that salvation has come!
So, for all who are waiting for that perfect Christmas gift, here it is. Let us give. Let us receive, and let us tell the story in a new way so that all who hear may be amazed! Let us tell the story of peace without ending, even in the presence of conflict. Let us tell the story that salvation has come, and we are living into it together! Let us tell the story that God is active and present through the words of our mouths and the actions of our days, even if it just means sharing a meal with someone in need. And may you and I give glory to God in all we say and do. Amen.
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