St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Wesley Chapel, FL
Preacher: The Rev. Adrienne R. Hymes
Christmas I/All Years ▪ December 24, 2020
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
As a seminarian I had the privilege of serving alongside my mentor, the Rev. Angela Ifill, who was at that time a missioner based at the Episcopal Church headquarters in New York. I observed her manage the endless demands of her national ministry, while navigating the critical relational aspects, seemingly without overwhelm. It seemed to me that every time Mthr. Ifill found time to focus on her work, there was some sort of interruption, which she gracefully addressed. Admittedly, I often felt like I was one of her regular interruptions, showing up at her office door seeking her direction, guidance and focus. For many of us, interruptions, in their many forms, are not welcomed happenings—they are perceived as nuisances. I never observed Mthr. Ifill annoyed, or otherwise distracted, when she was interrupted by someone. Time after time, Mthr. Ifill would stop what she was doing; turn her chair around; and give her full attention to the person standing before her.
After some time, I commented to her that I didnot know how she ever got anything done with the constant interruptions. Her response was a pearl of wisdom that I carry with me, and admittedly struggle to practice. She perceived interruptions as vehicles for the gifts of stopping the current activity, re-setting and refocusing. Think about that. An interruption has the innate power to stop whatever is already in motion and “reset,” “redirect” or “refocus.” It is with this perspective of the interruption as a gift-bearer that we enter into our gospel passage in Luke.
The writer of the gospel situates Jesus’ birth narrative within the context of the reign of the Roman Emperor Augustus whose 40-year reign began somewhere around 31 B.C. Historically, Augustus is remembered for his institution of a census and taxation system that integrated all of Rome’s acquired territories in Europe and Asia Minor. This is the census for which Joseph and Mary were required to travel from Nazareth to Joseph’s hometown of Bethlehem where Mary would give birth.
This minimalist birth narrative makes us privy to two distinct interruptions. The first was the very particular interruption in the lives of the expectant parents—the birth of the Christ child while they were traveling and could not obtain proper shelter. This holy interruption—the inbreaking of new life—demanded that Mary stop and focus on her firstborn son, becoming unexpectedly resourceful by using the animals’ feeding trough as a makeshift resting place for her baby.
Then the narrative shifts away from the holy family to the second interruption for a different kind of family—shepherds living in the fields with their flocks. On that night of the child’s birth, their regularly-scheduled program of tending sheep was interrupted. An angel of the Lord stood before them, announced the birth of God’s promised savior, and told them to look for the child wrapped in bands of cloth lying in a manger as their sure sign. One might expect that the multitude of heavenly host, which suddenly appeared to the shepherds, and joined the angel in its praise to God, would have been present with the holy family. But the writer of Luke places these heavenly beings amongst ordinary shepherds, doing ordinary shepherd things.
While the shepherds were not explicitly directed to go and see the child, they were compelled to seek the sign. And when they saw the child, they enthusiastically made his identity known to his
parents and to all who heard the news. The shepherds returned to their flocks glorifying and praising God, just as the heavenly host had done. The interruption of the angelic visitation was a shared experience that gifted the shepherds with refocused attention from the mundane to the divine, and their lives had been forever changed.
In March, the lives of Americans were interrupted with the reality of the emerging health crisis of the Covid-19 virus, which, sadly, we learned was a shared experience of sickness and death threatening humanity globally. Whatever we were focused on, pre-COVID, came to a grinding halt. With that traumatic interruption of life, the resetting of day-to-day priorities, and the refocusing of spiritual attention, was set in motion. And, as we navigate the pandemic with its many losses and many griefs, we are forced to remember that we are but dust.
But we have the gift of faith in Christ, which makes it possible for us to recognize God’s grace through myriad gifts made manifest during our shared struggle of pandemic suffering. On this most holy night celebrating the nativity of our Lord, we are reminded to celebrate God’s precious gift of life, which is all too often taken for granted.
As we gather together in the midst of the joy of this night, we collectively grieve the loss of seeing full facial expressions; the caring and healing that touch can provide; and simply being in the presence of others. This ongoing interruption has gifted us with refocused gratitude to God for the gathered faith community, a faith community that has not been able to fully do so since March. We see the signs of this interruption in our worship service—in distanced seating; the inability to give the peace with touch; and even in the absence of a candlelit silent night throughout the congregation because we simply cannot blow out the candles.
The way in which we receive Holy Communion has also been affected, but the holy mystery of the sacraments at the altar have not changed. Through the Holy Eucharist, shared within the gathered faith community, we experience a holy interruption—a divine collision between the cosmic and temporal planes—where the real presence of Christ meets us in the sacraments. Each time we partake of the body and blood of Christ, we, like the shepherds, are gifted with a refocused attention from the mundane to the divine as God transforms us to the full stature of Christ.
As I think about the secular Christmas season, which begins in October, I think to myself, “If only the world ‘out there’ knew what we do in here when we celebrate the only gift that matters—God’s freely-given gift to the world, our Savior Jesus Christ.” Shame on us if we miss opportunities to bring light to those who walk in darkness.
There is a joyful hymn in the 1982 Hymnal called, “Christ for the World We Sing.” It is not a Christmas hymn, but it beautifully communicates the servant work we are called to as we celebrate the nativity of our Lord. “Christ for the world we sing! The world to Christ WE bring with loving zeal…with fervent prayer…with one accord…with joyful song…we to Christ belong.”
Let us leave this sacred space this night, refocused on making Christ known to all with great enthusiasm, and with great rejoicing. As we meet ordinary people, doing ordinary things, may God powerfully use us to interrupt the mundane so that all can refocus on the divine light that has come into this dark and broken world—the light that is Jesus Christ for the World and Jesus Christ in the World.
May it be so. Amen.
