Deacon's Christmas Homily
Homily for Christmas 2021.
A flash mob is a group of people who assemble suddenly in a public space, for some kind of performance. Part of the art is that they appear to be spontaneous, but they’re usually highly organized in advance.
I’m a fan of classical music flash mobs. Honestly, they make me weep. One of the most famous was a couple of years ago, in Germany, in front of a bank in a shopping district. A bass player, standing alone in a square, starts playing the opening bars of Beethoven’s ninth symphony, the Ode to Joy. And one by one, the musicians come out…
More recently, I read about another one, filmed in a Spanish unemployment office in Madrid. Their unemployment office looks more or less like ours, maybe a little nicer. But it still has the same fluorescent lights, long lines, grumpy clerks, dirty plastic chairs, and take-a-number signs. Then a clarinet player stands up….
Music, a bit of humanity, interrupts and takes over the space occupied by the bureaucratic, the administrative. Seeing the way the humane invades space that’s typically dehumanizing – it was a blast of good news and hope, a reminder of who we really are.
And that’s what Christmas is like. It says in our first reading that the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Christmas is for people in darkness, for people who suffer, for people who are sinners. But - there’s a baby, and a flash mob of angels and shepherds, reminding us that we’re created for something different and better.
With our readings tonight, we’re deep in the Roman empire. Caesar Augustus, the emperor, has called for a census, and his ambitious lackey, Quirinius, governor of Syria, is implementing it. Ancient Rome took a census for two reasons: to organize taxation, and to draft young men into the military. A census is a massive administrative flex. It’s the emperor – the most powerful, safest, richest, most in-control man in the world – counting who he’s got, assessing his power, getting it all organized.
The Roman empire was perhaps a fine thing for the "good" families back in the capital and other outpost cities. They relied on slavery and infanticide to keep their economy moving, but, if you came from one of the right families or could wheedle one of your sons into respectable education and a job in the empire’s network, the system worked. I suspect that aspirational Romans were constantly anxious about maintaining or advancing their social position, but for a lucky minority, the system offered rewards.
But tonight in our readings, we’re not with those people. Tonight, we’re in an obscure province, out of sight from anyone who counts in the empire. We’re with the shepherds in a field; shepherds, by the way, being at the bottom of the social heap, the shady characters, considered unreliable and dishonest. We’re in one of the armpits of the empire – kinda like the unemployment office.
And that’s when the light breaks in. There’s a baby. Suddenly, a heavenly flash mob takes the sky, and angels sing God’s glory for an audience of shepherds.
The way Luke writes this Gospel is a challenge to Caesar. Luke is asking us to choose sides. He takes pains to point out that the baby is from a rival royal house, of David, ancient king of Israel. When the author says there was “a multitude of the heavenly hosts,” his Greek word for “hosts” is stratias. Stratias. It’s the root of our English word “strategic,” and in ancient Greek, it’s the word for “army.”
So Luke notices Caesar, and his armies and his empire, but the point of the story is to offer us a baby, from a rival kingdom, with an army of angels. The question is: are we content with the empire, or do we want to make music in the dark?
Caesar’s lackey, Governor Quirinius, would probably vouch that going with the imperial flow can lead to material comfort. But you can google his life. History records some details of his self-centered biography. It’s a life of ambition, shifting allegiances, double-crossing, adultery, and divorce. Climbing the imperial ladder exacts a cost.
But if we want hope – if we want light in the darkness – if we can honestly pray the Lord’s prayer, “thy will be done” – if we’re ready to obey God, rather than negotiating, as if he should conform to us – then we choose Jesus. Because his joy is REAL. The baby is REAL. Of course, the darkness is real too – Caesar’s way is a real type of power – but the light breaks in and reminds us that Caesar won’t have the last word.
Sometimes it can be hard to trust the light. When God became man - when God took flesh in the most vulnerable human form - he lost none of his divinity. He’s still God. But he shed the privileges and entitlements of divinity, becoming humble and little, because being with, and sacrificing for the people you love, will cost even God. But humility and sacrifice is how the light breaks in.
This rumor, about a baby and a manger, with shepherds and angels, this rumor has reached us here in Philadelphia. And it’s all true, and in the end, there is no other way. If we want to be alive and sensitive to the way the supernatural is at work in the world, then we’ve got to re-center ourselves. That’s what Church is for – a place to re-orient how we live, to step away from being self-centered, to cultivate eyes to see, hearts alive and full of hope.
And this shift in our allegiance – this detox from Caesar, learning to trust Jesus – it can be a life long process. Sometimes we’re proud, and we don’t want to take our place with the shepherds. It can be cold and lonely out in their field. But Jesus is not afraid of the dark, and admitting that we’re sinners who need help is the only way to put ourselves in the right place, so we can hear the angels sing.
Tonight, we’re in the right place. It’s great to be together. Welcome. Here in church, with the sacraments, with regular Eucharist and confession, we detox from Caesar, and we train ourselves to hear Jesus’s music. This is where we can be honest about the darkness, honest about the mess we’re in, without fear. Again, Jesus is not afraid of the dark, and he’s trustworthy. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. O Come Let Us Adore Him: at the manger, in the Eucharist, and at the End of Time.
