Christmas Eve at Bethlehem

Luke 2:1-20

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

The story of Christmas Eve has been preserved, in many ways, as stillness. Live nativities and crèche scenes, decorations and candles, and kids staged to tell the story. 

I never had a starring role in a Christmas pageant, but I was a very trusty bulk character, a chorus member, part of the living set design. We would provide the occasional sound effect — angels so proud of our halos and glittered blush, sheep in white sweatsuits and painted noses, magi with paper crowns falling down over our eyes.

We had two tasks: 

1. Go to the bathroom before showtime.
2. Stand still until the pageant is over.

Year after year, these rules are broken by the tiny thespians upfront. And thank goodness! Kids wiggle and pick their noses and wander off and can’t stop waving at grandma long enough to get into character. I once spent a pageant trying to keep one of my little brothers awake and the other from sneaking under the pews toward my parents. I was a sheep with no shepherd skills.

I miss those bloopers a lot this year — the mess of being a big assembly of people in one place — the collective groan when a quarterback fumbles, the shout of song requests at a nightclub, the electric banter of a comedian teasing the live audience. Because, when things shift around, we remember the story is still unfolding. And we’re all part of it.

I know you can name some of the ways you’ve been made to still this year — to stay apart, slow down, simplify, and pay attention to the little things… like your body and breath. 

And yet, stillness has not been your whole story. Because, in other ways, this year has awakened something in you — your values, your relationships, your agency, your voice, your generosity, your presence in the world has been restless or renewed.

To be alive means we are caught in a pattern of stillness and movement, reflection and action, self and community, knowing and discovering how much we do not know. We need both. We cannot keep completely still this Christmas — but that’s okay. Because Christmas can’t keep completely still either. 

The first census data could not be gathered by robocalls or mailing in a form. But the Empire wanted to count people by tribe and patriarch, to sort them into categories. Maybe you’ve had a family reunion forced on you — imagine traveling to tick boxes with your 20th cousins — and getting there too late to secure a square foot of privacy. Everyone was on the move.

And while Mary is counted as one of Joseph’s kin, she defies every category we’ve decided is important during the holidays: 

• She does not spend time with her own siblings or parents.
• She does not have a home for hosting or decorating.
• She talks politics (well, sings politics) and revolution in the Magnificat.
• She labors next to a man known for his pragmatism and responsibility, but he’s changed since meeting her, having strange dreams and following them. 

And then the child is born and more pieces start to move around. Chorus characters and stagehands are pulled into the story — animals gathered in from the cold, angels singing from heaven, shepherds running into town from the hills, magi navigating stars from the east, and Herod nervously pacing in his palace. 

The story is still unfolding and everyone is part of it.

There is a blur of new creation swirling around Mary and this baby, God’s wild imagination showing in the restlessness of everything shifting, unlikely characters front and center, leaning in to see what cannot be categorized and managed like the rest of it.

Mary has held the Word of God in her womb and now in her arms. She is the stillness — watching and listening, pondering how beautiful, messy and painful it is, that love is on the loose, that freedom is being revealed in the stillness and the restlessness alike. 

The conditions of this Christmas cannot be categorized or managed, no matter how hard we’ve tried. In one way or another, we have all come undone in the stillness and the restlessness of this year, in the solitude of staying apart, in the trying to protect and understand one another, in the movement of people from the margins to the center, in the politics that cannot be pulled apart from faith, in the patterns of responsibility that get disrupted by dreams. It is beautiful and messy and painful.

It is a story still unfolding and God is here, in the midst of it. 

There will be more Christmas Eves for gathering together and singing en masse and sharing food and embracing those we love, I’m sure of it.

But this year it seems Christmas declares even more boldly that God comes anyway and no matter what, challenging our assumptions about what matters and who matters and why any of this matters. 

The answer is in the story, in the bloopers, in the movement where you were expecting stillness and the stillness while things are swirling.

There is a restlessness tonight, because Jesus is near to everything we hope and fear, folding our edges back into the middle until families are together, those who labor find rest, and the weary are sheltered. 

And there is a stillness tonight because Jesus is near, dreams still hold power, Mary’s song is on our lips, and all this change is treasure worth pondering in our hearts. 

There is a story still unfolding and you are part of it.