Holding Christ
A Christmas Eve Homily
Tonight you are invited into the fields, into the barn outside the inn, and under the stars. Tonight we hear the world’s best secret that will also be the world’s worst-kept secret in history. Like those who heard the news and were unsettled, heard and pursued, or heard and believed, we are right there with those shepherds, those magi, those tyrants, too, and that Jewish family. But though we’re told exactly what’s happening, it’s still a mystery.
Tonight all sorts of people are hearing the secret, just as that night they were invited into something they could only barely feel, men and women, foreigners, devout Jews and people who barely heard of the One called Yahweh, cultures of high class and low class, coming under darkness to the small places to behold a Light they could scarcely believe. Some had even come to so love the darkness that the Light seemed like bad news.
That night in Bethlehem, all these people found themselves being drawn in for a bigger purpose, like they didn’t know until this moment that their lives had been building towards this moment. Though the holiness in this child didn’t totally make sense, everything started making sense. Sure, they had farmed and tended sheep for years. Or they had built homes as Joseph had, or they had learned to make sense of the universe like the magi. And after this night, they would go back to tending sheep, building homes, staring at the stars, trying to make sense of this mystery for the rest of their lives. But that night, they all found what they were made for.
Thousands of years later, Jesus Christ is still the worst-kept secret and yet still also a mystery. Not one mortal who has walked the earth, no matter how many times they’ve read the Bible, how many mystical experiences they’ve had, how many lives saved, or how pure their heart…none have ever fully grasped this night, this Christ. Yet all who have come to love him have found that, inside the mystery, they found what they were made for.
We have been talking about the Advent themes this month, these fruits of the Spirit known as hope, peace, joy, and love. Of course, they exist on their own outside of Christ. But like those folks on that night, these spiritual gifts also found their true meaning in Christ. It was just as Paul said to his friends, “Make my joy complete,” just as Christ had made their love complete, their peace and their hope complete. These spiritual gifts can exist on their own, just as these candles existed unlit before this month. But if a candle isn’t lit, it’s not fulfilling its true purpose. A candle is not meant to be pretty and perfect forever. It’s meant to hold the Flame.
That night, those shepherds, those magi, and even the angels found their purpose; they found their Flame. That night, hope found its flame, peace found its flame, joy found its flame, and so did love. For when God came into the world as one of us, hope finally became what hope was meant to be—for the hopeless. Peace, shalom, finally became what peace was meant to be—for people who live under tyranny, for people who have been pawns in the world’s violent games. That night, joy became what it was meant to be, for the despairing, and love finally became the fulfillment of what love was meant to be: for all who the world’s empty love had abandoned. On their own, they were nice, but when the flame of Christ flickered toward them, and touched them, suddenly they—we—are all fulfilled together, fulfilled because they were no longer just for themselves. Just as Christ did not come into the world for himself. He came completely for us.
See, that was the part of the mystery that was still a mystery to them in Bethlehem. And even though you might know the story, it might still be a mystery to you, but this night is secretly a cross-shaped night. For God comes into the world so that his hope might die for ours, his peace in exchange for ours, his joy for ours, his love for ours. And when he died, the flame did not go out, but it passed on so that you might have a hope that gives hope to others, a peace that gives peace to others, a joy that gives joy to others, a love that gives love to others.
You see, you are that candle in front of you tonight. A candle fearfully and wonderfully made, designed to hold the light of Christ. How did the first candle, Mary, do it? By singing, “My soul magnifies the Lord,” letting the eyes of her heart and the vision of her soul fully embrace God, and letting God melt her in the best way. But this can be scary, and I’m sure it was scary for Mary. The shepherds and Herod alike were terrified for good reason. Because the closer you get to Christ, the more the Holy Spirit melts you, the more some of you has to shrink like those candles in your hand.
When we get a new box of candles, there is maybe some silent part of us that thinks, “Ah, look at how perfect it is.” But a “perfect” candle isn’t a perfect candle. It’s only if a candle gets smaller and smaller that we know a candle has done what it was made for. Maybe it’s slumped over, chipped, has strange wrinkles to it, maybe some of the wick is now hidden, but the truth remains: the less candle there is, the more the Light has shined. And so when holidays bring us sadness for those who aren’t with us anymore, when we think of those saints of ours who are in care centers and nursing homes or who have already passed on, may you rejoice in how the Light shined in them, and how when your flame was flickering, they helped you find the Light again.
So tonight, we hear the secret again that those first people heard that night: you were made to be a living candle. Some of us are skinnier or wider or in-between, some are different colors, some made from beeswax, or soy, or palm. Some of us smell great, some of us don’t smell like anything, some make us wonder, “What was the Chandler thinking?” Some of us make it into grand chandeliers, some sit in humble candlesticks, some of us burn slower, and some of us burn hotter, and some of us go too quickly. And some of us look only “perfect” because we’ve been too afraid of the Flame.
But “fear not,” the angel said. You are a living candle, perfectly made to hold Christ, and with Christ, you can carry his light into the world. If the Holy Spirit is really burning, it will melt some of who we think we are while we discover who we were meant to be. And if we keep living as candles, the Holy Spirit will melt down more and more things you thought you couldn’t do without. But I promise you that when you’re holding his light for him, you won’t care. When you’re holding that love of Christ, just as Mary first did, it still may not make any sense, but the Light will guide you home, and the Flame will keep you warm.
Hear the good news: unto us, a child is born. And ever since, the Flame who came to earth that night in Bethlehem is still alive. Tonight and in all your nights, may you be a candle that has finally found what it was made for, holding and beholding Christ, the Light of the world. Amen.
Preached at East Craftsbury Presbyterian Church, Christmas Eve, 2024