Wrapped in Bands of Cloth, a sermon based on Luke 2: 1-14, preached on Christmas Eve 2024

Friends, this is it. Christmas Eve. Some of us have been getting ready for this moment since Halloween. Do you remember what happened in Walgreens on the day of Halloween? There had been Halloween candy. When I walked into Walgreens, it was there on the shelves, but by the time I checked out, it was all gone. All that candy was pushed out of the way by a green and red wave of lights and gifts. The pumpkin Reese’s cups had to be replaced by Christmas tree Reese’s cups. The Halloween costumes were replaced by tinsel and lights. We all skipped right over Thanksgiving, and we can’t go back now. This is Christmas, but yesterday I was at Kroger, and they were putting out the Easter egg Reese’s cups, so if we’re not careful, this moment is going to speed right by, too. I don’t want that to happen. In so many ways, this is my favorite day of the entire year, only it’s not easy to savor something that you’ve been rushing towards since October 31st. You can’t just stop on a dime to savor something you’ve been sprinting towards, so some of us aren’t in this moment, at least not fully. There’s just too much to do, right? My wife, Sara, sent me a meme the other day. Do you know what a meme is? Or a gif? It doesn’t matter. She sent me something that said: “Here’s your annual reminder that 95% of that ‘holiday magic’ is actually just the invisible and physical work of women.” That’s true. I can remember my grandmother coming home from her Christmas Eve shift in the maternity ward of Roper Hospital to make us Christmas dinner. She’d been up all night delivering babies, then she’d come home to cook us macaroni and cheese, ham, and a turkey. I can see her in the kitchen, still in her pink scrubs. At some point, she’d ask me to pour her a Tab with a little vodka in it. That’s all she needed to keep going so that we could enjoy that “holiday magic” the meme was talking about, but this is Christmas, so I want to address those of us to whom Christmas means working hard, and I’m guilty of it, so I can talk about it because I’m talking to myself. Some of us are so used to preparing for the next thing that, while the rest of the family is opening presents, we’ll have the garbage bag ready to pick up all the wrapping paper. Only what is the next thing after this? What are we cleaning up for? This is it. Christmas Eve. It’s a day that we work for because we want it to be perfect, which is the absolute pinnacle of irony if you think about it. It’s like we’re all working for perfect, forgetting that He came because we can’t ever achieve perfection no matter how hard we try. Remember that Martha Stewart spent five months behind bars. That’s where chasing perfection will get you. There is no “perfect” for mortals like us. If we could save ourselves, we wouldn’t need a savior. If we were without sin, there would be no need for Him to take upon Himself the sins of the world. What’s worse is that all this work we’re doing to reach towards perfection always keeps us from noticing the baby wrapped in bands of cloth. That’s what happens in all the best Christmas movies, right? The turkey is so dry that it’s nothing but skin and bones, and the dog destroys the kitchen. The tree goes up in flames, and a squirrel gets in the house, which is what it takes for the Clark Griswolds of the world to take notice of the real reason for all of this, the gift from God wrapped in bands of cloth. That first Christmas broke into our world, and yet the innkeeper didn’t notice. What was that innkeeper doing? He was worried over the guests who had already checked in. He had put little mints on their pillows and was getting ready for breakfast. The inn was full. There was no more room. Toilet paper was in short supply, and he was moving quickly from one task to another. When Mary and Joseph showed up at the door, I imagine that their knock interrupted that peaceful moment when he finally had the chance to sit down to take a breath. His glass of wine had been poured, he had knife in hand to carve a lamb shank or break the loaf of bread, freshly baked from the oven, when that knock on the door interrupted the moment that seemed so perfect. He snatched the napkin from his collar or laid down his carving knife not too gently, and with thinly-veiled frustration opened the door to see Joseph and Mary standing there. What did he do? “There is no room,” he said. Might as well have been, “Bah humbug.” “Go to the barn, and don’t bother me again. Don’t you know it’s Christmas?” Of course, he wouldn’t have known anything about Christmas. The baby hadn’t been born, and yet, how ironic that the Christ Child was born in the innkeeper’s stable, and there is no record that he ever went out to see that baby wrapped in band of cloth. Who did? The shepherds. Do you know anything about shepherds? Shepherds smell like sheep. Shepherds never took the time to brush their teeth or wash their hands, but the innkeeper and his family were too busy, so the angel invited the shepherds, and the shepherds saw the miracle of Christmas because the ones who know they need a miracle are the first to find it. Those who of us who are busy picking up discarded wrapping paper in the living room don’t always see that it’s here. This is it. Our temptation this Christmas Eve is the same as our temptation all the rest of the year. We are in a rush moving in the wrong direction, missing all the miracles that God provides. Let me give you an example of what I’m talking about. I was giving the children’s sermon two weeks ago, and I’m a Presbyterian minister. If you don’t know much about Presbyterians, then know this: There are two things that Presbyterians want from their minister: 1. That he pick hymns that they know the words to. 2. That he doesn’t preach for too long. Therefore, our worship services last one hour and not a minute more, and I must achieve that goal because I’m prone to picking hymns that no one knows the words to. I’ve got to move from the children’s sermon to the next step in the worship liturgy because if the service goes past 12:00, First Presbyterian Church will go up in flames and no one will make it to Piccadilly before the Baptists get there, so when little Charlie still had his hand raised as I was making my point in the children’s sermon, I was so tempted to ignore him. I was tempted to just keep going on to the hymn that would follow the children’s sermon, for I had already asked them what they wanted for Christmas and had already heard plenty of cute and interesting comments, and yet there was Charlie’s hand raised as it had been since the children’s sermon began. Something told me to call on him. When I said, “OK, Charlie. It looks like you really have something you want to say,” he boldly declared: “Peace will come to our land.” That’s what Charlie said, and I nearly missed it because I was worried about what I had to do next, not what God has already done. Notice that Charlie didn’t say, “Peace will come to our land once everyone gets in line.” He didn’t say, “Peace might come to our land if we’re all good little boys and girls.” He said, “Peace will come to our land,” for God brings us a gift wrapped in bands of cloth. Have you stopped to notice? If there is darkness in your life, consider this with me: Maybe you’re moving in the wrong direction. So much of the time we’re in such a hurry that we don’t take the time to ask, “Why is my life so full of shadow?” Where is satisfaction? Where is hope, peace, joy, and love? This is our pattern. To keep going. To strive. To work. To spend so much time looking into the future and what’s to come that we fail to be satisfied. The gift, though, is here already. Glory to God in the Highest, they sing. Lay down your burdens. Rest in the promise that peace will come to our land, or you’ll never be at peace. Rest in the promise that you are forgiven, or you’ll never find it in you to forgive. Rest in the promise of salvation or go on trying to save yourself. My friends, I’m a preacher. It’s my job to preach sermons on Christmas Eve, and sometimes I wonder if my Christmas Eve message, while under 14 minutes so that we can get out of here on time, just sounds like me giving you one more thing to do on an already overwhelming to-do list. That’s not what this is about. This is about a gift that comes from God to people who walk in darkness. Take this moment to notice His light. Amen.