A Great Light, a sermon based on Luke 2: 1-20 preached on Christmas Eve 2025

I read a quote the other day in a magazine called the Christian Century: Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Can you relate to that? Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. That doesn’t sound like a very cheery thing to say, and yet it may be exactly how you feel and exactly how Clark Griswold felt. In National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Clark Griswold had a perfect Christmas in mind, and then the people started showing up. First, the parents and then, an RV with an extra family pulled into his driveway. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Maybe that’s what my mom was thinking when I set one of the Christmas decorations on fire. Last Sunday night, we were eating dinner with my mom and dad in their home in Hendersonville, North Carolina. My mom put out a Christmas carousel that her now-deceased aunt brought back from Germany. Have you seen one of those things? Cousin Eddie breaks one in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The hot air from four candles moves the fan on the top. On my mom’s Christmas carousel, the movement of the fan moves the three wise men and a shepherd around in a circle, moving in and out of the manger. I wanted to see it in action, so I lit the four candles, which had never been lit before. I watched the procession in and out of the manger a couple times. It didn’t work quite right. The candles were too close to the wooden fan. I left the candles burning when we were called to the dinner table. Before long, dinner was interrupted by a fire alarm because the candles lit the wooden fan on fire. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. I remember standing in line at a grocery store and seeing a magazine cover of a perfectly decorated Christmas dining room. The cover promised a how-to guide for perfect tablescapes. I’d not heard that word, tablescapes, before, but there’s no other word to describe what this magazine had captured on the dining room table. Not only were there plates, but there were chargers under the plates, and there were chargers under the chargers. Not only was there a centerpiece, but there were centerpieces. Decorations dominated the center of the table and spread to the edges, so that every surface of the dining room table was adorned with something beautiful. According to one description, perfect Christmas tablescapes blend festive themes with personal style, using layers of texture, a cohesive color palette, and a stunning centerpiece like garland, candles, or seasonal fruit. Do you know the problem with using seasonal fruit to decorate your Christmas table? It’s that clementines are good for throwing, and cranberries fit right up a child’s nose, but they’re too large to get back out. Christmas could be perfect, the dining room table could be perfect, but once people sit down at the table, it won’t be. There are arguments to be had and tears to be shed. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Imagine with me the perfect Christmas tree. A Tannenbaum worthy of Instagram. Do you know what I’ve never seen on a designer Christmas tree? An ornament made by a kindergartener. An angel at the top with bite marks from a dog or limbs amputated by arguing siblings. Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people. Certainly, that’s what Clark Griswold was thinking when onto the curb, coasting in on fumes, came an RV with Cousin Eddie, Aunt Catherine, Rocky with the lip fungus, and Ruby Sue whose eyes got crossed when she fell down a well, then straightened back out when she was kicked by a mule, plus, the dog, Snot. They weren’t invited. They didn’t call ahead to ask if there was room. They brought no money to buy their kids presents. But if they didn’t show up, would the movie be worth watching? Christmas could be perfect were it not for the people, but let’s replace that word “perfect” with “boring.” Christmas would be boring were it not for the people, and the people who really spice up Christmas resemble the shepherds in our Gospel lesson for this evening. On the night of Christ’s birth, shepherds were watching over their flocks by night, and an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel of the Lord 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 Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” You know what happened next because you’ve heard the story before. With haste, they went to visit Jesus, and Mary was about as excited to see them as Clark Griswold was to see Cousin Eddie. I’m sure she was polite, but shepherds sleep outside. Their clothes were unwashed. Their teeth were unbrushed. Their hair was uncombed. Their style was unrefined. Shepherds in the time of Jesus were the lowest of the low. They were the group of people that served as the punchline of every joke. When the conversation died at a dinner party, someone would enliven the conversation by asking, “How many shepherds does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Or, “If you ever showed up to the family reunion to look for a date, you might be a shepherd.” You get the point. This is literally true that in the backyards of mansions in the Roman Empire, archeologists have uncovered statues of shepherds. Wealthy Romans would install into their gardens depictions of toothless, unkept, shepherds because out of all the people of the Roman Empire, the lowest on the social ladder were those who would have spent their evenings out in the fields watching their flocks by night, and yet our God saw fit to first announce the birth of his son to shepherds. The angel told the shepherds to go and see the baby, and if you are to understand anything about Christmas, then you need to know that when Mary saw them, she said to herself, “Christmas could be perfect, were it not for the people.” Mary and Joseph’s experience had already been far from perfect, but these first-time parents did not want a bunch of shepherds around their baby any more than any first-time parents would have wanted to see them there. First time parents are a little crazy. When Sara and I were first-time parents, if you wanted to hold our baby, we’d ask that you wash your hands and provide a copy of your immunization record. I promise you, Joseph and Mary didn’t want to see those shepherds pull up any more than Clark Giswold wanted to see Cousin Eddie or the Christmas pageant organizers in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever wanted to see the Herdmans. Did you read The Best Christmas Pageant Ever or see the movie? In the Gospel of Luke, there are the shepherds. In The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, there are the Herdmans. Did you hear that? Shepards and Herdman? The author did that on purpose, naming this family Herdman, this family of outcasts, to help us understand the crucial role that the shepherds play in the Christmas story. Without them, we forget the meaning of His birth in the pursuit of perfect. If you remember the plot, in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, plans are unfolding for the pageant to be just the same as it had been for 75 years. Year after year, the same pageant at the church took place. The same lines were recited, the same type of girl played Mary, while all the boys tried to avoid playing Joseph. It was going to be fine. Some would have called it perfect, but that was before the Herdmans showed up. According to the book: “The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world. They lied and stole and smoked cigars (even the girls) and talked dirty and hit little kids and cussed their teachers and took the name of the Lord in vain and set fire to Fred Shoemaker’s old broken-down toolshed.” Yet on the night of the pageant, Imogene Herdman played Mary, and she cried holding the baby Jesus because she understood that He came for her, and as she realized the meaning of the story, the entire congregation realized what this story is all about. It’s not about being perfect. Instead, it’s all about redemption. It’s not about having the perfect table or tree or Christmas card picture. It’s all about a great Light coming into our darkness. It’s about God coming to save all of us and to bring the marginalized in from the cold. Yesterday, I heard a story of a man who walked into a tiny little church one Christmas Eve. No one knew it, but he had made plans to make that his last night on earth. He was estranged from his family and hadn’t seen any of them in 10 years. His friends had all moved away or died. He saw no reason to go on, but something made him take a walk that cold Christmas Eve, and with freezing fingertips, he quietly snuck in the back of that tiny little church. Sitting down, a woman on the same pew greeted him warmly and then introduced him to the man in the next pew towards the front. One by one and person by person, they greeted this lonely man, not knowing who he was, but welcoming him in as Mary welcomed the shepherds. The next year, the man returned and told the pastor his story, and the pastor said, “That’s what Christmas is all about.” My friends, it’s not when Christmas is perfect that we learn the true meaning. It’s when the shepherds are invited in. It’s when the rejected are embraced. It’s when we stop pushing each other away and start learning to see each other as God sees us. When we welcome the shepherds in, we hear what they have to say: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” And whom does God favor? The shepherds. The marginalized. The impoverished. The lonely. The afflicted. The undocumented. The unhoused. God favors them all, so let us favor one another. Make room at your table for imperfect people, and see His great light shine upon you. Alleluia. Amen.