Plymouth Congregational Church of Fort Wayne, UCC
December 24, 2009
Christmas Eve

Scripture Lesson:  Luke 2:1-20

Pondering the Star

"... she gave birth ..."
 (Luke 2:7)

Prelude

Once again we venture out into a cold night,

a bit cautious in our steps, not certain what

we may meet on the icy sidewalk, or who we may

encounter on pathway or in pew. 

We take leave of home and hearth to gather here

in this, our sanctuary,

for song and prayer and

Christmas Eve worship.

We come for lessons and carols

that declare, each in their own way,

the holy significance of the nativity

we reverence -

the birth of Jesus, the One we've been

calling the Star Child (Shirley Erena Murray),

the Star of stars, the "down to earth Child."

There comes an ancient hymn

from the Eastern Orthodox Church,

that has been sung at least

since the fifth century. 

That's a deep reach into the

long ago and far away of

the Christian movement. 

We are not singing it this evening,

but we make up for it during the

Boar's Head and Yule Log Festival.

The first verse:

"Let all mortal flesh keep silence,

and with fear and trembling stand;

ponder nothing earthly minded,

for with blessing in the hand,

Christ our God to earth descending,

our full homage to demand."

I pray that we share the grace of being able

to ponder this evening - pointed pondering -

not that which is a burden and distraction for us -

and there is very much of this indeed -

but rather to focus upon and ponder fresh

the sacred story that inspires "full homage,"

the birthing mystery of Christmas

that is ours to cherish, preserve, and protect.

Christians have pondered throughout the ages.

Mother Mary set the precedent.  When the shepherds

showed up at the manger and told what the angels had

conveyed to them with regard to the Child, it is said

that Mary "treasured all these words and pondered

them in her heart."  (Luke 2:19).

In and about the same time as

"Let All Mortal Flesh" was first being sung,

a pope by the name of Leo was preaching: 

"we are without doubt more particularly

stirred to spiritual joy on this day,

when the mystery of the Lord's nativity

shines so brightly upon us. 

We turn once again to that

ineffable condescension of the divine love ...

our aim is to be found in (the divine) nature,

as we adore (the divine) in ours."

(Sermon 28, cir. 448, included in

the Living Theological Heritage, Vol. I, p. 309).

Ineffable condescension - that's something to ponder.

Eight centuries later, almost eight hundred years ago for us,

St. Thomas Aquinas spoke of God restoring humanity

to the heights of divine glory; Aquinas pondered,

he was enthralled, considering

"the Word of the Eternal Father,

though containing all things of God's immensity,

willed to become small.  This God did,

not be putting aside ... greatness,

but by taking (upon) our littleness."

Aquinas further pondered the mystery of manger,

this willingness to become small,

this divine immensity in our littleness,

shows forth the dignity, the majesty

of human nature, and in fact, "puts the

finishing touch to the whole vast

work envisage by God." 

(see Readings in Christian Thought,

2^nd edition, p. 119; "Humanity's Restoration

in Christ").  God stoops to save and deliver us,

we might say.    

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Two hundred years ago, there was more pondering.

A German by the name of Schleiermacher,

wrestling in a time some have called

the first age of uncertainty,

composed a Christmas Eve dialogue. 

He had been to an Advent flute concert (F. L. Dulon).

The flutist was quite renowned, yet blind from childhood,

and the performance, as well as the condition of the

performer, triggered a deeper exploration of faith,

the considerable depth of our needs, and how it all

relates to Christian revelation. 

The dialogue is cast as a family gathering

of women and men ask the question: 

What is the "celebration" of Christmas? 

A festival for gifts and children and family;

or something more?

It was posed:  isn't there a level of unreliability and

uncertainty in most historical traditions?  Can the

Christian revelation of truth be trusted

and counted upon?  Is there a coming of

God in Christ that meets us where we are,

that really brings hope and peace and joy

to the world?

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Tonight, don't we ponder still?

The backdrop of our lives is, in some instances, filled with trial. 

And we, too, live in our own age of uncertainty. 

Every star eventually loses its luster, doesn't it?

I beg to differ.  I further suggest:

Christmas is worth defending, Christmas is worthy to keep,

not as plastic manger scenes displayed on courthouse squares,

but as Christ cradled, well kept and preserved in our hearts,

the Star Child, whose love compels the full homage of our lives.

You can have crèche scenes displayed on every corner of the city,

but if there is no birthing of the Child in our hearts, then the Child

is misplaced, and the Visit is either missed, with no connection,

or the Child becomes what was never intended, little more than

a personal toy, a cultural convenience we can bend and shape

as we will.  This, too, we should ponder.

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"What I'd really like to give you for Christmas is a star,"

so once wrote the poet, Ann Weems.  "Brilliance

in a package, something you can keep in the pocket of

your jeans or in the pocket of your being."

She states clearly:

"... stars are only God's for giving."

We must be content with words/wishes/packages.

Yet - while the Star is not for us to give,

we can pass on the love that comes by way of the Star,

the love that has been ignited countless times by

those who kneel in Bethlehem's light.

(see Kneeling in Bethlehem, "Star-Giving," p. 71)

So tonight - let us ponder as well:

our poverty, our need, our shadows.

Listen well - may it please God that

we hear again the joy, the thunderous applause

of heaven, and prove receptive to the peace God brings,

in the Star of stars, Mary's baby, Jesus our Christ. 

Amen.