Engaging with the story

We are spending Christmas on Holy Island as we did last year. I’m going to post some blogs while here as I listen for God in this special place. 

Tonight has been the nine lessons and carols service in the Church. It’s good, once a year, to listen to the story of how God works in the Christ event from start to finish. I love the fact the service had the scripture read in the King James Version, its beauty at its best in the prologue to John’s Gospel. I’m still sorting through some of my Mum’s stuff at home, and last week came upon my great Auntie Ede’s Bible, probably given to her as a child, so it might date from about 1890. They obviously had better eyesight then! 

What has the word made flesh meant through the years? What does it mean now? What did it mean tonight for those who just go to a carol service and no other service in the year?

I think as I receive the story again, and have another Christmas to receive it before I return to work full time next year and will be giving out again, that I notice two huge theological things. 

First, in this story God surprises us. The huge surprise is that he comes down to us. The huge God gives part of himself to us. Very God, begotten not created. I remember learning it in college: homoousios! Jesus, the same in being, same in essence as God the Father. There was a dear man at Trinity Storrington I used to try and take on about this in every bible study. He just believed Jesus was a good man. No wonder recipients in the story are taken aback. I used this poem in an informal carol service last week:

She was five,
sure of the facts,
and recited them
with slow solemnity
convinced every word
was revelation.
She said
they were so poor
they had only peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches to eat
and they went a long way from home
without getting lost. The lady rode
a donkey, the man walked, and the baby
was inside the lady.
They had to stay in a stable
with an ox and an ass (hee-hee)
but the Three Rich Men found them
because a star lited the roof
Shepherds came and you could
pet the sheep but not feed them.
Then the baby was borned.
And do you know who he was?
Her quarter eyes inflated
to silver dollars.
The baby was God.

And she jumped in the air
whirled round, dove into the sofa
and buried her head under the cushion
which is the only proper response
to the Good News of the Incarnation.

Sharon’s Christmas Prayer maybe sums it up. 

Let us marvel anew that God comes towards us. One of my favourite bits of scripture and the heart of Christmas for me is part of the Benedictus. You can’t beat this:

 “In the tender compassion of our God

the dawn from on high shall break upon us,

to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,

and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Then in this story I see again an explosion of joy breaking into a gloomy and dark world. Angel songs, unlikely characters, no room, a chaotic background of occupation by a foreign power. The people in the story don’t expect it. No wonder when God breaks into their day they are “sore afraid.” Have we forgotten that God is into making things better? Do we expect in our churches anything to happen anymore? I’m convinced we are so busy keeping the institutionalised church going we have no energy or space to look for divine activity in a new place from where we are.

Of course some find this all a bit radical. A blog post that does spoof letters to the church magazine perhaps is a little too close to the truth.

Dear Sir

I was looking forward to the service at St Mary’s this morning. I always like to bring the grandchildren along to a service at Christmas time.

I was initially shocked to discover that the sweet young girl who welcomed us in is in fact the vicar – how did this happen?

And then imagine my further discomfort when the Gospel was about disputed parentage, a single mother and the idea of God talking to people in dreams.  This bizarre and disturbing story should have had a 15 certificate in my opinion.

In future I shall restrict my grandchildren’s visits to Easter. At least you cannot go wrong with eggs and bunnies.

Yours etc

Robert Brunchie, Middle Row, Lt Tremlett

I’m led again to the writing of Mary Oliver:

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.” 

I pray we might as we hear, as we worship, as we sing carols, we might listen and be surprised again. We need good news. As the vicar said this morning there are a lot of Herod’s out there.