Luke 2:22-40

When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought Jesus up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord”), and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”

Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,

‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,

according to your word;

for my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles

and for glory to your people Israel.’

And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’

There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband for seven years after her marriage, then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshipped there with fasting and prayer night and day. At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.

Maybe you’ve seen this poem by Howard Thurman that seems, in the last few years to, appropriately, make its rounds on social media in the days after Christmas. Thurman was a Black American theologian, philosopher, writer, civil rights leader, born at the end of the 19th Century. He wrote a poem called The Work of Christmas Begins. It goes like this:

When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal the broken,

to feed the hungry,

to release the prisoner,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among the people,

to make music in the heart.

That’s a lot of work, don’t you think? It’s a reality-check, for sure. Frankly, it’s kind of a holiday buzz kill. It’s feels like a bah humbug moment, for anyone still basking in the glow of Christmas with fun plans for New Year’s Eve tonight. It makes me think of those people who already have their Christmas decorations packed up and put away. (You know who you are.)

But it makes me think of Simeon and Anna, in this morning’s Gospel for the First Sunday of Christmas, too. These sages of the synagogue who are hip to what Jesus was really all about.

This morning… the Holy Family… Jesus, Mary and Joseph, are doing their thing as faithful Jews in their day and age: it’s been eight days since his birth, so they’ve made their way to Jerusalem, for the required rituals of purification and for the baby’s dedication at the temple. They’ve brought their simple, customary sacrifice of some birds – two turtledoves or a couple of pigeons – nothing of much value, unless you’re a young, peasant couple in First Century Palestine.

And while they’re likely still tired from all of their recent travels and still shocked and surprised and trying to make sense of all that had already happened in their lives in the last week or so – those angels, that manger, the shepherds, and all the rest – and still living into what it means to be brand new parents and hopefully finding some joy in all of that … along comes this old guy in the temple, claiming to have been guided there by the Holy Spirit, saying all kinds of craziness about Jesus and to his parents; nothing altogether new that they hadn’t already heard from the angels or wondered about in Bethlehem, but still crazy, nonetheless.

Simeon wandered in off the street, looked at Jesus – this baby he’d never met – and claimed to be seeing, in him, the salvation of God … a light for revelation to the Gentiles … and glory to the people of Israel. And while all of that’s a tall order in-and-of itself, then comes the real kicker … the Howard Thurman, buzz-kill, bah humbug, reality-check, “Work of Christmas” kind of moment.

Simeon takes his eyes off of Jesus, turns his attention to the young parents, and says to Mary that her child is “destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel” and that this sweet little baby Jesus is going to “be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed” and that a sword would – somehow, someway – pierce the soul of Mary, because of it.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Bah Humbug.

But seriously… This shouldn’t be news to us and may not have been all that surprising to Mary, really. She may never have been able to guess the details or predict the future of how it was all going to pan out, but Simeon was just another in a line of prophets and angels to let Mary know Jesus was destined for something big – that he was going to save his people from their sins, and whatnot.

So we have to wonder… like Mary must have wondered… what Simeon’s words announced… and what Howard Thurman’s words mean to inspire: What’s the point? What happens now? What do we do next about this “good news of great joy for all people?” What is the work of Christmas that Jesus’ birth and life meant to instigate?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if there’s still no peace in Israel and Palestine?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if God’s creation groans under the weight of our pollution and misuse?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if 44 million people in the US are food insecure?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if people of color are still imprisoned more often and for longer sentences than white people for the same crimes?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if we still spend and invest more on war than on healthcare?

Are we doing the work of Christmas if it’s all and only about the trappings and traditions we’ve created to make it all rhyme like a poem, sound like a song, sparkle like the lights on a tree, or shine like the candles we held to sing about silent, holy nights? Or about babies, tender and mild, sleeping in heavenly peace? (None of that sounds very much like the piercing sword Simeon was yapping about just eight days later in Jerusalem.)

But, speaking of candles … I didn’t come here just to rain on your New Year’s Eve parade. Howard Thurman wrote another Christmas poem that’s full of as much hope as “The Work of Christmas” is full of challenge. It goes like this:

I will light Candles this Christmas:

candles of joy despite all the sadness,

candles of hope where despair keeps watch,

candles of courage for fears ever present,

candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,

candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,

candles of love to inspire all my living,

candles that will burn all year long.

My prayer for these remaining days of Christmas, for this New Year’s Eve, and for every day of the year ahead is that we’ll be honest, deliberate, and faithful about what the work of Christmas looks like. That it’s not always clean and neat and tidy. But that it’s hard and holy a lot of the time, too. And that it’s our work to do – that it requires something of us – as recipients of and in grateful response for the gift of grace that has come in Jesus.

And that if we can’t … or when we won’t … or if we refuse … or when we don’t … we’ll at least light a candle maybe … to remind ourselves and to let others see that the work of Christmas can’t be packed up or put away; that it may never be complete on our watch; but that the light of God’s love in Jesus, always shines in the darkness of this world, and the darkness will never overcome it.

Amen. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

John 1:1-14

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

As you know, a couple of weeks ago – for the first time since Oprah – I took a vacation during Advent. Christa and I went to Key West to celebrate a friend’s 50th birthday. It was lovely – and warm – and sunny – and all the rest.

And in addition to eating and drinking and biking and walking a lot, we took a boat ride and snorkeled some. And the highlight of that little excursion was that – in addition to a lobster, some sponges, a couple of very small fish, and some refuse from the recent hurricane – we saw and swam with a sea turtle, which is a relatively rare treat, according to our guide, who seemed as genuinely impressed by it as the rest of us were.

When we began our three-hour tour, our boat’s captain asked if any of us had ever snorkeled or scuba-dived in places like Bali or the Great Barrier Reef, only to warn us that no matter what we were about to see in the Florida Keys, it wouldn’t be anything nearly as cool or beautiful or colorful as any of that. And he was right. It was all pretty gray and dead-looking and lacking in life, even, to be honest.

But there was that sea turtle who – as noteworthy as he was – wasn’t much to look at. I tried to find a picture to show, but every picture I could find online – from the turtles to the water they were swimming in – was too colorful and too pretty and nothing like the one we saw. He was as gray and lumpy and as colorless as the rest of that underwater seascape. And, when he kicked up the sand around him or if you took your eyes off of him for to catch your breath, he could be hard to find again.

He was camouflaged pretty well by his gray, barnacle-covered shell and his slow motion paddling that kicked up the dust and muck beneath him to hide him from view every once in a while. He basically looked like a rock that could swim.

But he did have to come up for air which – according to Christa and our friends – is when you could see more of his true colors. (I missed that part, because I was back in the boat having a beer by then.)

But the whole time I wondered if that sea turtle knew or cared that we were watching him. He didn’t seem to. He just did his thing down at the bottom of the sea, moving rocks around with his nose – looking for a lobster dinner, according to our guide – without any indication that he knew there were nine human beings floating and swimming and pointing and splashing on the surface, less than 6-10 feet away from him the whole time.

So I wondered how risky it must have felt for him to come up for air – to rise to the surface with all those people surrounding him – and to trust that he’d be okay. To expose himself – and whatever colors he was hiding – to the people who were watching. And how could he be sure he’d survive to snoop for more lobsters in the end.

And it made me think of Jesus – and God’s choice to be born; to come to life in a new way; to come out of hiding, you might say; to rise to the surface, as it were; to be seen without the camouflage of so many generations and so much history; and to just live and move and breathe all of a sudden, in the person of Jesus.

Of course we know what a risk that was and how all of that turned out to be – it wasn’t safe… our sin did him in… which was only a surprise to the likes of you and me.

But on Christmas morning … at the beginning of this new day … as we start to retell the story and wonder again about what it means to look for God among us – now that we know how it all panned out – I think our call and joy and blessing is to look for and to see the colorful parts more readily and to notice the good news more often.

Our snorkeling guide gave us some clear instructions before we jumped into the ocean that day – long before we ever saw a thing. She said that if and when we spotted anything noteworthy – and especially if we came upon an octopus or a sea turtle – we were supposed to shout to tell the group what we were looking at, call them over to our location, and point to where the rest of us could see it too.

That seems like a simple, sacred charge for Christmas morning and the days to come … that we keep our eyes peeled for evidence of God’s unhidden grace, rising to the surface of this gray, murky, messy world where we live … that we shout, sing and share that good news with whoever will listen … and that we point others in the same direction so that they’ll be blessed and better for knowing what we know about God’s love, beauty and grace in our midst.

Amen. Merry Christmas.