Christmas Eve - Seeing and Being Seen

Lester Holt shared a story on the NBC Nightly News a few weeks ago that had me thinking about Christmas and what I knew we’d be up to tonight: celebrating that Jesus was born, in the flesh, so that the world could see and feel and experience the power of God in a way they hadn’t before. Check it out…

For my money, this artist – Tomás Bustos – does for people who can’t see the beauty of visual artwork, something like what God did at Christmas – and what God does, still – for anyone looking for the Divine in the world and in their lives. They bend the rules – God and Tomás. They do the unexpected. They go out of their way to let their work be seen by those who have a hard time doing that. They bring beauty and love to life – to be “seen” in new ways that matter for whoever’s looking, and sometimes for those who thought they’d never see it.

The gift of Christmas … what theologians call the Incarnation … the revelation of God in the person of Jesus from Nazareth … is about God re-imagining everything we think we know – or ever thought to look for – in our quest for understanding what makes God, God; and why that changes everything for us and for the world.

What I mean is, until Jesus showed up, God was off-limits, relatively speaking. God was around, and present, and active in the world – and always had been – don’t get me wrong. But in Jesus, God came close in a new way.

As Scripture tells it, before Jesus, in the story of creation, God was like a spirit of some sort that moved over the face of the waters. In Scripture, before Jesus, in the Garden of Eden, God was like the sound of the evening breeze. Before Jesus, God was a burning bush. Before Jesus, God was a pillar of clouds or a pillar of fire. Before Jesus, God was like the untouchable ark of the covenant. (The ark itself was, literally, not to be touched by the average bear.) Before Jesus, God was like the sound of sheer silence – whatever the heaven that means.

In Jesus, though … at Christmas? … God got even more creative than all of that – pillars of clouds, burning bushes, and evening breezes, I mean. Like Tomás Bustos, the artist in that news story, God opened up a whole new world for the world as we know it. What once seemed unknowable and off-limits and untouchable had shown up precisely to be touched, to be felt, to be embraced, and understood differently altogether – in Jesus.

(Think of the sick woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ cloak – as though she were running her fingers along the embroidery of Mona Lisa’s dress – and was healed because of it. Or the other who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair – like maybe she was seeing the Mona Lisa smile with her fingertips for the first time ever. Or that disciple whom Jesus loved so much he reclined against him at the Last Supper, like maybe he was resting under Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” sky in a way he never could have appreciated before.)

In Jesus, the beauty and peace and hope and presence of God was no longer out of reach. God wasn’t to be kept in a frame on the wall, or behind a curtain in the holy of holies, or safe and secure from the trials and troubles of life as we know it.

And, while that’s good news – great news, really – it’s nothing many of you haven’t heard me say in one way or another before, especially on Christmas Eve, over the years. So, I thought I’d kick it up a notch and dig a little deeper and take all of this a bit further this time around.

Because way back in the Hebrew scriptures, in the book of Genesis, there’s a story about Hagar, a poor young girl, who was enslaved and forced to carry and to bear the child of her enslavers – Abram and Sarai – when they couldn’t conceive a child of their own because, as the story goes, Sarai was believed to be barren. When Hagar became pregnant she fled, out of fear and contempt for her master and mistress. And she had a run-in with God somewhere in the middle of the desert. And God told her, “You have conceived and shall bear a son and you shall call him…” (Sound familiar?) “…and you shall call him Ishmael, for the Lord has given heed to your affliction.”

And the cool thing about this story – and why it came to mind for me tonight – is that Hagar, this poor, lowly, enslaved young girl with about as much status, credibility, and value in her day as the desert sand beneath her feet, is known for being the first person in all of Scripture to have had the nerve to give God a name – something you just didn’t do way back when. (You didn’t come near... You didn’t touch… And you didn’t speak the name of the almighty.) And the name Hagar gave to God – the God who met her in her darkest hour of deepest need – was “el Roi.” And “el Roi,” according to smarter people than me, means “the God who sees me.”

“The God who sees me.”

So, just as I always imagine and celebrate and give thanks that Christmas is about God coming to live and move and breathe among us so that we might see God differently… in the flesh… for a change. Hagar – and Jesus – remind me that God always sees us differently, too. That God shows up even and especially in our darkest, most desperate hours some of the time, and sees in us something the rest of the world – and maybe even we, ourselves – don’t see or refuse to look at.

Like, where the world sees a worthless slave girl, God sees a bold, brave, beautiful force for and source of life.

Where the world sees a Republican or a Democrat; or an “L” a “G” a “B” a “T” or a “Q”; where the world sees an Israeli or a Palestinian; a Russian or a Ukrainian; a Jew, a Muslim, or a Christian – Jesus sees a child of God.

Where the world sees a sinner, God sees forgiveness.

Where the world sees war, God sees the possibility for peace.

Where the world sees despair, God sees hope.

Where the world sees death, God sees new life.

Where the world sees a grudge, God sees grace.

And where we – and the world – look at ourselves and each other and see, too often, the worst thing(s) we’ve ever done, Jesus sees, instead, the beloved children we were created to be – and always are – in the eyes of our maker.

And in seeing all of it, God, in Jesus, gives up his life so that we would know what love looks like, and so that we might live differently – on this side of heaven and the next – in response to that deep, abiding, everlasting gift.

So Merry Christmas in the name of the God who came so that we might see LOVE in all of its fullness and in new ways, every day. And so that we might know that we are seen, each of us – in our joy and our sorrow, in our grief and our gladness – by the fullness of that LOVE, just the same… and just in time, perhaps… and just because we’re worth it, always, in the eyes of our creator.

Amen

On the Road with Cleopas

Luke 24:13-35

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad.

Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him saying, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place.

“Moreover, some women from our group astounded us. They went to the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”

Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?

That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

---

I love the Jesus we meet on the road to Emmaus, because he seems kind of strange … mysterious, for sure … and – I think – a little bit punchy after a couple of days in the grave. I figure he must be as surprised as you and me to realize that these two guys on the road don’t recognize him right away – even after walking and talking with him for quite a while, as the story goes. But I like that he’s patient and maybe even a little bit playful about that.

Like when Cleopas seems to get an attitude and asks Jesus, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who doesn’t know about the things that have taken place there in these days?” And Jesus is like, “What things?” You can almost see the smirk on his face, right? “Tell me what you know, Mr. Smarty Pants.” And I like to think my savior has a sense of humor – I’m kind of banking on it, actually.

But, I think there’s more to it than Jesus just being funny and playing games.

For me, this story of the walk to Emmaus is a microcosm of our faith’s journey as individuals and as the people of God, collectively. And, I’ve had a handful of conversations lately about looking for, and finding, and recognizing God in the world around us – and about how hard that can be sometimes. And what I find is that many of us – myself included – are inclined to the same kind of cynicism that Cleopas and his friend seem to hold onto.

Jesus calls them “foolish and slow of heart to believe,” after all, because when they’re confronted with the resurrected Christ – in the flesh – they don’t recognize him and they neglect to connect the dots between all they’d learned about him, and they recount for Jesus all the reasons why God’s Easter Good news wasn’t true. (“our chief priests handed him over… he was crucified… it’s been three days… some women said they talked to angels… some men confirmed he wasn’t there… he’s dead and gone and nowhere to be found… he was supposed to redeem Israel … and so on.)

And I don’t blame them, because I’m a lot like Cleopas and his friend more often than I’d like to admit. Standing still, I mean. Looking and feeling and being sad so much of the time … about the state of things and the way of the world around us.

To be honest, if Jesus approached me on the road – most days – I’m afraid I wouldn’t even stop to chat, let alone invite him over for dinner. Because I’m too busy… because I have more important places to be… because he won’t look like I expect him to look, I’m guessing.

But assuming I was having a good day and did at least stop for a chat, I’m afraid I’d sound a lot like Cleopas. I’m afraid my first inclination would be to rain on Jesus’ resurrection parade. “Are you the only stranger in town who doesn’t know?” “Have you not been paying attention?” “Do you not see or understand what the hell is been going on around here?” And I’d be happy to cite some examples that would be no surprise to Jesus:

We’ve all heard about the spate of innocent people being shot in the last week or so … that Black boy who rang the wrong white man’s doorbell in Missouri; those cheerleaders who opened the wrong car door at the grocery store in Texas; that other young woman who pulled into the wrong driveway in New York.

6 people were shot in Indianapolis in just 11 hours on Wednesday. And three of them didn’t survive.

There have been something like 75 tornado-related deaths in the world this spring and 64 of those people died in the United States. There were only 32 deaths worldwide, and just 23 in the U.S. in all of 2022 – which means those numbers have more than doubled already. It seems like there might be something to this whole “Climate Change” thing, after all.

I saw a public service announcement yesterday that said the phrase “Hitler was right” was posted on social media platforms more than 70,000 times last year.

And of course, there’s Russia, Ukraine, Sudan, Yemen, Israel, Palestine, and Haiti – war and death and despair on top of war and death and despair on top of war and death and despair.

And the list goes on. Our parents are dying or in the hospital. Our kids are struggling in ways we can’t fix. Not everyone got invited to the prom. Jobs have been lost. The tumors aren’t shrinking. Relationships are falling apart.

So it’s a short walk for me, from the empty tomb of Easter’s joy to the real world of that Emmaus Road, where all of that Good News turns into something hard to swallow, and even harder to celebrate a lot of the time. Like I said, just like Cleopas, I’d probably look Jesus in the eye and ask, “Are you the only one around here who doesn’t know about the things that have taken place here in these days?”

But the beautiful thing about Jesus on the road with Cleopas and his friend – and the beautiful thing about Jesus on the road with the likes of you and me – is that he is no stranger to any of it. He just keeps showing up – walking… and listening… and patiently waiting for us to do the same…walking and listening and paying attention, I mean, until we see what has been and what continues to be revealed in our midst, in spite of whatever struggle and sadness and suffering finds us along the way.

See, I think Jesus shows up in surprising ways and through the love and lives of surprising people a lot of the time, if we would just open our eyes to recognize him among us.

Jesus shows up in the first responders, the nurses, the doctors who tend to the sick and dying. Jesus shows up in the friends and family, through Stephen Ministers and by way of Partners in Mission who send cards, bring meals, run errands and otherwise care for those who need it. Jesus shows up in and through individuals and communities of faith, like ours, who love one another – and our enemies – or try to; and who strive to do justice and love kindness and walk humbly in the face of so many temptations to do otherwise. And Jesus shows up in the mirror, too, if we will open our hearts, our minds, and our lives to that possibility.

Because what happens on the Road to Emmaus, really, is that Jesus opens the eyes of Cleopas and his friend to see what they already knew. Through some “walking with,” some patient conversation and a little bit of bread-breaking, they’re reminded and inspired to hit the road again and get about the business of telling their people what they had wanted to believe ever since the Friday before:

That God is bigger than death. That hope is better than despair. That light shines in the darkness. That love always gets the last word. And that we have hard, holy work to do in order to reveal that and to make it real for the world around us, in the name of Jesus, crucified and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen