Christmas Eve, 12/24/2008

Sermon on Luke 2:1-7, by Anna Carter Florence

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

OUR HANDS

I've been thinking about hands. I can't stop thinking about them. I started to wonder about the first hands that touched Jesus. And then I realized: the first hands to touch Jesus were the hands that wrapped him in bands of cloth.

If any of you have taken care of a newborn in the last ten years or so, then you know about those bands of cloth: it's the swaddling principle. When our first son was born, the nurses taught us to lay him on a little blanket, and then to fold in all the ends and wrap him up so tightly that he could only move the tips of his fingers. It was called "swaddling," and we were told that this is how you keep a newborn happy and secure. My husband really liked it. It gave him a job, to keep the kid swaddled after every feeding and changing, which meant he was wrapping up the baby about every half hour. And it seemed like our son liked it, too. I mean, he didn't scream when we swaddled him; he just got kind of calm. So that's what we did for our son's first month: we spent all our time swaddling him and carrying him around like a little wrapped-up package. Until his one-month check-up, when the nurses told us to stop wrapping him up. He's not a newborn anymore, they said. He doesn't need the security of all those tight blankets. Now he needs the freedom to kick his legs. So just wrap him loosely, and let him move.

The first hands to touch Jesus wrapped him in bands of cloth. That's the New Revised Standard Version's attempt to be accurate at all costs: "bands of cloth." If you look in older translations of the Bible, you'll read that Mary wrapped him in "swaddling cloths." Either way, I figure that Mary got the same advice we did about how to care for newborns: you wrap them up so tightly they can't move, and that's how you help them cope their first month in the big, wide world.

The first hands to touch Jesus wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and then they laid him in a manger. You've heard a million sermons on that, I have no doubt: how baby Jesus was a refugee, and there was no room for him at the lodge, and God enters the world so homeless and unwelcome that the parents have to rough it in a stable, which I can tell you would not be my first choice over a hospital birthing room. I am sure you have heard countless times that baby Jesus didn't go home from the hospital to the newly painted nursery with the designer crib and matching changing table; no, his parents had to make do with a feeding trough, which doesn't have a mobile hanging over it but works just as well in a pinch. The bread of the world slept in a hay-lined manger, and I know you have heard about that a million times. But here's what I've noticed. The first hands to touch Jesus wrapped him up tight, the way you're supposed to, and then improvised, made do, the way you sometimes have to. The first hands to touch Jesus might have been sorry not to be able to offer more, but they weren't scared to turn a feeding trough into a crib, and they still remembered to swaddle the baby. And it was enough. It was enough for the Son of God's grand entrance into our world.

I'm sure Mary had done a lot of babysitting, so even though she was probably younger than most of you, she probably knew about how you eventually have to stop swaddling the baby. I'm sure she loosened up the bands of cloth right on cue, when Jesus was about a month old or so, just at the right developmental point for him to start testing and moving his limbs. She was a good mother, from what little we know: smart enough to improvise when she had to; no tantrums in the stable because it wasn't the best birthing suite at the hospital; no hesitation about being the original Outward Bound, ready-to-rough-it girl. So I am sure she unwrapped those bands of cloth when it was time. Jesus had to grow up, bit by bit. And when it's time to grow up, the first thing you do is unswaddle the baby.

I've been thinking about that. The first hands to touch Jesus wrapped him up tight, the way you're supposed to, and then improvised, made do, the way you sometimes have to. And then, when it was time, those hands unswaddled him because no one can move and grow when they're wrapped up that tight. And even God can be swaddled too long. Even God can get wrapped up so tight that there isn't any room to move and grow.

I wonder if that's something we can think about for this week. What do our hands do with Jesus?

There are times when our hands wrap him up, safe and close, in bands of cloth. We hold onto Jesus as tightly and carefully as you would hold onto a newborn. We cradle him in our arms and we don't let anything near him. And sometimes, that's important; that's critical. Sometimes we have to be absolutely clear about the things that are most precious to us about our faith, the things we aren't going to let go of, because there are lots of forces out there that will try to carry our faith away. Maybe the thing you aren't going to let go of, no matter what, is that God loves us, no matter who we are. Or maybe the thing you aren't going to let go of is the way Jesus lived his life, the way he broke every rule so that even the outsiders would know that there was room for them at the table. Or maybe the thing you aren't going to let go of is that Jesus died for us, Jesus rose for us, Jesus reigns in power and glory for us, Jesus prays for us. Or maybe the thing you aren't going to let go of is that there is a God, somewhere, even though you don't know why or how.

There are times when we have to know the things we can't let go of. And then we have to wrap them up, safe and close, in bands of cloth, because it is a big world out there.

When we are little, this is especially important. There is a book in our church nursery back home called My First Book About Jesus. I would say it's geared for 2- and 3-year-olds. It's got all the lovely pastoral scenes of Jesus holding children and healing the sick and feeding the crowds and riding the donkey, and all in all, it's a happy, comforting introduction to Jesus' ministry. But once you've shown the toddlers Palm Sunday, then you have this problem about how to get to Easter without going through Holy Week, or what a friend of mine calls, "the scary, middle part." You can't talk about Easter until you've at least mentioned Good Friday, and the fact that Jesus died on a cross, and how do you do that with little kids? Here's what this book says: "Some people were angry. They didn't like Jesus. They made Jesus go away. But even angry people couldn't keep Jesus away. He came back. He is always with us."

Well, I guess that's a reasonable way to handle things for 2- and 3-year-olds. You can make a case for it. The first hands to show toddlers a picture book about Jesus may have to swaddle a few things. They may have to wrap a few things tight and close. Maybe a 2-year-old doesn't need to hear about how they whipped and they stripped and they hung him high and they left him there on a cross to die. Maybe she needs some hands to do a little swaddling on her behalf. She'll grow. And eventually, it will be time to loosen the cloths and talk about the scary, middle part.

Most of the books on parenting will tell you that when it's time to grow, the first thing you do is unswaddle the baby, bit by bit. You let your one-month-old kick off his blankets. You let your two-year-old climb up tree stumps and maybe even fall off. You let your 10-year-old walk to school by himself. You let your 15-year-old come all the way to Colorado in a church van with her youth group. Bit by bit, you unswaddle the baby, because if you don't, the child won't move and grow the way she's supposed to. That's what the books say, but I can tell you from experience it's hard for a parent to do, to take off those wrappings. It's hard, but it's even worse to be the one who's swaddled so tight you can't even breathe. Maybe you know about that. There isn't a person alive who hasn't known something about those bands of cloth, and how they can feel like a prison, if it's past time to unwrap them.

Sometimes I wonder if Jesus feels like that, too. Sometimes I wonder if our hands swaddle Jesus too long. There comes a day when we have to put My First Book About Jesus aside and talk about the scary middle part, the things about our faith that are harder to address. There are questions we eventually have to ask. Why is there so much suffering in the world? Why do some of us live with so many blessings, while others of us live with so much pain? Why are human beings so messed up that we do things we know we shouldn't, and cross lines we said we wouldn't, and break promises we made to our families and to God and even to ourselves? Why has God made us the way we are? And why does God take so long to answer our prayers? Those are things you can't talk about if you swaddle God, if you have your faith wrapped up tight in bands of cloth that won't let you ask hard questions. If you want to talk about the scary middle part of our life on this earth, the first thing you have to do is unwrap your fear, and open up, and let God kick off the blankets and breathe. Because God may answer us in ways that challenge even the things we don't want to let go of.

This week is going to be an awesome week. But I hope it isn't an easy week, or at least so easy that we go home exactly the same. I hope we hear things, see things, talk about things that really challenge us to look at what our hands do with God. And it's a good week to do that, a good place for it, because there are people here who want to listen, and aren't scared to hear whatever we want to tell them.

Maybe we'll discover that in some ways, we've been swaddling God too long. We may have wrapped God up so good and tight that those bands of cloth are keeping us from seeing and knowing things that it may be time to see and know. Are there questions it's time to ask? Are there relationships back home we need to think about? Are there words we use for talking and singing about God that keep us from getting a fuller picture of who God is? Are there Bible verses we've used to keep other people down? This is a week for unwrapping some of those things. Kick off the blankets so you can breathe, and God can move. Kick off the blankets so you can find something new to hold onto.

And then, don't forget the manger part, because that's really the most fun. The first hands to touch Jesus wrapped him up tight, the way you're supposed to when it's time for that, and then they looked around for someplace to put him, and there wasn't anyplace obvious in the stable; there wasn't any crib. So they made do. They improvised. Mary, the original Outward Bound girl, filled a feeding trough with hay and laid her baby in it, because she knew it would work as well as a designer crib, and sometimes, you just have to punt. You just have to make do and improvise about where you're going to put the most precious things about your faith. It isn't all going to fit perfectly. There won't always be room in the inn. You may get stuck in the stable in the back where you have to figure out a way to get by on what you have.

So here is what I hope for you this week. I hope you will find people you can kick off the blankets with, to talk about what your hands are doing with God. If you find that you've been swaddling God too long, I hope you'll loosen up the bands of cloth. And then, if you feel like there's no place to put the things you're learning, no place to put the God you're getting to know, no place to put the baby Jesus you've unswaddled because you're stuck in a stable in the back, then I hope you'll punt. I hope you'll improvise and make do with what you have. So what if it all doesn't fit right now? So what if you don't have a perfect place ready for God? God doesn't need us to prepare a perfect place. God just needs us to have some place. God just wants us to kick off the blankets so we can grow.

This is a great week. It's time to do some of this work. I am praying for you, for your hands.

Associate Professor Anna Carter Florence

E-Mail: FlorenceA@CTSnet.edu.

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