Author: CCW

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. … Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”

Nothing concentrates the meaning of Christmas more directly and more disturbingly, perhaps, than the Feast of St. Stephen celebrated on the day after Christmas. He is commemorated as the first martyr, the proto-martyr, whose witness, for that is the proper meaning of martyr, namely, witness, is the prototype, the model of all martyrdom. As the lesson from The Book of the Acts of the Apostles makes abundantly clear, Stephen achieves his eponymous crown (stephanos in Greek means crown) by losing his life not simply at the stone-throwing hands of a vicious mob but by losing himself in Jesus Christ. He has taken the Christ whose holy birth we have just celebrated as the model of life itself, the life of forgiveness. “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit… Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.” Suddenly, the Christmas mystery illumines the mystery of the Passion of Christ and vice versa.

Following Christ is our Christian vocation. The Feast of Stephen opens out to us the radical nature of that following. It is to let the life of Christ define your outlook and being. More poignantly, it is to let the essential element of sacrifice and forgiveness have complete rule and sway. The Feast of Stephen is one of the three holy days of Christmas that open out to us the radical meaning of Christ’s holy birth. Human redemption comes with a price, the heart-blood of the Son of God become the Son of Man. Our witness, too, necessarily means sacrifice … and forgiveness.

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“And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city”

Nothing is more certain in this world than death and taxes, it is commonly said, a saying attributed to Daniel Defoe and Benjamin Franklin. How intriguing that death and taxes should be the features of the two centers of Christian contemplation: Bethlehem and the mystery of Christmas; Jerusalem and the mystery of Easter! Somehow God uses the matter of our common mortality, death, and the matter of our social and political lives, taxes, to teach us about his grace and goodness. Easter is the overcoming of death by the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the mystery which is centered on Jerusalem. Christmas is the birth of Child Christ, which is centered on Bethlehem, where Christ is born because of the decree of Caesar Augustus “that all the world should be taxed.”

It is, I think, a pleasing overstatement which captures the power and the extent of the Roman Empire into which world Christ is born. Somehow all of the mechanisms of Empire and Government become, in spite of themselves, the instruments of divine and heavenly providence. In a way, it is the logic of the Incarnation itself; God embraces and redeems his Creation to himself. Even by way of taxation!

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“Of his fullness have we all received, grace upon grace”

Christmas, it seems, is all about excess, about fullness. At least, in our material culture we want it to be about more and more, whether it will be or not is our contemporary anxiety and worry. Christmas sometimes seems to be altogether too much of a muchness, whether it is gifts or food (or books!) or drink or parties or more and more anxieties. The pressures can be altogether too much; the pressures are great to get it all just right, whatever that means.

The paradoxes are even greater. Christ is born in a lowly stable. We want the glitter and glitz, the dazzling brightness of gold and silver, of rich silks and perfumes, of gadgets that whirl and whizz, of wine and chocolate, of all manner of sensual delights. We want the more and more of all that delights the senses only to find that it is, perhaps, really all too much, a sensory overload, and yet empty and nothing. We are caught up too much with ourselves only to find that we have missed the real meaning of Christmas. We have missed the real paradox of God’s great little one who brings us so much and more than we can ever embrace and comprehend, so much and more spiritually.

It is not about the stuff. It is about God with us, “the Word made flesh,” the mystery of Emmanuel, the great blessing which is the extravagance of God’s grace, even “grace upon grace.” “Of his fullness have we all received.”

Lost in the desire for ‘stuff & things’ (sounds like the name of a new chain of stores), we forget the greater mystery. It is not the mystery of matter, an endless succession of stuff and things; no, Christmas is the mystery of God’s embrace of our world and humanity. It is the mystery of human redemption and the redemption of creation itself. The extravagance of Christmas is God’s embrace of the material world, its redemption, we might say, that allows the world of our material pleasures to become the greater vehicles of heavenly grace, if only we will behold and see.

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“The Lord is at hand”

Advent is the season of watching and waiting. So we have been saying, over and over again, it seems. Yet it needs to be said and it needs to be heard. There are always four Sundays of Advent that bring us to Christmas but there are not always four full weeks of Advent. This year the Advent season is as long as it can possibly be because Christmas falls on a Sunday. We get the full benefit of the Advent season, if we will take advantage of this time of watching and waiting. We need it for it is the counter to what I sometimes call the ‘frenectitude’, if I may coin a term, for this frantic and frenetic time. Our busyness becomes a kind of mindless madness. I speak, I am afraid to say, from personal experience!

We need the quiet darkness of Advent, especially in a culture of fearful anxiety. “In nothing be anxious,” Paul tells us this morning, literally “be not careful” in its older translation by William Tyndale, meaning be not so full of cares and worries. “Rejoice in the Lord,” Paul says. And, then, speaking to a culture of excess, he says, “let your moderation be known unto all men.” Moderation. And what is the antidote to our frantic frenetic busyness? Prayer. “Prayer and supplication with thanksgiving,” he says. And prayer in its most basic sense is all about asking. And asking is all about questions. And Advent is all about the questions; questions that catapult us into the presence of the one who comes. They are intrinsic to the watching and waiting. They are our watching and waiting. Advent is the season of questions.

What is our watching and waiting? It is our watching and waiting expectantly, our watching and waiting in hope, our looking and longing for something more and better, for some greater good, for blessedness. Advent is, in every way, the season of hope.

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