Scripture: Luke 2:1-14
In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be
registered. (2) This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor
of Syria. (3) All went to their own towns to be registered. (4) 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. (5) He went to be registered with Mary,
to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. (6) While they were there, the time
came for her to deliver her child. (7) 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. (8) In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over
their flock by night. (9) Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of
the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. (10) But the angel said to them,
"Do not be afraid; for see - I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the
people: (11) to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah,
the Lord. (12) This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of
cloth and lying in a manger." (13) And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude
of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, (14) "Glory to God in the highest
heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!"
- Luke 2: 1-14
Christmas is a time for the unexpected. Shepherds did not expect to hear angels sing
from the heavens about peace on earth. The innkeeper who put the holy family in the stable
obviously did not expect this baby to be the Son of God, else he would certainly have
given them a room. Not only children, but even adults have been known to peek beneath beds
and in closets trying to discover their gifts ahead of time. And for most of us, the best
part of gift-giving and receiving is the unexpected gift that never even appeared on a
Christmas list.
Last week, something quite unexpected happened here at Pasadena Presbyterian Church. A
water pipe burst outside on Colorado Blvd., bringing water and mud into the basements of
one of our buildings, and the building next door. The City of Pasadena placed a large
yellow sign on the doors of the church for five days that said: "Enter at your own
risk."
In hindsight, it is hard to find a more appropriate Christmas message than that: Enter
at your own risk. On that first Christmas, God risked entering our world, a risk that led
to death on a cross, but a risk that led to our knowing the depth and power of God's love
for us.
On this night of nights, God invites us to enter a stable on whose door are the words,
"Enter at your own risk." For those who choose to enter and bend their knee to
worship the baby Jesus shall be changed, shall go to places in our own heart and outside
our skin that we'd rather not go, shall feel pain and find courage beyond our imagining,
shall know the despair of the cross and the joy of resurrection both in this life and in
the life to come. So, enter the church, the stable, tonight, at your own risk.
Enter at your own risk ... that's what God did on Christmas. God came to us, not as a
superhero able to punch through walls or leap buildings in a single bound. God came to us,
not as a wizard able to fly or cast spells. God came to us not as a ruler of a great
nation with the financial means to alleviate poverty and disease, or armies to root out
those who manipulate others for evil ends.
God came to us in the riskiest of ways: as a small little baby, the most vulnerable of
all humanity. God came to us as one dependent upon others for food and warmth, and safety,
kicking stones in the dirt with other children, spilling his milk at dinner, crying into
his pillow at night when his heart broke.
God knows the risk of being human, but in Jesus Christ, God assumed that risk anyway.
So we know that God is with us, wherever humanity is found.
This God dries the tears of children who go to bed hungry and parents who can't pay the
bills.
This God aches when people are ill and weeps when they die, longs for people to love
and be loved.
This God eats with those whom society casts out, who heals those whom others call
hopeless, who speaks truth even when rejected.
This God walks along the streets of Bethlehem, not only centuries ago as Jews feared
Romans, but today as Jews, Palestinians and Arabs, Christians, Jews and Muslims walk
Bethlehem once again in fear.
This God dares to be on the battlefield with U.S. Marines and Taliban fighters, giving
strength to women under the burka, children on the streets of Peru, and homeless under the
bridges of Pasadena.
This God knows that courage is not cheap, love is neither legalistic nor lawless, and
only faith will lead us through our fear.
This God knows that which brings the greatest good entails the greatest risk.
So God came to earth and walked among us, risking all in a baby's birth and a savior's
death.
The "Enter at your own risk" sign is gone from the church door tonight, but
the risk remains - oh no, not from the building, but to you and me, nonetheless.
For in this church, this stable, if you dare bend your knee before the manger, you
might find your life changed tonight: a burden removed, a grudge lifted, an addiction
recognized, so that Christ will change your life and tomorrow will be different. You might
find a heart that has been sealed over, able to feel again, and tears running down your
cheeks as though from a dam that has given way. So enter at your own risk.
In this church tonight, this stable, if you bend your knee before the manger, you might
find yourself leaving an office job and becoming a teacher, or giving your Saturday
morning to tutor children, or devoting time to an organization that could never afford to
pay for your services.
You might find yourself healing, years after your parents' divorce, healing enough to
dare to commit yourself in marriage and to trust that God will help you make it work for
the rest of your life.
Or you may have the courage finally to speak the truth and name the secrets you've held
inside. So enter at your own risk.
In this church, this stable, if you dare to bend your knee before the Christ child, you
might find yourself seeing the world's pain again and choosing to be a voice for those who
cannot speak for themselves, to carry those too weak to walk on their own, or to walk
beside those who need someone's hand during a time of great sorrow or struggle.
In this church tonight, if you dare to enter the stable and bend your knee before the
Christ child, you may find yourself praying for the children of Taliban and Al Queda
fighters who, by accident of birth are now orphaned and grieving; and praying for the
children of our own soldiers, who, by accident of birth now wonder if their parents will
come home safely.
Enter this stable with caution, or run headlong with praise and thanksgiving, but know
that it carries risk. In this sacred place you may find yourself exchanging hatred for
love, despair for peace, bitterness for hope. You might even find yourself so grateful to
God tonight that you empty your whole wallet into the offering plate. I warn you, enter at
your own risk.
For in this stable that is the church, we proclaim that God's light shines in the
darkness and shall never go out. In this stable that is the church, we proclaim and live
the hope that never gives up. In this stable that is the church, we proclaim the
audacious, vulnerable power of God known in a little child who grew up with courage that
made incarnate in his life, the reality that God and good are greater than the deepest
despair and the most despicable evil. In this stable that is the church, we find a savior
who risks entering our reality so we can know the depth and breadth of God's love for us;
a Christ child who invites us to risk entering God's reality so the world may know the
depth and breadth of God's love through us.
On this night of nights, take the risk and enter the stable. God has already opened the
door for you by God's own risk to become human and die on a cross. You need only bend your
knee at the manger and pray, "cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us
today." As the angels said, "to us is born this day in the city of David, a
Savior, who is Christ, the Lord." Amen.
