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United Church of Paducah
4600 Buckner Lane
Paducah, KY 42001
(270) 442-3722
Worship Times
Sunday Service: 10:00a
Refreshments &
Fellowship: 11:15a
Christian Education
For All Ages:
11:20a - Noon
Nursery Services Provided Handicap Accessible
All Are Welcome!
A Congregation Of The
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From December 24, 2007
Christmas Message
On this holy night, Isaiah, prophet of old,
speaks of the one to come, the child who will be given so
that God's promises might at last be fulfilled, so that
God's shalom--God's peace--might finally become the human
family's enduring reality.
On this holy night, Matthew and Luke once more tell a story
in which impossible things happen to improbable people in
unlikely places in the darkest of times. All by God's
design. And all for you and me.
If we don't quite know these scriptures by heart, we
certainly recognize their cadence and content. It would not
be Christmas without Isaiah and Matthew and Luke. It would
not be Christmas without the peaceable kingdom, without
shepherds looking up and angels coming down. It would not be
Christmas without the lowing of cattle and a baby's soft
cry.
This is why we sing. And so fully. It would not be Christmas
if all we did was listen. Tonight we rise up, singing carols
we've been aching all month for, ones that give voice to our
wonder, our joy, and our gratitude for this Christmas
miracle.
At Christmas, nothing should change. Southern kitchen diva
Paula Deen has but one Christmas commandment, one "thou
shalt not." Let me quote her chapter and verse: "Don't mess
with the holidays!"
Now, if I might be so bold as to interpret St. Paula's word
of wisdom, what I understand her to be saying is that this
is the season for sticking with the tried and true. The
tried and true decorations and recipes and traditions and
music and everything else that makes this season so
indescribably special.
I know this was so at my house. Although my mother was
enormously creative, highly inclined toward experimentation,
even she knew enough to hit the "repeat" button on the
Christmas machine. The only surprises permitted were the
ones hidden inside wrapped packages tucked under our tree.
Otherwise, leading up to the big day, it was the Christmas
album featuring my mother's college choir and the jingle
bell door decoration with Santa's elf on the bottom. It was
the dime store crche Mom upgraded with ribbon and fabric
and carefully set out in a special spot. It was coconut
macaroons with half a maraschino cherry set smack dab in the
center of each one.
Christmas was our stockings pinned to the sides of our beds
on the 24th because we didn't have a fireplace. Christmas
morning, after every last present had been opened and the
tree checked and doubled checked to be sure nothing had been
overlooked, we always sat down to a breakfast of Danish
abelskivers and bacon. Afterwards it was dancing in the
living room to holiday tunes arranged by Herb Alpert and the
Tijuana Brass and then playing with, trying on, and testing
out everything my brother and I had received that day.
Christmas was not to be fiddled with. Looking back, I can
think of only two variations that were ever permitted.
First, if Christmas happened to fall on a Sunday, then we
bundled up and went to church. Second, if we were in Utah
for the holiday, then we happily celebrated Grama Winkel's
way.
Someone wisely remarked that no matter how liberal,
open-minded, or go-with-the-flow we might think we are,
we're all traditionalists at Christmas. We don't want
Christmas to change. We want to enter in again to a time
most magical, most marvelous, most miraculous, that timeless
time when trouble and strife give way to quiet peace, and
our hearts swell as we catch sight at last of a tiny child,
lowly born and yet our king.
This moment is so familiar and yet at the very same time it
feels fresh and wonderful and so long overdue. But we cannot
command this moment's coming. We can only receive it. Or
him, rather, this one we celebrate, the holy infant whose
birth graces us with everything we've ever wanted: deep
peace, abiding joy, unsurpassed love, light in our darkness,
unbridled hope, and a knowing that he is the source of and
not simply the occasion for these gifts.
Tonight is the night we want nothing more than what we've
always had. We want this, we want him, we want nothing to
change.
And we are not disappointed.
Each Christmas, as Isaiah's prophecies resound, as Mary and
Joseph make their way to Bethlehem, as a stable becomes a
birthing place, God delivers to us what does not and cannot
change. The sublime and the ineffable and the pure miracle
of Emmanuel--God at last and ever with us.
And yet, and yet, this gift God gives tonight indeed
introduces change. Because the incarnation means change. God
comes to us and dwells among us.
God comes to us, taking on flesh and bone. God comes to us,
taking on our suffering and our brokenness. God comes to us,
taking on the religious establishment and the Roman Empire,
as well as the establishments and empires of our own hearts
and lives that serve to keep love small and justice at bay.
After tonight, everything is subject to change. Nothing is
off limits for the God of love, for the Word made Flesh.
This child born tonight? He will change, he will grow, and
he will move into the world to set wrongs right. He will
bring reconciliation to a world bent on revenge. He will
bring the flowing waters of justice where oppression has
evaporated every hope. He will set captives free. He will
bring sight to the blind. He will lay his hands upon us and
restore us to wholeness.
Emmanuel, the Prince of Peace, Jesus, Son of God--by
whatever name we call him, this one simply cannot fulfill
his mission without ushering in change. He was born for
this. Born to set creation right. Born to fulfill the
promises of the prophets. Born to lead us from the agony of
exile back into the land of blessing, the land we were born
to inhabit.
But he will not, cannot do this by himself. He will enlist
us just as surely as he enlisted men minding their business
and mending their nets along the Sea of Galilee. He will
come to us and call upon us to join with him, to follow his
lead.
And our decision will center around more than whether we
want to go with him. It will hinge upon the question of
whether we ourselves are willing to change. Change how we
see our enemies, how we view the poor, how we regard the
events of the day and the world around us.
He will change us. Change how we order our days and think
about our choices. He will change our hearts and minds and
lives.
We know this, deep down. We know that the baby's birth
ushers in changes of every kind. And we know, we know deep
down, how desperate we are for things to be made right
again. We know that compassion is in such short supply these
days. Forgiveness, too. We are weary of the same stories
played out every night, every year in the news.
Even as we resist change, we crave it too. We crave the
fullness of life and the restored creation Christ intends.
Change will come. But tonight, tonight is for receiving what
does not change. And for trusting the one who--from
beginning to end, from humble birth to humiliating death to
holy resurrection--does not change.
Tonight, we receive him and simply rest in his presence. His
peace. We rest in the miracle it is to gather 'round him and
revel in the light that shines out from him, light that
drives back the darkness.
Tonight, we will make mangers of our hearts. And hold this
tiny one close, closer, closest. We enter into the
unchanging beauty and splendor of this most holy night.
Receiving in full the familiar and so-longed-for comfort and
joy that the Christ child imparts.
"And a little child will lead them," the prophet of old
insists. Tonight he is newborn and perhaps, so are we.
Tonight we rest in his presence. And in the days to come, we
will wait for his timing, his cue, and his lead.
Let us pray: Holy and Gracious God, thank you for gathering
us this holy night to receive the unchanging gift of your
love. We open our arms, our hearts, our lives to receive
your Son, the Prince of Peace, the Everlasting Light. We
thank you for helping us this Advent prepare room for him.
And we thank you for all you are doing, even now, to prepare
us to journey with him into world that so needs the changes
he intends to bring. We rest in your loving arms tonight and
are grateful that your love would come to us in the flesh.
We are grateful you love us too much to allow us to stay the
same. Amen.
© Rev. Karen Winkel
United Church of Paducah (UCC) This message
was inspired by and borrows from "Sermon for Christmas Day,"
given by Bishop Steven Charleston, December 24, 2005. |
"Never place a period where God has placed a comma." - Gracie
Allen
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Please join us for a special viewing of
Paper Clips
on May 4th at 12 noon.
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