“Do You Hear What I Hear?” Luke 2:1-20

“Do You Hear What I Hear?”
Luke 2:1-20

For many, this night is filled with a romantic picture of the Holy Family nestled in a barn. A couple of clean-shaven shepherds stand, staring in loving rapture at the Babe, wrapped in a blue blanket, tucked into his straw-filled manger. Nearby, a cow rests on her belly in repose and a sheep lays with her head, gently, on the ground, both in worshipful admiration. Slightly off-center, but obviously the focus of the picture, is Baby Jesus glowing in Divine radiance. Overhead, an angel hovers and stands guard while, in the distance, a star twinkles in the dark night’s sky.  You can practically hear the strains of Away in A Manger and O Little Town of Bethlehem emanating from the picture.

This dreamy, Norman Rockwell-esque picture presents us a solemn, yet joyous moment in the history of God’s plan of salvation, one that we traditionally, piously, and reverently treasure this night every December. We gather with family and friends to hear the old, old story and sing the old, old hymns. We light our candles and we sing Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht knowing that all is calm and all is bright, for in that Bethlehem stable, joy has indeed come to the world in the birth of the Lord.

There is nothing wrong with having this picture in our head, even if it is more simple and sentimental than based in fact. But, if that is all our picture is, an American Greetings moment, we miss something, something important.

Shh…do you hear it? Off in the distance…do you hear what I hear? The cries of a woman in labor carry out a stable and echo down the streets of the town. There is pain in that sound, a hurt that is unlike any other pain a woman experiences; but, hidden beneath the hurt is also joy and hope, knowing that in from this pain comes birth, from birth comes life, the life of a newborn child. There’s also a more subtle sound, harder to hear. It’s lower in register. This is a father’s word of encouragement for his wife, strong but gentle and rich with humility, knowing that in that moment he is helpless to do anything other than support his wife and hold her as best he can.  A final scream from the mother, a word from the father and then, there…do you hear it? There it is: the baby’s cry. A baby’s cry is difficult to describe but, like a good song, we just know it when we hear it. From the darkness of night, in that cry is the sound of life. In that Life is the Light of man.

Do you hear it? That baby’s cry is the same as has been sung since the birth of Cain and Able; it’s the cry you and I gave when we were born. But, this baby’s cry-song is different. This is no normal baby: It’s the sound of God entering into His own created world, Jesus, son of Mary; Immanuel, God with us.

That’s the sound I want you to hear tonight – the sound of a baby. But, not just any baby. No, in this Baby, God comes to us. Conceived, supernaturally by the Holy Spirit; born, naturally, through Mary. In this Baby, the Divine takes on humanity; God dwells among us. Mary’s baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a Bethlehem manger without a home to call His own – He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords, as Isaiah foretold it, but He, of humble birth, is not adorned with gilded blankets and satin linens; He resides not in a castle among kings and princes but in a stable with His mother who considers herself least of all women and Joseph, whom God chose to be surrogate father, appointed caretaker and provider for God’s Son, His only-begotten Son.  

He is a baby, so He is like you in every way. Yet, also He is God, so He is completely opposite you, without sin. As Baby and God, He is Jesus, to be your Savior.

Do you hear this? He is your Savior. Don’t forget this behind the romance of the night with that perfect Christmas card picture. He more, much more than just the subject of art, the muse behind songs crooned by musicians for an increasingly secular holiday that openly mocks its own namesake. Christ is your Savior and Christ-mass is the celebration that recalls that Jesus enters to redeem a sin-contaminated world filled with sin-contaminated people, neither of which can save itself from the damnable condemnation of eternal separation with God.

It has been said that Jesus is the greatest gift of all. This is true. He Himself is a gift of love. Wonders of wonders, the Gift delivers a gift as well.

Do you hear it? Listen closely; listen again. There it is, in the angels’s song sung from the heavens, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace among those with whom He is pleased.” Do you hear the gift? The gift is peace.

We think of peace as the absence of war, the cessation of fighting. The gift of peace that the angels deliver is even greater: it’s the restoration of wholeness between God and man. Peace declares that sin’s separating power is destroyed.

The cross is still years into the future for Jesus. The hill of Calvary cannot be seen from Bethlehem, both because of distance and time. The truth of Jesus as already being a living sacrifice has not registered in Mary or Joseph’s heads. Jesus fulfilling the Law for us, living perfectly for us, remaining sinless for us; His miracles, His teaching, His life of sacrificial love; His proclamation of repentance and forgiveness; His challenging the people’s idea of religion – all of these are to come, completely unknown to Jesus’ mother and step-father and the entire world. Yet, remarkably the promise of peace, the word of restoration, is already proclaimed by the heavenly messengers. Peace is already being fulfilled in the Baby. In Jesus, born in the Bethlehem, resting in a stable manger, perhaps surrounded by barnyard animals, with dirty, stinky shepherds who almost assuredly were anything but clean-shaven, with a tired yet joy-filled mother resting nearby under the watchful eyes of a curious but obedient father – this is for you.

Did you hear it? For you: for you whose life doesn’t shine with social network perfection, whose story isn’t glamorous, whose closet contents you pray never see the light of day, whose families are less than holy in appearance, who are tested to remain faithful, who see the intersection of faith and life as less of a struggle and more like a collision, who remembers the sins of this past year with shame and guilt – Jesus is for you. He comes for you. He was born for you. He lives for you. He dies for you. He rises for you. In this, His death and resurrection, He saves you from your sins and guilt, all those things that tarnish us and out thoughts, words and deeds, our relationships, and our families. His peace declares that you are forgiven of all these, and more, and none of these shall separate you from the love of God.

Perhaps this isn’t the typical Christmas sermon that you’ve grown used to hearing over the years. That’s OK. This isn’t the typical Christmas, either. In fact, most of the things we consider to be part of a “normal” Christmas has been stripped away this year. Instead of family get-togethers, we have family stay-aparts. Instead of full Frasier Firs we have scraggly Charley Browns, even in Rockefeller Center. Piles of gifts have been replaced by one or two carefully chosen gifts that were scrimped and saved from an already tight family budget. Kids’ wish lists, that normally have things like 4-wheelers and the newest gaming systems, now list a job for mom, full-time work for dad. Merle Haggard’s song, “If we make it through December” seems a lot more poignant than “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” “Joy to the world,” indeed…for many, it’s difficult to feel joy in times like this.

If you read my Christmas letter, I said there is a left-handed blessing in our “normal” Christmas being stripped away. Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing good in not being able to be with family, in people being sick and dying, in loneliness and heartache, in the losses we continue to endure. But, as I’ve said before, when life narrows down and it comes at you hard, there in the middle stands Jesus. With everything else stripped away from Christmas this year, we are more clearly able to see Jesus. Not the mere caricature on Christmas cards, the romantic scene that comes to mind, but Jesus, the Son of God made flesh who comes to dwell among us. With much of the noise and hulabaloo of the secular Christmas silenced, we can hear the sounds of the Nativity. Nativity comes out of Latin; it means birth. Not just any, but Jesus’ birth. “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which shall be for all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord” (v. 10-11). 

So, tonight, here in the Lord’s house; this evening at your home with a few family members; tomorrow, by yourself, let’s not celebrate Christmas. Instead open your Bible to Luke 2 and remember and celebrate the Nativity – the birth – of Jesus, your Savior, who brings the gift of peace between you and God, and God and you.

Shhh…do you hear it? It’s no mere picture on a card emanating imaginary sounds. This is the Nativity, the birth of Jesus, “this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us,” (Luke 2:15)

Blessed Nativity to you all.
In Jesus’ name.
Amen.