God's Christmas Gift to You
God knows my hurts and my fears. The wonder of Christmas is that God devised a way to come to us not to hurt you or me but only help us through the birth of the baby Jesus. Luke 2:6-7a tells us about "God's Christmas Gift to You." December 24, 2009.
I just don’t want to get hurt. I’ve had enough of that. I know what pain is like, and I don’t want any more. Maybe an occasional “one” or “two” on the pain scale, but not a “three” or more and not persistently. The thought of more hurt coming my way makes me want to duck, like I just got hit with one shoe, and the other is about to come flinging at me. “Come on, pastor! It’s Christmas Eve, and the candlelight service to boot. Christmas is light and joy and niceness and peace. Why are you talking about hurt and pain? Tell us a story of soldiers who stopped shooting at each other and shared food rations on Christmas Eve. Tell us about little kids drawing pictures of reindeer, ornaments on a Christmas tree, and presents. Tell us how neighbors finally buried the hatchet and got along.” OK, I hear you. But it’s still true, even on Christmas Eve. I don’t want to get hurt. And I’m not just talking about the arthritic ache from sprained ankles and strained muscles that echo athletic competition of decades gone by, nor the bruise on the hip from that encounter with the counter while trying to race out the door to get to work on time, nor the time the bed-stand jumped in the way of the big toe after the alarm yelled, “Get up!” on a dark December morning. I’m talking about the hurt inside, the broken heart. You know what I mean. You’ve felt it, too, haven’t you? Saying “Good-bye” to Grandma and Grandpa after a week of toys and games. The love note or text message passed between classes that turned out to be the break-up note; dropping your firstborn at his dorm for the first year of college and turning to drive away; waiting for the sound of the shovel’s first splash of dirt on your loved one’s casket. I don’t like those hurts. Who does?
But the hurt I’m most worried about is even worse. It’s realizing that what I have said or done or thought is wrong. It’s the razor-sharp edge of the conscience slicing into my soul. It’s the pain from guilt, knowing I’ve done wrong, and shame, feeling like there’s something wrong with me. And that’s when the fear of the worst hurt hits me. I don’t want God to hurt me. He can, and he has hurt people.
Look at what happened to Cain when he killed his brother. God dropped a curse on his head. How about the people before the Flood? God gave them one hundred twenty years to get their act together. They preferred swimming in their own sin, so God drowned them in it. And what about the people who were supposed to be the people of God, the Israelites? The entire Old Testament is the sad tale of their rebellion. Ten tribes wiped from the face of the earth by the back of God’s hand, and the two remaining disciplined with destruction and deportation. How about in the New Testament era? Everything was going so well in Jerusalem’s early church until a couple came forward with a money gift from a land sale and lied about the amount right in the apostles’ faces. For such crass evil God zapped them dead right then and there. It may be Christmas, and I can paste a smile over the hurt in my heart and pretend like I’m not afraid to face God, pretend like I’m not afraid of God putting the hurt on me, but I know he could and he should.
But here’s where the Christmas message comes into play. God knows my hurt and my fears, too. The wonder of Christmas is that he devised a way to come to us not to hurt you or me but only help us. How? Anyone who’s got sense knows that God’s presence is too much for us, too bright, too holy, too pure. Like the shepherds who were watching their flocks at night we cringe at the thought of his appearing, and they were only confronted by angels and yet were terrified! How did God do it? How could he possibly come to us and not scare the livin’ daylights out of us? While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. A baby. A baby, helpless and also harmless.
Here is your God. Here is your Savior. Here is the one who will help you. Don’t be afraid! He’s not going to hurt you. He’s not like a miniature alligator in a cage which we would approach trembling even though the trainer says, “He won’t bite.” He’s not like a coiled up snake seemingly asleep in the shade but ready to spring with fangs and hiss. He’s a baby. He’s not going to hurt you. In fact, he is the one who took on the hurt God should have put on your back and mine, and he is the one who guarantees that we’ll never be hurt by God. That’s the true Christmas message. That’s what the angels meant when they sang about peace. God is not going to hurt you. He has come to help you avoid the flames of hell and walk each day on the path to the halls of heaven, halls glistening, gilded, comfortable, and calm where you and I will sit down for lunch with God and walk with him hand in hand.
Will you have more bumps and bruises before you step through those pearly gates? Sure! Will you have more heartaches? Sure! But not from God. He has come to help you, to heal your soul. How do we know? The time came for the baby to be born– a baby! – and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son, God’s Christmas gift to you. Amen.
Preached at Grace Lutheran Church, Milwaukee, WI (http://www.gracedowntown.org/) on December 24, 2009
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