“Just for Tonight”
A Meditation Preached by the
Rev. Jean Niven Lenk
Christmas Eve, 2011
First Congregational Church of Stoughton, United Church of Christ
Texts: The Birth Narratives from the Gospels of Matthew and Luke
Merry Christmas and welcome to all of you who have come this evening -- friends and family, church members and visitors, neighbors and out-of-towners. No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, we welcome you here to celebrate our Savior’s birth on this silent, holy night.
And even though two millennia separate us from that long-ago birth in the manger, tonight we too go to Bethlehem. That is part of the wonder of this night – the encounter of two worlds, the suspension of time and space, the power of eternity touching a moment in time, in which “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”[i]
In Bethlehem, we join the holy family gathered in a stable; we can see the new mother, tired but radiant; the attentive father watching protectively; the breath of the animals visible in the cold night air. We hear the lowing of the cattle and the rustle of straw. But most of all, we gaze in wonder at the baby, this long-expected Messiah, lying in a manger.
Every baby is a gift from God, and as with all babies, from the moment they are born, we imagine their futures. But with this baby, this little one named Jesus, we are in a unique position, because we have already seen his future; the gospel writers have already shown us what lies ahead and what it means for him, and also for us.
And so – knowing that the newborn lying in that manger is God who has come to us as one of us, the Word made flesh, what words might we want to share with the Christ child to welcome him into the human world? What prayer might we want to say to him and for him on this night of his birth?
Just for tonight, sweet baby, while you are still small and vulnerable, let us hold you in our arms and watch over you. Because there will be so many times during your earthly life that you will hold those who suffer and offer them new life and new hope. And eternally as the living Christ, you will hold us throughout our lives, taking us into your arms, carrying our burdens, lightening our load, and guiding us through the valley of the shadow to hope and new life on the other side.
Just for tonight, little one, let your tiny hands rest in ours. For though you are born King of kings, those hands will touch no silk, will carry no gold, will grasp no earthly scepter, will sign no imperial decrees. No, you will grow to use your hands for far more precious work: touching a leper’s wound, wiping away a widow’s tear, blessing and breaking bread, and giving it to your friends. You will offer those hands to help us stand up when life has brought us to our knees. And your hands, which tonight are so tiny, so perfect, so tender, will someday be wounded for us.
Just for tonight, Holy child, rest your eyes. For with those eyes you will someday look at the pain and loneliness of the world with compassion and envelope us in your healing love; you will see us as we are, warts and all, and love us anyway. You will see God’s purpose for our lives and guide us there. You will see God reflected in each one of us, and teach us to see with your eyes, too.
Hush now, sweet baby. Just for tonight, rest your tiny mouth, for someday from your mouth eternity will speak. Your tongue will summon the dead to life. Your words will teach lessons and define grace and pronounce blessings and paint pictures so we too might see our eternal God the way you know God to be. Your mouth will speak forgiveness and will invite us to paradise to be with you forever and will send us forth in your name to all the world. And your words will echo down through centuries, bringing hope and meaning to our lives.
Rest now, little one. Just for tonight, rest your tiny feet. For someday you will walk many miles to bring good news to the poor and proclaim release to the captives. Someday you will stride out in power across billowing waves in a storm-tossed sea. Someday your feet will be anointed with oil by a woman who prepares you for death, and your feet will bear the same nail prints as your hands. Rest your tiny feet now, for someday millions will follow in your footsteps.
And you will call us to transform the world by serving as your hands, your feet, your voice, your body – the church; you will call us to do your work in the world; to live out your vision of justice, mercy, compassion, and peace; to bring your message of love, forgiveness, and inclusion into the world.
But all of that will be someday. Just for tonight, we welcome you as a helpless, vulnerable baby, God with a human face; tonight, the Lord of heaven and earth stoops down, reverses roles, and allows us – the finite creature – to serve you, the infinite creator God.
In response, Holy Child, not just for tonight but always, we offer from the depths of our hearts our love, our gratitude, our very selves. In your precious holy name, we pray. Amen.
[i] This sermon was inspired by Rev. Dr. Amy Richter, Rector, St. Anne’s Episcopal Church, Annapolis, MD, http://www.episcopalchurch.org/sermons_that_work_130683_ENG_HTM.htm
