“A Little Child Shall Lead Us”
A Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Jean Niven
Sangster
Christmas Eve, 2012
First Congregational
Church of Stoughton, United Church of Christ
Text: Isaiah 9:2, 6; 11:6b
Finally, it is Christmas!
Christmas! So packed with
emotion, so drenched with meaning, that it becomes for us a point of reference
by which we can benchmark both the big and small events of our lives.
There are the Christmases to remember for their joy: the
first with your beloved… the first in your own home… with your new baby…
But Christmas is also a way of marking our sorrows. The ones spent at a hospital bedside, or with
a newly-empty chair at the table; the ones spent alone, feeling forgotten.
And there are those Christmases that, through the
generations, have too closely followed events in our nation and in our world which
have destroyed the peace or muted the joy of the season: the Christmases that
came too soon after Pearl Harbor, too soon after the assassination of John
Kennedy, the murder of John Lennon.
I remember well the year 1988 when, on the evening of
December 21, Pam Am Flight 103 exploded over the
Scottish town of Lockerbie, killing 270 people.
I was expecting my first child at the time, but the joy of my
anticipation was muted by an overwhelming sadness for the lives lost and the
loved ones left behind.
And then there is this year, when the joy of Christmas is
tempered by the loss of precious children: in our Stoughton community this past
fall; on Staten Island during Hurricane Sandy; 10 days ago in Newtown,
Connecticut.
There is something about the loss of a child that can lead
us to question God’s protection and presence.
There is something about the loss of a child that can lead us to wonder
about God’s goodness and mercy, that can even lead us to doubt God’s existence.
It is a foundational tenet of our faith that, as members of
the family of God, we are to rejoice with those who
rejoice, and weep with those who weep. And
weeping we have done recently. But it is
not just for others that we cry; it is also for ourselves, because for
many of us, our hearts are broken this Christmas, and we walk in the shadows of
sorrow, of pain, of fear.
But across the ages the prophet Isaiah declares: “The people who walked in darkness have seen
a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has
shined.”
Isaiah’s words, proclaimed 700 years before Christ’s birth,
were for the people of Israel, who were suffering in the shadows of bondage and
exile. But when Isaiah talks about “the
people who walked in darkness,” he is also talking about us. Because we all walk in darkness of one sort
or another – not just sorrow and pain and fear, but also separation, sickness,
suffering.
But listen to Isaiah’s words of hope for all of us who dwell
in the shadows: “For a child has been born…”
Into the deepest darkness radiates the light of a newborn’s
cry. And Isaiah is not talking about
just any child! He says, “For a child
has been born for us, a son given to us…”
The child is the long-awaited Messiah, and when in a humble
stable the Savior of the World is born to a young couple far from home in the
shadow of oppression and poverty, God shows us that no matter where we are, God
is there, too.
Because the manger cannot contain the Light of the World;
his radiance is beamed into the deepest shadows, pointing to new possibility
and new hope for the world. The Christ Child
shines his grace-filled love to the farthest margins and proclaims that no
person, no circumstance, no tragedy is beyond God’s healing light.
Yes, the loss of a child can lead us into the shadows of sorrow,
doubt, and fear. But it is also a little
child, the One born tonight, who will lead us out of our darkness and into the
light.
What are the shadows in which you dwell? Perhaps it is an illness
or the vulnerability of years, or the first without a dear one. Perhaps it is the shadow of separation from
the ones you love, whether by distance or estrangement, making tonight a time
of longing. Whatever and wherever it is,
God will enter into the darkness of our pain, our failure, our sorrow, and
shine the light of healing and hope – because wherever we are, God is there,
too. In Sandy Hook, in Staten Island, in
Stoughton, Massachusetts – God is with us.
Long ago, a radiant star hung in
the night sky over the manger and shone its light over Bethlehem. And no matter the darkness that envelopes our
world, the little child born on that long ago night will lead us into his light
– a light that shines as brightly tonight as it did on the first Christmas. The darkness did not overcome it then. It has not overcome it now. And it never will. Amen.
