Sing loud for all to hear
Sermon on Luke 2:22-40
O come, all ye faithful…
This year, Christmas has been different. Very different. At our house lots of tears were shed while decorating the tree on December 24th. As much as we tried to make it homey and beautiful, it reminded us even more of the people we missed. Of our parents back in Germany, our siblings, our friends whom we had hoped to see after Christmas, just like last year. We cried and we hugged and we cried some more. And then, we turned on Christmas Carols. My daughter said: Please, turn on the ones that make you happy and sad at the same time. The old ones. So, we sat and listened to boys from Cambridge singing the old tunes. And cried. Until Toni said. Ok, now, the funny ones. Rudolf and Jingle Bells. Now, I want to be a little happy again. Well, it worked. Within minutes we danced through the living room.
This year, Christmas has been different. Very different. In many ways sad and lonely. So many things we missed. So many people we couldn’t see. Many of you were alone this year. For the first time in your lives. We thought Easter was hard during the first lockdown. And we learned the hard way that Christmas is even harder during another lockdown.
In the hopeless time of sin shadows deep had fallen.
All the world lay under death. Eyes were closed in sleeping.
Some of you decorated more than ever to feel Christmas against all odds. Some of you decided to be a bit more Grinchy, admitting that Christmas won’t be the same this year. Some of you needed others to do the work. Some of you needed to do all the work. Others were struggling to do anything at all. Many of us tried to stay busy with projects so that we didn’t have to think or feel too much about the losses and longings. Just to learn that we would think and feel anyway. Some of you miss loved ones so much that your heart hurts, that you want to talk about them all the time or not at all. Some want the holidays to be over, others are grateful for any kind of normalcy this year. All of this is how grieving during the holidays and especially in a year like this may look like. And this year other than usual no one is exempt.
Yes, we got each other presents. Maybe even more than in the years before. To compensate for the loneliness, for the hugs we couldn’t give, and the cuddles on the couch. For the kicks under the table for things one shouldn’t say and the raised eyebrows when they were said anyway. For the faces beaming from joy and too much wine and food that we couldn’t smell and touch. For the love and sadness, we couldn’t feel when everyone is about to leave again. Because we never got to see each other in the first place.
Love! Love! Love is the gift of Christmas;
Love! Love! Praise to you, God on high!
And we knew that so many other people were struggling to even put food on the table this year, let alone presents under the tree.
It’s been hard. Our joy was mixed with the salty taste of tears. With the feeling that really, Christmas isn’t about the presents. It’s about God and it’s about the people we celebrate God with and we sing with about God.
That’s probably what I have missed most this year. To sing the old and new songs about Christmas and all its miracles with a room full of people. Like Elf says in the movie: “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”
So, this year I did it the pandemic way. On the evening of the 23 rd I stood in my driveway and sang. The kids joined me a little later. And we just sang. Rudolf and Jingle Bells, Joy to the World and Silent Night. And after a while, the doors of our neighboring houses opened and our elderly neighbors stepped out. And listened. Maybe even sang along. I don’t know. It was dark and we were far apart. Yet, it felt like the Christmas Spirit of bringing people together around the birth of Jesus really was in the air.
Just like it was when a small group of us caroled in front of some members’ homes a week ago. The sound of soft voices trying to sing together but apart, distanced but as one choir, brought the Christmas Spirit alive.
And, to quote Elf again. Singing? “Oh, it’s easy, it’s just like talking - except louder and longer and you move your voice up and down.”
And I wonder, which songs rang true for you these past days. Which songs have touched your hearts and souls? Which words felt close to you? Which melodies?
In today’s Gospel, there are two hidden carols. One with words and one without words. Both are full of hope and thankfulness. And they talk about death and lives fulfilled.
This flow’r, whose fragrance tender (Es ist ein Ros entsprungen)
with sweetness fill the air,
dispels with glorious splendor
the darkness everywhere.
True man, yet very God,
from sin and death he saves us
and lightens ev’ry load.
According to Luke, it’s now forty days after Jesus’ birth. After eight days, Jesus had been circumcised and named in accordance with Jewish law. Now, thirty-two days later, his parents are again performing their duty as faithful Jews by returning to the Temple. This time in order to offer a sacrifice and to consecrate their child to the Lord.
They must have been in a reverent, even solemn mood that day, the way many young parents are when their first child is to be baptized. And so, for this very reason, they were perhaps startled, even frightened, when Simeon, old beyond years and beaming with ecstatic revelation, comes up to them to touch the child and then begins to sing.
Note, however, that he’s not singing of angels and mangers but rather that he sings of letting go, of departing, of – truth be told – dying. Why does Simeon offer this oddest of Christmas carols to the holy family? Because in the infant Jesus he has seen a sign and token that the Lord has kept the promises made to the Israelites of old and, trusting God’s promises, is able to accept his own death with courage.
He sings: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word;
for my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel.”
Simeon sees and receives Jesus. He feels that now he has seen what he needed to see to leave this world. Christmas prepares Simeon to die. And he continues to sing: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
What a disturbing promise to young parents. Your soul will be pierced by a sword. There will be pain so great that your heart will feel like bursting and your soul like screaming. Because this child is something special. And he will be opposed. And he will die way too young.
“This is the Christ, God’s Son most high, (Vom Himmel hoch)
who hears your sad and bitter cry,
who will himself your Savior be
and from all sin will set you free.”
That’s part of the Christmas message. That God comes to us, as close as possible, in a vulnerable baby. And that this baby everyone loves and cuddles at the beginning will be crucified as a young adult. That love combined with truth is hard to take for us humans. That God comes to us and saves us from losing hope. And yet, there is still death all around us. Because God doesn’t save us from death. Just from the fear of death.
Anna sings next. She too is very old. But her words are not songs of death but of praise and thanksgiving. She, too, receives the Christ child as a sign that God keeps God’s promises and all she can do is respond with thanksgiving, glorifying God.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn king!”
We are called to sing all kinds of songs. No song is better, every song has power.
Songs continue to create light and life. Songs give us hope and allow us to express what is deep inside of us. Songs share the story of Jesus. Sometimes all we can do is sing, and that’s not a bad thing at all! And God will hear our Christmas Carols. The joyful and the solemn ones, the loudly sang and the ones we quietly cry into our pillows these days.
When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain, (Korn das in die Erde)
your touch can call us back to life again,
fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been;
love is come again like wheat arising green.
Amen.
