Christmas Eve 2025, 9 pm
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.
Now in that same region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them, and Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told them.
I remember the very first time I ever stepped into this pulpit. And I remember how amazed I was by the bird’s eye view. From up here, I can literally see everyone in this room. I can make eye contact with every person, in every corner. And that means that I know when you pull your phones out. I can see those surreptitiously exchanged whispers and giggles. And that eyeroll you think I didn’t catch? I did.
But of all the vantage points of all the services, the most enjoyable is Christmas Eve. Because on Christmas Eve, I get to watch you try to stay awake!
Now, that is not a judgment. It’s late for some of you. And church is boring for others of you. And besides all that, even if you’re a night owl; even if you love church, by this point in the season, we are all just exhausted. We’ve been at this jam-packed Christmas thing for about a month now. But hang on because the finish line is in sight!
Now, truth be told, the only reason I’m still awake tonight is sheer adrenaline and continued employment. Because I’m tired too. Christmas is my most taxing time of my year. By comparison, Easter is a piece of cake. It’s over in a week: Palm Sunday to Easter. But Christmas – well, it just goes on and on and on.
A few weeks ago, when the staff and I were working on ten different Christmas services at the same time, I hit a wall. And I laid my head on my desk and said out loud, to no one in particular: “I’m just so tired.”
But that’s the thing about speaking to no one in particular. The Lord is always around to hear it. And I wonder if it wasn’t the Lord who whispered right back to me: “Exhaustion is part and parcel of the Christmas story.”
“In those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered.” And that meant that everyone had to go back to their ancestor’s home, even if that was a place they themselves had never lived. And since Joseph was descended from King David, and since King David was from Bethlehem, Joseph and Mary had make the 90-mile trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem.
Tradition says that a very pregnant Mary rode a donkey to get there, but that’s not explicitly stated anywhere. So maybe it was on a donkey or in the back of a wagon or on foot. But however she did it, the journey itself was arduous and exhausting. Because the terrain was hilly. And the roads were bumpy. And there was danger around every corners.
And Mary’s body ached. And the baby took much of her energy. And her feet were swollen. And she was so very tired. So tired, in fact, that by the time they got to Bethlehem, she would have slept anywhere.
In that same region, there were shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. That’s a nice way of saying they were on the night shift. To keep watch over the flock meant that you took turns looking out for wolves and thieves and wandering sheep. You ate with the sheep and slept outdoors with the sheep. And you never had a day off. And it was exhausting.
But on this night, an angel of the Lord appeared to them and announced the birth of the Savior of the World. And then the sky filled with an angel choir singing Peace to everyone and goodwill for all. Well, this was the most exciting thing that they had ever experienced. And so, they got up, bones creaking and joint aching, and traveled to Bethlehem to see this thing that had happened.
So, you see, exhaustion is part and parcel of the Christmas story. It’s baked right in. But this story has been told so often and in such a sanitized way that we barely see these people as humans. We’re so busy placing halos on their heads that we cannot see the exhaustion on their faces. And that means we cannot see ourselves in their faces. And we miss the point.
In 1891, an American painter named Julius Garibaldi Melchers unveiled his riveting work entitled “The Nativity.” Melchers was a proponent of “naturalism” - the idea that visual art should portray the subject matter truthfully. And that is what he does in his stark portrayal of the Holy Family on that first Christmas night.
Melchers paints Mary sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, and leaning heavily on Joseph. Her eyes are closed. Her face is pale and almost lifeless. At her feet there is the hint of blood - a sign of the struggle of childbirth. The mother of the Lord is seen for what she actually was: exhausted and spent.
Likewise, Joseph sits in a stooped position. His hands are clasped, and he is lost in thought, worried about his wife, wondering if this child would even survive the night. And his own back ached. And his mind raced. And he had never been so tired.
And that’s how some of us feel. And it’s not just about the busyness of Christmas. It’s also the state of the world on this Christmas Eve. It’s the anger and the cruelty of our common language. It’s our fear about the future of this planet, and the pain in our own bodies, and the relationships which we fear may not survive. It’s about our wavering faith. And we are all so very tired.
I have always loved the carol “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” I love it because of its unflinching recognition of the state of this weary world and the crushing loads we all carry. But I love it more for its relentless hope of a world made right, and for its gentle invitation to “rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.”
And maybe that’s why you’re here tonight, long past your bedtime. Maybe that’s why you’re here tonight, unsure as you might be about any of this. You want to hear the angels sing again. You want, if only for a moment, to rest beside the weary road. You want to dream God’s dream of “peace on this earth” and “goodwill for all.”
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