Blue Christmas
I’d like to begin tonight by talking about a couple of things that, I’m guessing, at first blush really don’t seem to have much to do with one another. Flashlights and chickens. Several weeks ago I was at Costco, and they had these big LED flashlights on sale. We don’t have any really bright flashlights at home, and I’ve always thought we should have a couple. So, I picked two of them up. Two of these babies! And they are super bright! They’re bright enough, in fact, that there’s a sensor built into the front of it that detects if there’s a physical object in close proximity to the lens. If something gets too close it automatically shuts off, in order to prevent heat build-up and a potential fire.
As to chickens (have you ever heard a sermon that contained that phrase?) As to chickens, I have some. Five, to be precise. A black Copper Maran and four buff Orpingtons. Originally, I had three Copper Marans and two Americaunas. But in a failed effort at free-ranging them, I lost all but one of the Copper Marans.
I had kept them in the coop for a full week, as a friend of mine had recommended, and then let them out. But when I came back in the evening, there was only one that was anywhere near the coop. The others were all gone. I tried to catch the one remaining one, but she was not yet ready to be caught. Not wanting to utterly terrorize her, I decided not to chase her around too much, opting instead to try again later.
So, I went out later when it was dark. And I had my flashlight with me. I didn’t have it turned on at first, because there was enough light from the back of the house to see where she was. But as I approached her, she began to run away. So, I turned the flashlight on, and she absolutely froze in place. The sudden brightness overwhelmed her, which allowed me to get close enough to catch her. I’ve since replaced the lost birds with the buff Orpingtons and there’s now a fence around the coop.
When we find ourselves dealing with deep feelings; feelings that most of us would rather not be dealing with; feelings that put us at odds with the tenor of this time of year; feelings like anxiety, depression, grief… When we find ourselves suddenly confronted with Burl Ives screaming at us to “Have a holly jolly Christmas…” It can be stunning to our senses. And not in a good way. But more in a way like a wayward hen, stranded in the dark, is suddenly stunned into immobility by a blazingly bright light. We feel helpless against its onslaught. And we know that such feelings are not what’s expected of us at this time of year. And so ironically, at a time of year when we are supposed to feel closer to one another, supposedly drawn together by the warmth and joy of the season, we instead feel even more isolated and alone.
The reading from Isaiah promises an end of suffering for “the people who walked in darkness.” For Isaiah’s people, the darkness oppression and hopelessness had become a way of life. And this darkness is not just the natural nighttime absence of light. It’s “deep darkness”. It’s a Hebrew word traditionally translated as “shadow of death”. Then, unexpectedly, “the light shines in the darkness” (John 1:5).
For people accustomed to darkness, sudden brightness may be overwhelming, even terrifying. In the midst of anguish, anxiety, depression, or grief, one hardly dares believe things can change. And maybe that’s why Isaiah phrases things the way he does. “2 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.” The people see the light before it shines upon them. A distant brightness heralds the possibility of change. And the eyes that have been dimmed by darkness can grow accustomed to light before it breaks through. In her poem “Tell All the Truth But Tell it Slant”, Emily Dickinson writes:
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
The God whom we worship is a God who is very much able to meet us where we are. Some people really are spoken to by the exuberant bustle of the holiday season, and others of us find it anathema to our emotional state. And we see that being reflected in Luke’s birth narrative. On the one hand you have the shepherds and the angels and grand pronouncements! You’ve got lights and spectacle and total over-the-topness!
On the other hand, we’ve got Mary. The all-powerful totalitarian Roman government has forcefully uprooted her at nine months of pregnancy. And her pregnancy itself is a fraught situation. Suddenly finding herself, an unmarried girl of 13 or 14, suddenly pregnant in a culture where such circumstances could lead to abandonment by her people or, even worse, being stoned to death. And she’s just given birth in a cattle stall. I wonder how she was really feeling. Was she filled with indescribable joy? Or was she filled with anxiety, worry, fear…
I’ve always been fascinated by what Luke tells us of Mary’s response to the news that the shepherds bring. She clearly does not necessarily share in their exuberance. While it says that she “treasured” all that was said, it also tells us that she “pondered them in her heart.” It seems to me that, given her likely emotional state and physical exhaustion, pondering is about all that she can muster.
God provides opportunity for all those involved to receive the good new of Jesus’ birth as they are able. The shepherds get the spectacle they need. And Mary, once Joseph has shooed the shepherds away, gets time to ponder, to quietly reflect upon the events that have swept her up.
It’s ok to feel the things you are feeling. If you’re not as caught up in the excitement of the season like everyone else seems to be, that’s ok. If you’re feeling a little lost or adrift in the dark; If you’re experiencing grief or the complications of mental health issues, that’s ok. It doesn’t mean that you love Jesus any less. And it certainly doesn’t mean that God loves you any less.
What it does mean is that what you need is maybe one or two people around you who can help you find the quiet space you need. Like I’m sure Joseph did his best to create for Mary. A safe space where you can learn to be more at ease with how you’re feeling. And to be reminded that it’s not your feelings that define you. They are a part of who you are. But only a part. In the end what defines you is that you are a child of God. The child of a God who loves you so deeply and so passionately, that God was willing to become a vulnerable human infant; taking on human frailty, that we might be forever strengthened by the Spirit dwelling within us.
AMEN