• Christmas Sermon

    One of the odd features of coronavirus time for me has been vivid dreams and disturbed sleep.

    I know that I’m not alone in this, I’ve heard others speak about it too.

    Particularly during the various lockdown experiences I’ve found myself suddenly sitting bolt upright at 3 in the morning trying to sort out my dreams from reality – something that hasn’t always been settled quickly.

    Perhaps modern life normally gives me so much contact with others that I work stuff out in the course of my day and sleep relatively undisturbed by dreams or nightmares.

    But these have not been normal times.

    Perhaps that experience of social isolation leading to vivid dreams connects me somehow with an ancient world when dreams were taken with the utmost seriousness.

    In the Christmas stories, God turns up at night as much if not more than in the day.

    Joseph is told in a dream to stick with Mary.

    The shepherds were famously watching their flocks by night when the news of the birth was told to them.

    The Magi see the star by night which leads them to Bethlehem.

    And then they in their turn are told in a dream to return by another road in order that the child be protected from wicked Herod.

    Night time matters in the nativity stories and you can feel the participants each in their way trying to sort their dreams from reality.

    What on earth were they seeing? What on earth were they hearing?

    Disturbed nights and puzzling days are all part of the Christmas story.

    For these were not normal times.

    There was a census on to start with and many people were not where they wanted to be.

    There was an occupation on by the Romans too and many people were not governed by those they wanted to be governed by.

    The shepherds might well have thought they were best out of it up on the hills. Away from the crowded town and minding their own business as much as they were minding their sheep.

    But into their world, the news of something far from normal breaks.

    Into their world, the message of the angels – do not be afraid.

    Into their world, the planting of a dream that has never died amongst all who have found the babe of Bethlehem.

    Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace among those whom he favours.

    That a dream. Not a reality yet.

    That’s the dream.

    The one we keep alive.

    Over the last two years we’ve heard quite a lot about saving Christmas.

    Boris saves Christmas! The newspapers have proclaimed joyfully.

    Nicola says only a lockdown can save Christmas! The newspapers have proclaimed more cautiously.

    But salvation isn’t about how many people can eat a turkey – notwithstanding how difficult our current circumstances are.

    Salvation is that baby being born and a dream planted in people’s hearts.

    Of a God who is good to know, wonderful and loving and here right now.

    Of a world put right by those who dare to dream of peace on earth.

    Of a world put right by those who believe in goodwill to everyone.

    Of a world put right by those who catch hold of the vision of God’s intentions for us.

    Of a world put right by a babe in a manger who will inspire, save, heal, comfort, challenge and bless.

    Christmas only needs one saviour and it isn’t Boris Johnson nor any other politician.

    These are not normal times. And there are dreams to be dreamed.

    The coronavirus time has been a nightmare in so many ways. And we’re not out of it yet.

    But right now, remember that it is part of God’s dream that we love our neighbour as ourselves and at the moment, that means getting the vaccines and the boosters and wearing our masks.

    And there are dreams to be dreamed that are inspired by the babe in a manger that are well worth dreaming.

    I dream of churches renewed so that people find the babe of Bethlehem in them and are as amazed as the shepherds and tell everyone about it.

    I dream of good news of great joy in our common life. Of tyrants toppled. Of integrity in public life restored. Of time and space for all people to wonder.

    I dream of joy. I dream of love. And yes, I dream of this pandemic being over.

    Yet babies come in their own time.

    Christ is born in a world that was hurting.

    Christ is born in a time where disease was far more common than our own.

    Christ was born when conflict was common and peace only a dream.

    Christ didn’t come at a time when it seemed as though the world was sorted out enough for him to appear.

    He came into a world where people were sad, tired, grieving and in pain.

    And he came to them. And for them

    He comes this year into a world where people are sad, tired, grieving and in pain.

    And he comes to us. And for us.

    When I look into the manger, I start to dream of a world put right by God and those inspired by the message of the babe that I find there.

    It is a dream worth dreaming.

    For the Christmas story is not merely a collection of dreams to put behind us when daylight comes and sleep is over.

    The dream is worth dreaming for God’s love is a reality.

    And that love is here, and everywhere. In this world. And in human hearts.

    And is lying in a manger.

     

     

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

  1. kimberly Avatar

    ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

    you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

  2. kimberly Avatar

    the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

  3. kelvin Avatar

    Its not just me though, and not just fours.

  4. Aaron Orear Avatar

    I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

  5. Erp Avatar
    Erp

    I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

    Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

  6. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

    I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

    And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

  7. Elizabeth Avatar
    Elizabeth

    Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

  8. Ritualist Robert Avatar
    Ritualist Robert

    Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

  9. Steve Avatar
    Steve

    I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

    There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

    Yet still from Eden springs the root
    As clean as on the starting day.
    Time takes the foliage and the fruit
    And burns the archetypal leaf
    To shapes of terror and of grief
    Scattered along the winter way.
    But famished field and blackened tree
    Bear flowers in Eden never known.

    Blossoms of grief and charity
    Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
    What had Eden ever to say
    Of hope and faith and pity and love
    Until was buried all its day
    And memory found its treasure trove?
    Strange blessings never in Paradise
    Fall from these beclouded skies.

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