Festival of Lights, Serigraph, John August Swanson, 2000, used by permission
At the family service earlier this evening, there was no Joseph.
There were no sheep or shepherds or angel choir.
At the rehearsal last Sunday for our childrens’ Godly Play liturgy, all we had were three lectors, three Wise Women, a cow, a donkey, and Mary. Only these nine creatures were present to prepare for the proclamation of the birth of Christ.
Earlier this evening, a young girl named JoJo joined us as the Angel of the Lord, but the overall cast got smaller, because many of our youngest members couldn’t make it. (They are far from alone.)
We sorely missed them, but in a way, here at the end of 2021, this is perfect. This tiny cast of characters around the manger—this is our Good News on this night. Our younger members are telling us something.
May we have ears to hear.
Lyra and Pearle were self-evidently bearers of the Good News: as co-teachers with me, they helped lead the Godly Play story itself. But the others in the traditional Bethlehem costumes were also Gospellers, that is, they proclaimed the Gospel. At last Sunday’s rehearsal, the Wise Women—Izzy, Livia, and Rosie—came forward to see the Christ child, and to present him with gifts. By doing this they gave us an example: we should move bravely forward, too, giving of ourselves, opening up our minds and imaginations in wonder and awe, striding confidently into this dangerous world, confident that we are guided by the starlight of these three young leaders. We will surely see the revelation of God’s presence and power. Yes.
Coretta and Quinn in their farm-animal costumes bore tidings of great joy, too. Their message was this: a cow and a donkey witness the birth of the Christ child, because God dwells gloriously as a helpless newborn in the lower level of a first-century Palestinian house, where the animals are kept inside for the night. This teaching means that there is no place on earth where God does not dwell in splendid humility. God dwells in every simple house or hut, every ordinary life, every puppy kindergarten class, every unemployment line, every Covid testing line, every classroom, every zoom meeting, every hospital unit, every troubled marriage, every life-saving divorce, every clinic that helps women with reproductive health, every flooded neighborhood and tornado-flattened town, every detox cell and every AA meeting, every birthing room and every deathbed, every single grief and joy and everything in between that we ordinary earthlings experience. And so, God dwells right here, in your ordinary life, in your daily challenges and disappointments, in your broken past and uncertain future, in your wondrous and beautiful body, made perfectly in God’s image. God is here. God is with us. We are not alone, and we are not left in despair. This is the Good News, told to us by a cow and a donkey.
And of course, there’s Mary. Portrayed this year by Breesa, Mary had a happy—or at least a bracing—message for us. Breesa was the first to come up to me and ask to play a part in the Godly Play story. She came alone: she knew not who (if anyone) would play Joseph. She did not need to know. She had her eyes on Mary, and that was enough. Breesa’s Mary was assertive, confident, strong, determined. She taught us to say Yes to God before we know how everything will turn out. Actually, it’s an even braver Yes than that: Mary knows that it will most likely turn out badly before it gets better. (Breesa, as it happens, is a vegan and an animal-welfare activist, so she brought to her portrayal of Mary a deep awareness of how much suffering is in the world.) Mary is not naïve, and so we do not need to be naïve either. We readily see how much trouble the world is in, and how deeply disturbing and distressing everything is. We are then called to follow Breesa’s Mary, to fall into line behind her as she bravely walks with determination into a challenging future, giving birth to life, and love, and authentic hope. Mary, in Breesa’s insightful interpretation, teaches us how to pray, not just with our words, but with our lives. There is nothing the world needs more than people who pray by engaging the world’s problems head-on. And there is nothing we need more than this righteous and glorious mission. Alleluia, this mission saves us from despair!
And… that’s it. Other than the last-minute addition of the Angel of the Lord, there were no more portrayals in the Godly Play story this year.
And that’s where you and I come in.
Which part would you like to play? The children have left several parts open for you. If you like, you could be Joseph. If you’re Joseph, you are supportive, hard-working, self-effacing, and stable. You never mansplain. In fact you have no lines at all in the story! If you’re Joseph, then you will go from here tonight determined to help others, to help them give birth to things: you will help them create ministries of justice and peace; you will lift them up as witnesses for truth; you will make it easier for the Marys in your life to live out their calling. You are there to be helpful. You may be overlooked. But you may be okay with that.
Then there is the part of the sheep. If you are a sheep, you practice dependency, which is an under-valued leadership function. In a culture that values assertive leadership and can-do activism, it is all too rare to see someone simply soaking up the wisdom of a teacher, or accepting leadership in a group or on a team. But when the adult Jesus is in Bethany at Martha and Mary’s house, he points to this behavior and praises it. Mary sat at his feet that day, a disciple, a student, a person of discernment and faith. As a sheep, you can be like Mary of Bethany, and go out into the world tonight as a student of life, a disciple of the Way, a faithful participant who does not need to over-function, an expert follower who does not need to be the boss, but can lead us powerfully in deep, contemplative spiritual work.
Or maybe you’re a shepherd. If so, you count and collect people, ensuring their safety. You attend to the needs of the whole group, by working around the edges. Often you work the night shift, or bear other hard burdens, as an overseer and caregiver. Maybe you bark a lot: many dog breeds are shepherds. (You might sometimes be a little annoying.) (This might be the part for me.) You also run quickly into the city to find Jesus, and then go and bark to others the Good News: you are not reticent; you are not indolent; you work hard and listen well; you move decisively, with passion.
Next, the really fun part: you could be in the angel choir. If you’re an angel, well, you just sing. You sing to people, and the first thing you sing to them is, “Do not be afraid.” That is always the first thing an angel says. You sing comfort into the world. I know someone who came to his friend’s deathbed and played viola for hours. He was an angel delivering a soul into paradise. But angels are intense. They are often disturbing, even scary. Or it might just be that to overflow with goodness and the music of God’s peace is just … a lot. People don’t always know how to respond to you. But if this is the part you were born for, well, I say seize it. Get it. Sing to us, sing peace and joy, sing challenge and warning, sing until we can hardly bear it and we too join the song.
And finally there is one part that has been cast, now and always, one part we can’t pretend we know how to play. The Christ child, as ever, is here. The Christ child is born in each of us, in all of us, this night. Tonight we give birth to hope. We give birth to courage. We give birth to innocence and vulnerability, but also intelligence and shrewd insight. We give birth to self-giving love. We give birth to a mother’s fierce determination to mend and minister to this world. We give birth to the leaping up of life in a time of illness and sorrow and death. This is my prayer for all of us tonight: that when we gather here with our young Gospellers, in this room and online, we will all give hard but joyful birth to faith, hope, and self-giving love, come down out of heaven from God.
Do not be afraid. The Word of God has taken on flesh—inside you yourself. Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad, let the sea thunder and all that is in it, because tonight, Christ is born, right here, in you, in me, in all of us.
Gloria!
***
Preached on the Nativity of our Lord, Christmas Eve, December 24, 2021, at Grace Episcopal Church, Bainbridge Island, Washington
Isaiah 9:2-7
Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20