When I was growing up, Christmas eve was the big celebration day in my family. Perhaps it was–and is–for you too. We started with Christmas Eve worship, of course, followed by a huge gathering with my cousins, aunts and uncles. We ate a big dinner, then while the dishes were being done, the cousins would prepare a skit to present to the adults before we opened ALL of our presents. It was fantastic! As a teenager, when I was much more “into church” I went to several Christmas Eve services on my own–both 4 AND 5 p.m at my home church, then a Catholic mass at the cathedral in downtown Minneapolis.
I loved all the chaos and commotion of the family services in the afternoon–children squirming in their new holiday clothes, the telling of the Christmas story, singing beloved Christmas carols by candlelight. But Christmas day? We stayed home, just hanging out in our PJs. It was as if Christmas was already over, just a day after all the celebrating.
It wasn’t until I was a pastor (an intern, really) that I was introduced to the wonderful worship opportunity of Christmas Day. Wow, are they different! There’s no retelling of the Christmas story, or playing out a live nativity. We don’t hear anything about Mary and Joseph, shepherds and angels. The crowds and noisy, excited children have all but disappeared. And in the quiet of this morning we hear a very different gospel. “And the word became flesh and lived among us…full of grace and truth.”
Flesh. Flesh is not something we usually refer to at Christmastime. In fact it’s not a word I use very often at all. Until this past year, when I’d see someone for the first time in person, instead of on a Zoom call, I’d say something like, “It’s so good to see you ‘in the flesh,’” meaning in person, face to face, physically present.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us… it doesn’t get more tangible, real, earthy than “in the flesh.” Many of us have an uncomfortable relationship with the flesh. Parents know a thing or two about the unceasing demands of the flesh–changing diapers, feeding, cleaning, consoling their newborn babies. And once those babies grow into toddlers–potty training and staying tuned to the needs of the flesh. Teenagers too, pay close attention to their own flesh–flexing muscles and primping their hair using their iphones. Those of us who are aging notice changes to our own bodies–perhaps becoming a little more fleshy in unwanted areas or not moving as easily and steadily (without some sort of groan) as we once did when we were younger.
By Christmas day, it’s possible some of those who’ve been with us “in the flesh” have left us yearning for a little alone time, because of their politics or thoughtlessness or lack of gratitude for carefully selected gifts. Even more poignant perhaps, is that we’re missing those who are no longer with us in the flesh. Their places at the Christmas table are empty. Whether recent losses or from years ago, at this time of year, their absence is strong.
It is into our fleshy, complicated lives that the Word enters, becoming flesh and living among us. As pastor Christa Compton writes, “The Word pulls up a chair to our family table and hosts a feast that never ends. And that Word is full of grace and truth, two gifts for which we hunger the most. We need that truth in a world that is fractured by lies and conspiracy theories. We need that grace in a world that pushes us to keep hustling to save ourselves. As Isaiah reminds us, our salvation has arrived in the flesh. We are now called holy people, redeemed, sought out–not because we have been virtuous, but because our savior has come to live among us. That flesh and blood Savior has come to live and die and live again so that we may know what life really is.”
Jesus shows us that bodies–in all their forms–are both vulnerable and holy, including his own. The holy child we honor this morning becomes the man who will heal bodies with his touch, who will weep with those who are grieving, who will touch the feet of his disciples, washing them in love.
Jesus shows us that bodies are holy, worthy of care and protection. Our bodies are holy because God fashioned us into who we are. Our bodies are holy because God became one of us, lived and laughed and loved and died and rose again as one of us. Knowing that God is one of us, changes how we see not only our own bodies, but every other body.
The fragile bodies of those ill and praying for healing.
The bodies of those encamped in tents or living on the streets of our city.
The bodies of those crossing borders seeking new life.
The bodies of those who are sex workers, the ones who are traumatized by gun violence, or whose bodies and spirits are abused by domestic partners or parents.
We have Christ living among us now in our neighbors. And when we see our neighbor in all their holiness, how can we help but do all we can to protect their lives and help them flourish?
The Word became flesh and lived among us–and lives among us still. That’s good news for all of us. All bodies. Your flesh and mine, wrapped in grace and truth that will never let us go.
So on this quiet morning, in this joyful place and in this holy meal, we join with the whole body of Christ in lifting our voices praise and thanksgiving, honor and glory, for this long expected God and king. Evermore and evermore.