Christmas Eve + December 24, 2022 + Pr. Craig Mueller

All is calm, all is bright? Are you feeling calm this Christmas? Is our nation calm? Is our world calm?

Calm is probably not the word for those who had to drive or face crowded airports and cancelled flights the past few days. Calm is probably not the word for those who scurried about in crowded stores or attended to last minute details. Calm is probably not the world for those who dread spending Christmas alone or homeless in this bitter cold weather.

The angels sing: glory to God in the highest and peace to God’s people on earth.

Yet there is war in Ukraine. New power rivalries with Russia and China. World wars from a century or so ago seem in the distant past, yet some are warning that World War III isn’t out of the question. The world has come close to nuclear Armageddon before. And it is chilling to think of nuclear weapons in the hands of unsteady leaders.

And what does peace mean in our time? When a laureate from Ukraine accepted the Nobel Peace Prize earlier this month, she said: “People of Ukraine want peace more than anyone else in the world. But peace cannot be reached by a country under attack laying down its arms. This would not be peace, but occupation.”

Chilling word for those of us who are pacifists. The world is unstable. Not only war. But climate emergencies. A teetering global economy. And the exhaustion we feel from the so-called tripledemic, a brutal pileup of seasonal infirmity.

No wonder a recent review of 2022 called it the year we all lost it. Like Will Smith smacking Chris Rock at the Oscars. No calm there. Chill out, we wanted to say. Until we realize that everybody these days seems to be angry. We’ve come through several years of angry discourse, spurred on by social media. We’ve all become the frogs in the boiling water, the author goes on. But this year, the frogs boiled over.

Surely the first Christmas was a beautiful, calm silent night. But those were not peaceful times. The people lived under occupation. There were brutal tyrants who abused their power then as well as now.

Here’s one detail from tonight’s gospel that I’ve never really thought about: the census. “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.” All the world! It’s sheer ambition. It’s totalitarian. A decree meant to seize everyone in a single grasp. Even the sick and infirm. Even a pregnant woman on a long journey to Bethlehem. Taxes to build palaces and armies. One writer sees this as Orwellian, “a glimpse of forced marches and bureaucratic control in authoritarian regimes to come.”1

The empower says: all the world should be registered. The shepherds declare: good news for all the people. The shepherds live in the fields. They have no address.

And there is no room in the inn. Yet God is born beyond the “reach of the emperor’s grasp,” as the writer goes on, “God is off the grid, hidden with the animals, as yet unnamed. In brief, God is homeless, anonymous, incognito — that is: unregistered. Undocumented.”2

It is to this chaotic world—then and now—that the angels sing of peace on earth. Not a world without violence or conflict or injustice. Not our little world without anxiety or anger or sadness. The angels sing of peace in the midst of it all.

The Waste Land is the name of the well-known poem written by T.S. Eliot one hundred years ago. 1922, the year work on this church building began as well. Many of the events from 1922 we recognize today: pandemic, war, rising authoritarianism. Things seem to always be falling apart.

The theme of The Waste Land is fragmentation. The metaphor of dryness and barrenness suggests a landscape of cataclysm. And speaks to our fears of global climate catastrophe. The image of “falling towers,” which Eliot meant to refer to the fall of great civilizations, sounds chilling to our ears.3

Yet on this holy night we sing of peace. The Waste Land, despite all its darkness and depravity, ends with an image of possible redemption: “Shantih Shantih Shantih” – a Sanskrit assertion which means ‘Peace Peace Peace’. One educator who teaches the poem sees it as an individual journey from fragmentation to the peace that passes all understanding. The song of the angels. Peace deep in our bones.

The carol “It came upon a midnight clear,” which we will sing in a few moments, contrasts the scourge of war with the angels’ song of peace. The text was written amid the social strife that plagued the country right before the Civil War. Certainly not a calm world. Rather the text speaks of life’s crushing load, painful steps, a weary road. The human condition is vividly named in a verse omitted from hymnals today:

And man, at war with man, hears not

The love-song which they bring:

O hush the choice, ye men of strife,

And hear the angels sing.

This church is unusual in that it incorporates silence along with words and music. We ring the meditation bell as a sign of divine calm. There is an African American church in Memphis which is also unusual in that is incorporates contemplative practices into its worship. The service begins with a Holy Hush. The Holy Hush invites folks to, in the words of Black theologian and mystic, Howard Thurman, to center down. To center into the peace that passes all understanding.

On this cold, dark holy night, a holy hush falls upon us. For peace comes to earth this night. To this wonderful world, to this sometimes weary world, this “waste land.”

So breathe deeply. Come and adore him, Christ the Lord. Come and feast at this table.

For all is calm. Indeed, all is bright.

1 “Rethinking Christmas,” The Salt Project.

2 “Rethinking Christmas.”

3 Rebeccaa Bratten Weiss, “Reading The Waste Land as it turns 100.” The Christian Century, December 2022.

Shorter version for the 4:30 service.

This church is unusual in that it incorporates silence along with words and music. We ring the meditation bell from Eastern traditions to take in a sense of divine calm.

There is an African American church in Memphis which is also unusual in that is incorporates contemplative practices into its services. Their worship begins with a Holy Hush. It invites folks to, in the words of Black theologian and mystic, Howard Thurman, to center down. To center into the peace that passes all understanding.

All is calm, all is bright? Speaking of peace, are you feeling calm this Christmas? Is our nation calm? Is our world calm?

Calm is probably not the word for those who had to drive or face crowded airports and cancelled flights due to the snowstorm the past few days. Calm is probably not the word for those who scurried about in crowded stores or attended to last minute details. Calm is probably not the world for those who dread spending Christmas alone. Or homeless in this bitter cold weather.

The angels sing: glory to God in the highest and peace to God’s people on earth!

Yet their war in Ukraine. New power rivalries with Russia and China. World wars from a century or so ago seem in the distant past, yet some are warning that World War III isn’t out of the question. The world is unstable in many ways. Not only war. But climate emergencies. A teetering global economy. And the exhaustion we all feel from what is being called a tripledemic, a brutal pileup of seasonal infirmity.

Here’s one detail from the Christmas gospel I’ve never really thought about: the census. “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.” All the world! It’s sheer ambition. It’s totalitarian.

There is no room in the inn. Yet God is born beyond the “reach of the emperor’s grasp,” as the writer goes on, off the grid. With the animals. You could say God is born homeless, unregistered, undocumented.

It is to this chaotic world—then and now—that the angels sing of peace on earth.

On this holy night a holy hush falls upon us. Peace comes to earth this night. Peace in the midst of unrest.

So breathe deeply. Come and adore him, Christ the Lord. Come and feast at this table.

For all is calm. All is bright.