CHRISTMAS EVE 2004
by Forrest Church
December 24, 2004
There is a question in the air tonight, haunting the beauty here, hovering amidst the dulcet chords and ancient promises. How can we reconcile the story of the prince of peace—"love your enemies" . . . "love your neighbor as yourself," with two thousand years of Christian history? Pregnant within the Christmas story is a promise broken forever and again, broken this very night in Jesus' homeland and throughout the Middle East. "Fear not," the angel sings. "I bring you great tidings of glad joy that shall be to all people." And, yet, this holy night, the night—we sing—that Christ was born, clouds of hatred shroud the star of Bethlehem. Its latter day heralds and the heralds of competing Lords proclaim peace in the name of all that is sacred—democracy and justice, liberty and virtue, Christ and Allah—yet battle to secure this peace, as Christian soldiers and holy warriors so often do, by waging war. What they render unto Caesar they call God's.
The question in the air tonight is this. How can we retune the world to the key of Christmas? How can we gather today's seekers and dreamers, the mothers and fathers of this world, around the cradle of innocence unscorned, singing together in their many tongues and ways, "Glory to God in the Highest. Peace on Earth. Good will to all." How can we follow the star of Bethlehem toward the fulfillment of its promise?
Imagine, if you will, the world as a vast cathedral. This cathedral is as ancient as humankind, its cornerstone the first altar, marked with the tincture of blood and blessed by tears. Search for a lifetime and we shall never reach its limits, worship at its myriad shrines, nor span its celestial ceiling with our gaze. The builders have worked from time immemorial, destroying and creating, tearing down and raising up arches in this cathedral, buttresses and chapels, organs, theaters and chancels, gargoyles, idols and icons. Throughout human history, one generation after another has labored lovingly, sometimes fearfully, crafting memorials and consecrating shrines. Untold numbers of these (cast centuries or aeons ago from their once respected places) lie shattered in shards or ground into dust on the cathedral floor. Not a moment passes without the dreams of long-dead dreamers being outstripped, crushed, or abandoned, giving way to new visions, each immortal in reach, ephemeral in grasp.
Welcome to the cathedral of the world.
Above all else, contemplate the windows. In the cathedral of the world there are windows beyond number, some covered with patinas of dust, others revered by millions, the most sacred of shrines. Each in its own way is beautiful. Some are abstract, others representational; some dark and meditative, others bright and dazzling. Each tells a story about the creation of the world, the meaning of history, the purpose of life, the nature of humankind, the mystery of death. The windows of the cathedral are where the light shines through—where tonight, through our window, shines the star.
Fundamentalists of every faith claim that the Light—the star, the sacred lamp of faith—shines through their window only. Skeptics draw the opposite conclusion. Seeing the bewildering variety of windows and observing the folly of the worshipers, they conclude that there is no light. But the windows are not the light. They are where the light shines through.
Religion is the most dangerous power in the world. On a shrinking globe conflicting faiths contest one another in almost every human precinct. Taught to worship at a single window, at their human worst terrorists for Truth or God demonstrate their faith by throwing stones through other peoples' windows. Tightly drawn, their logic makes a demonic kind of sense:
(1) religious answers respond to life and death questions, which happen to be the most important questions of all.
(2) You and I may come up with different answers.
(3) If you are right, I must be wrong.
(4) But I can't be wrong, because my salvation hinges on being right
(5) Therefore, short of abandoning my own faith and embracing yours, in order to secure my salvation I am driven either to ignore, convert, or destroy you.
With this as our script, you may be tempted to reject religion entirely, join the skeptic, proclaim there is no light. Tonight, however, I invite you to suspend your disbelief. Rather than curse the darkness, ponder the star. Search by its light for a glimpse of meaning. Seek not all the Truth, seek only the truth of the star. Follow the pathway of love and peace it illumines. Meditate with reverence on the light shining through this sacred window in the Cathedral of the World.
In my own search for meaning and illumination, I have learned these things.
• There is one Light, one Truth, one God.
• This Light shines through every window in the cathedral.
• Each windows illumines life's meaning only in part, and yet truth is not relative. We can test it by these simple rules. That which unites us with others, our higher selves, and the ground of our being proves itself to be holy; by the same token, whatever fosters division within our breast, or estranges us from our neighbor or alienates us from the creation is grounded in falsehood.
It is, therefore, in our lives not our words, in our faithfulness not our specific faith, in our deeds not our creeds, that our religion must be read.
Which brings us back to Bethlehem. Wherever it fosters peace and love, the Christmas star shines true tonight. The story itself comes true. Peace on earth. Good will to all people. The babe wrapped in swadling clothes lying in the manger. We may see through a glass darkly, but whenever our hearts are open, our minds humble, our voices respectful of those who walk a different path toward the same lofty goals, the star will shine through, illuminating the darkness, fulfilling angelic prophecies of old, heralding the prince of peace.
Uplifted by this promise, I offer up this prayer. I pray that the star of Bethlehem will lead our souls home safely tonight. I pray it will shine true, illumining our path, that we may walk in the spirit of him whose birth it heralds, the spirit of love to God and love to neighbor, the spirit of peace.
I pray, with hope aborning, that the angel Gabriel's heretofore unfulfilled pronouncement may rekindle in our hearts the Christmas dream of old. May it bring us, in our glorious diversity, into closer kinship as sons and daughters of life's holy promise. And by retuning the world to the key of Christmas, may it restore humility, amity, and gentleness within the capacious and mysterious Cathedral of the World.
Merry Christmas. I love you. And may God bless us all.