Grace in the gaps
between us
One of the best known stories from the Christian scriptures
is, of course, the story of Christmas. Whether rendered in plastic or clay or
straw or glass, you can buy a nativity scene almost anywhere. You don’t have to
be a Christian to recognize this old, old story, and have your imagination
caught by its meaning: even in these dark days of winter, hope endures, born in
the form of a tiny child. Jesus brings together heaven and earth in tiny
newborn hands. I love that we in the
cold Northeast receive this gift at this hard time of year.
Looking more closely, though, we also have the opportunity
to invite a closer look at the Christmas story, the part that you can’t see in
those manger scenes. Like everything,
it’s more complicated than it looks. Here’s the trouble: the Bible doesn’t say
just one thing. There are four
different accounts of Jesus’ life, and each one says something different about
where he came from and why his life was important.
The shepherds only show up at the manger when the author of
the Gospel of Luke tells the story. The magi, wise ones from the East, visit
Jesus after his miraculous birth takes place in a house (in the book of Matthew).
The Gospel of Mark mentions not one word
about Mary as visited by the Holy Spirit or Jesus’ birth—he just starts off
right away with Jesus’ ministry as an adult. The Gospel of John offers a fourth
account, talking about Jesus not as miraculously given to Mary, but the one
through whom the whole world came to be, the Word of God. No manger or house, in that one, no Holy Spirit and
a young girl, or her profound declaration of “yes” to God.
So what gives? Why couldn’t the church have gotten its
stories straight? With something as important as the birth of the one we call our
savior, shouldn’t we at least have one answer about where he came from? We can
try to harmonize the accounts like we do in our greeting cards, but I think we
miss something when we impose an order that’s not there. Those shepherds are
important, but not the whole story. They
symbolize the birth of God at the margins, in the outcast—the pregnant homeless
teenager. Those wise ones, coming from the East, symbolize the universal nature
of God, the fact that sometimes truth is recognized by those outside your own
kin. We need shepherds and kings, cosmic Christ and Jesus just
appearing out of nowhere.
I don’t know how these many different stories sounded to the
earliest Christians, but I believe in our world now the message of these
different ways of believing couldn’t be more timely. In a world rife with
religious strife, what we all need most is some humility. We need, crucially, to remember that it could
be otherwise—there could be many truths, many different ways to
understand. God speaks many languages
and tells many stories to God’s people.
As an Episcopalian, with my planned-out worship in a big
stone church, I need to remember that the storefront Pentecostals also know
Jesus. As a Christian, I need to remember that my Muslim brothers and sisters also
know One God, Creator of heaven and earth. I need to remember that in my human mind, I
can’t know how all the stories come together: not the stories of my own faith,
and not where those stories touch the sacred stories of others. I need
to remember the mystery of love, and the grace of God that fills in the gaps
between us.
Printed in the Waltham News Tribune Wednesday, Dec. 23, 2015.
More Christmas is here--listen in on my sermon from our service at Christ Church on Dec. 24!
