Christmas for the Broken

Text: Luke 2:1-20

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. The most powerful, most important man in the world directed the comings and goings of millions of people under his rule. And yet, on this night, no angel came to the comfortable palace of mighty Augustus. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And yet, Quirinius slept soundly, no herald singing a message of the importance of this night to him or any in his stately household. So Joseph went up from Galilee, to Judea, the region of Jerusalem, where King Herod lived out a life of luxury and power and terror; to a town outside of the capital, to Bethlehem, the city of David, that famous king from ancient days—David, who would not live nearly long enough to see the events of this blessed night unfold.

            It’s a reading that we’re all familiar with, an account that’s worked its way into our yearly holiday routine, worn its words and rhythms into our memories and hearts. We who gather here tonight are familiar with the plot: Joseph and Mary travel to Bethlehem, but having no place to stay, they must lodge in a stable. While they were there, the time came for pregnant Mary to give birth. She gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, strips of linen, and laid him in a manger. And once this miraculous birth of the Son of God has taken place, the heavenly choir of angels appeared to shepherds in the field, in the dust and dirt and everything else that comes with watching flocks of sheep by night, and they hear the gladsome tidings that the Savior of the world, Christ the Lord, has been born for them. They follow the angel’s directions and find the baby lying in a manger.

            It’s a familiar story, so familiar that we run the risk of missing some of the telling details. For instance, notice that St. Luke begins this narrative by describing the sweeping declaration that only someone with the worldly might of Caesar Augustus could do. It begins with this emperor, then moves down to the governor that serves below him, then to the region of Judea, seat of Israelite pride and power, all the way down the ladder of worldly importance until you reach the bottom: a young virgin and her Child wrapped in swaddling cloths, sleeping where cattle have recently finished their supper. And it’s to none of the powerful or prestigious that the news of this miracle is proclaimed. It’s to shepherds who are surrounded by flocks, those outside the town, on second shift. Christmas—the real joy of Christmas—is not for the Caesars and Quiriniuses of the world. It’s for the Josephs and Marys and shepherds. It’s not for those who are doing just fine without it. Christmas is for those who need it the most.

            I think that there’s a lot of pressure put on this holiday that comes from our culture. Everything has to be perfect—elaborate meals that need to impress, lights and ornaments and decorations that need to be arranged just so, everyone needs to have the right attitude and words and behave (you better not shout or cry), and let’s not forget the requirement for just the right amount of snow for it to be truly perfect. We’re trained by the world, and by our fallen nature that thinks we can make things perfect.

            But if we rewind to the first Christmas, this is not a day about being perfect. In fact, for those who are counted as the most powerful, the most successful, the greatest and most impressive and important, the perfect or near perfect as the world would judge them, there’s not a word spoken about the events in Bethlehem. The only ones who have heard angels on high are the least important, the poorest, the ones living in fields with silly sheep. It’s for Mary, who has had everyone whispering behind her back about being pregnant even while she’s engaged to Joseph and everyone knows he’s not the father. It’s for Joseph, who knows that his life is about to be completely turned upside down. Christmas is for the ones who need help, who need someone outside themselves to raise them up. Christmas is for the broken, the hurting, the mourning, the fearful, the confused, the lost.

            This is all to say that Christmas is for you. For you have yourself confessed that you are by nature sinful and unclean, that you have sinned against God and your neighbor in thought, word, and deed. You have asked God to forgive you, renew you, and lead you because you need all those things from Him. And God has heard you. He has seen you. So to you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. He has come to you in the Absolution, forgiveness proclaimed to you by a messenger bearing good news from God. He has come to you in the Word, the beautiful account of His arrival in this world to save you from your sins, from the chaos this creation finds itself in, even from death itself by giving you His own eternal life. He comes to you in His body and blood, given and shed for you, hidden beneath the bread and wine, shared with you so that you would be one with Him and receive every good gift of heaven.

            So come, you who are stressed, anxious, or fearful of what the new year may bring. Come, you who are worn out, broken down, and tired. Come, you who still mourn a loss that cuts you to your very heart. Come, you who hide a secret sin or shame, a weight that you dare not let down because you don’t know what would happen if you do. Come, you who are putting on your best face for everyone, but behind the mask you’re confused, nervous, ashamed, angry, sad, or hurting. To you is born a Savior, to rescue you from all that. He has come to make you joyful and triumphant. He’s come to let you see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known by His Word. He has come to raise you higher than the world could ever lift Caesar or Quirinius. The Son of God has been born for you, to be with you, to share your human nature so that he’s closer to you than breath, closer to you than anyone ever could be. He’s come to live and die for you, in your place, to give you everything that’s His. He’s come to rise again to life so that you would have eternal life, living because He lives.

            Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased! That’s you. Because of what Jesus has done for you, your God is pleased with you. So you have peace. You have joy. You have heaven and nature singing with you. You have the Son of God as your Savior born to you this night. And because of that, you have everything. In the name of Jesus, who has come to be with us. Amen.