"Light Which Interrupts Our Routine"

As most of you know the media has given attention - too much attention - to how one should express greetings of the Season. Should one say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" or "Happy Hanukkah" or . . . Some evangelical Christian groups seem to have taken the position that anything less than "Merry Christmas" denigrates the Season.

If we were really true to this season we would probably say, 'Happy Winter Solstice.' For centuries prior to the birth of Jesus people in Europe gathered for winter festivals at this time of year. As the days grew shorter with less light, primitive people were frightened that the sun was leaving. What was happening to the light?

So these primitive people burned Yule logs and candles in an attempt to lure the sun back. These ancient winter solstice celebrations were celebrations of losing and finding light. The Christian Church appropriated winter solstice and the Roman Festival, Sol Invictus celebrations and declared December 25 - 4 days after the Solstice - as the birth of Jesus. However, nobody knows for sure when Jesus was born, possibly April 25 or June 25 or . . . .

The point is that this season of the year is celebrated as a time of light. I talked about the significance of light from this pulpit three years ago. I flatter myself to think you might remember what I said last Sunday, much less three years ago, so perhaps brief repetition is in order.

Light not only has to do with optics - sight, but also with understanding - insight. If all the lights suddenly were extinguished we would be quite literally "in the dark." Only until, or if, our eyes adjusted to the darkness would we be able to see. That's one kind of vision.

There is another kind of vision known as insight. You may have heard someone say, "I'm in the dark; I just don't understand!" or the opposite, "Oh, now I see the light!" In this instance light has to do with a "Eureka experience," not just optics.

In his Christmas poem, W. H. Auden says this is what happened to the shepherds. Here is the way Auden has the Shepherds talk about their experience:

"First Shepherd: We never left the place where we were born.
Second Shepherd: Have only lived one day, but every day,
Third Shepherd: Have walked a thousand miles yet only worn
the grass between our work and home away.

Then

First Shepherd: Lonely we were, though never left alone.
Second Shepherd: Tonight for the first time prison gates have opened.
First Shepherd: Music and sudden light
Second Shepherd: Have interrupted our routine tonight,
Third Shepherd: And swept the filth of habit from our hearts."
(W.H. Auden, "For the Time Being")

The experience of the Shepherds, which Auden describes in poetic terms, is precisely the same type experience Archimedes had when he went running from his bath shouting, "Eureka!" How many times did Archimedes take a bath before he finally "saw the light;" he finally realized hydrostatics, displacement of fluid by bodies immersed in the fluid.

For Archimedes the light of understanding was not miraculous but because he looked; he saw something which led to insight. One of my concerns about the Christmas and Hanukkah Seasons is that we may think there has to be some miracle to aid our vision. The real miracle is paying attention in order to see.

Madeleine L'Engle wrote about this season years ago in her book, "The Irrational Season." Think about it. Both Christmas and Hanukkah are irrational, unlikely stories. A rag-tag army of guerillas led by the Maccabees defeated the most powerful army of the day - irrational! That is the miraculous in the ordinary.

What could be more irrational than the story of a Holy Teacher - the Messiah, no less - born in a stable, complete with angels and brilliant stars. Those irrational Hanukkah and Christmas stories are no more irrational than evergreen trees in the living room, or "Winter Wonderland" in Santa Monica.

The miracle of this season is that these ancient stories of miracles described in poetry can "sweep the filth of habit from our hearts." There need be no extraordinary miracle. The miracle is the possibility of renewed vision; renewed insight. That kind of miracle - the miracle of insight which becomes vision is the result of the seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary.

In his novel, "Bread and Wine," Ignazio Silone tells the story of a left-wing revolutionary in Italy in the time of the rise of fascism and the savage war of Mussolini against Ethiopia. Pietro questions where is God in the midst of this injustice. He goes to a priest who says:

"God takes pseudonyms . . . The loudspeakers and bells announcing
the new slaughter in Ethiopia were not God. . . . But if one poor man
gets up in the middle of the night and writes on the walls of the
village, 'Down with the war!' The presence of God is there."
(Ignazio Silone, "Bread and Wine", pp. 230-231)

The point is there is an enriched fertility when we see something unexpected in the ordinary. We, too, can have a "Eureka experience" with our routine interrupted whenever we pay attention. Inertia is not only the first law of physics, it is also the first law of human nature, which easily adopts to the usual, failing to see the unexpected in the ordinary.

The music and the lights and the stories of the season are invitations to see; to experience once again the awesome aspects of night turned to light. A few moments ago Catherine read "Why Not a Star?" a lovely setting of one person's journey from magic to rationality, to the irrational possibilities at the birth of each child.

"Why not a star? Some bright star shines somewhere in the heavens
each time a child is born. Who knows what it may foretell? Who
knows what uncommon life may yet again unfold, if we but give
it a chance." (Margaret Gooding, "Why Not a Star," Reading #621 "Singing the
Living Tradition")

There is a little known sequence to the story of "Rudolph, The Red-nosed Reindeer." Sometime after that "foggy Christmas Eve," Rudolph became so enamored with himself that his glowing nose went out. His light was extinguished by pride. Rudolph's light was regained through service when he dared to venture into a dark forest to find some children who were lost.

During the ancient celebrations of Winter Solstice, people lighted bonfires on top of hills. Those fires, meant to lure the return of the sun, also became beacons, helping travelers find their way in the dark night.

Christmas and Hanukkah light can be not only a time of Yule logs, colored lights and candles. This season can be a time of renewed vision - of better understanding. This season is a happy interruption in the routine of life. We are reminded again at this season that light is available to anyone experiencing the "dark night of the soul." This Season is a reminder that we can enlighten one another as we share whatever light we have.

May your days be not only merry and bright, but may all your Christmases be lighted.