It's Hard to Be Still on Christmas Eve

It's hard to be still on Christmas Eve.

 

On Christmas Eve we go to church.

Whose idea was that?

Mom says we have to be still and pay attention.

She says she'll take my candle away.

But the preacher talks for a long time.

And I don't know all the words to the songs.

And tomorrow's Christmas!

How could anybody ever be still?

 

My grandfather winks at me from down the row.

Somebody's cell phone rings.

They pass a tray of bread over top of me.

Nobody else is still. Why should I be?

 

I like it when we pray.

When we pray no one is looking but Jesus.

I close my eyes and think of him.

I wonder what he was like at Christmas.

I bet he cried like all babies do.

I think he liked looking at the animals in the manger.

I'm sure it felt good when his mom held him.

I hope nobody told him to be still.

 

So if I wiggle on Christmas Eve,

I think it's OK with Jesus.

Because he was a kid, too.

If Jesus moves around on Christmas Eve,

it's OK with me.

--

 

It IS hard to be still on Christmas Eve.

Even if your body's still, it's hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Racing.

Bustling.

Nobody bustles except at Christmas.

You're mentally running.

Jumping through lists. Checking them twice.

At least.

And look around you at all these people doing the same thing.

I know what you're thinking.

"What's that person's name?"

"He's put on weight."

"She's had work done."

"What an unusual Christmas sweater."

 

Even at church there's so much to see.

Choir. Handbells. Tree.

Chandelier.

"How much does it weigh?"

"How well is it attached?"

You think you're the first to ask these things?

 

It's Christmas and our brains are busy.

Minds wandering, led down memory lanes by ghosts of Christmas past.

Minds racing.

Minds chasing – chasing dreams of how Christmas is supposed to be and could still be and should be if Santa would only pay attention and write down the gift ideas when we say them the first time.

 

It's hard to be still at Christmas.

No matter what age you are.

And you know what?

That's OK.

 

--

 

The Bible's Christmas Story is about Joseph and Mary and a little gray donkey.

It's about an earthly host of tired travelers converging from all directions on a town unprepared for the season.

It's about an inn with not a single room left.

Barely even a stable out back for the poor lady who's so more than ready to give birth.

It's about shepherds and kings and heavenly choirs and a star so bright you can set your course by it.

So, so many racing people, chasing people, hustling and bustling, not a still, not a silent, not a holy night.

 

It was hard for Mary and Joseph and Bethlehem to be still.

It was hard for the countryside and the crowds.

And you know what?

Apparently that was OK, too.

 

--

 

It's hard to be still on Christmas Eve.

It's always been that way.

From the first until now.

It's hard to be still.

It's hard for our bodies to be still.

It's hard for our minds to be still.

It's hard for our children to be still, to be silent, holy, no crying they make.

Not only is that OK, it appears to be God's fertile ground for doing something new.

 

Christmas can be chaotic.

It often is.

A lot of people stress out at Christmas.

(Anybody here been stressing out?)

We want it to be perfect.

The stockings hung by the chimney with care.

The tree trimmed where the ornaments face the right direction and the cat doesn't see it as a giant playground.

With Carrie Underwood herself standing in the living room, singing carols.

"Oh, Carrie, thanks for coming. Have another egg nog."

We want it all calm and bright, tender and mild, a truly silent and holy night.

We'd like at least a few hours of heavenly peace.

God bless you if your Christmas works like that.

But the first one didn't.

It looked like a mess.

Any of you ever ride a donkey for a couple of days right before your due date?

With a fiancé who didn't make reservations?

(Awkward.)

And God still blessed.

Blessed a world too busy to see, people too absorbed to notice.

In fact, God seems to really like making something holy from the chaos.

Not only does God seem to like it, it seems to be standard operating procedure.

It's God's standard operating procedure from the beginning.

--

"In the beginning."

The Gospel of John tells a creation story:

"In the beginning was the Word…. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."

 

Sounds a lot like Genesis in the beginning.

 

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good…

 

God's standing operating procedure is to create something out of nothing.

Light out of darkness.

To roll the big bangs of swirling, churning chaos into meaning.

Nothing's still when God's on the move.

Not the earth and the stars, not heavenly bodies or earthly babies.

They're all bouncing off the walls.

Delivery of God's love sure seems to be scheduled at the most unexpected times, because they're the ones when we think chaos is all there is and ever will be.

 

24-hour news cycles show us vivid, discomforting, often horrible pictures of how our world is awash in chaos.

And it's not OK.

The world is not OK.

But when has it ever been?

The world's not moving according to God's plan.

But how could a reader of the Bible be surprised?

Human beings, as a whole, have never moved according to God's plan.

Things are always spinning apart.

They always have.

 

But time and again the Bible tells us of how, at points of critical pressure, God takes the mayhem, and God folds it, God bends it, God wrestles it into unquiet birth.

Rebirth.

Again and again.

God makes something from the mess.

Something new.

Something like light that shines in the darkness and will not be overcome, overtired, worn out, or used up.

And that IS OK.

It's more than OK.

It's a blessing.

 

God is not still on Christmas Eve.

Jesus is not still on Christmas Eve.

The Holy Spirit is not still on Christmas Eve.

They wiggle.

They laugh.

They dance atop the chaos.

They sing in the darkness.

They call to us like children to join in.

They say, "Even if you're not OK, even if things around you aren't hung with care… that's OK."

Because not only can God make something with the scattered pieces, God is exceptionally good at it.

God has a lot of practice.

God has seen worse.

And you – you WILL see better.

 

--

 

Jesus is not still on Christmas Eve.

He's moving around.

He's fidgeting.

Good news for us.

And it's more than OK.