Oh The Stories We Hear

“Why is this night any different from all other nights?”

We become who we are by the stories we hear.
The stories we hear and the stories we tell give us clues about who we are.

At Passover, as Jewish families gather at sundown for their annual ritual, the honor is given to the youngest person present at the table to ask the question:
“Why is this night any different from all other nights?”
For centuries, this question is asked in households all over the world, year after year.  
“Why is this night any different from all other nights?”
The question is asked so the story can be told – and heard –  again and again.
It is good for us to get together at this time of year to hear the stories and sing the songs again. 
For it is in the telling and the singing and the hearing that we understand more about ourselves, more about the world around us, and more about our relation to our God.

Do you have a story that has been passed down through your family for generations?
Many families have these kind of stories that the elders tell the children year after year, generation after generation. 
Passing down the same stories of their origin, their uniqueness,
their relation with the world around them, 
and their relation with the Creator of the universe.   
Children grow up hearing the stories over and over again –  and learn to tell the stories to their children and to their grandchildren.

Tonight we hear stories about our faith, and we are reminded of how rich we really are,
we are reminded of the rich heritage that is ours,
we are reminded of the rich tradition of which we are a part.

But, the stories we hear, and the stories we tell, have no meaning apart from our experience of them. 
If the stories ring true to our experience, then our experience is informed and shaped by the
stories we hear.

Tonight, we celebrate the birth of a baby – 
an event of major significance to our faith. 
Some of you know what it is to give birth to a baby. 
All of you know someone who has given birth to a baby. 
It’s a pretty big deal. 
There is a flush of excitement. 
There is a rush to tell the news. 
When you hold a new baby, your heart quivers. 
You feel the power of life itself. 
No matter how bad things may be,
the birth gives you a sense of future, of hope.

Well, it was a big deal when a baby was born in Roman times, too. 
The biggest deal of all in those days was the birth of a child to succeed the emperor.  Everyone celebrated the birth of a baby Caesar – 
poets celebrated the birth of a baby Caesar ,
philosophers celebrated the birth of a baby Caesar ,
state officials celebrated the birth of a baby Caesar ,
singers and dancers celebrated the birth of a baby Caesar . 
The coming of the new leader meant the continuity of the empire.

If we lived at the time Jesus was born,
we would know the name of Augustus very well. 
He was the emperor of all the world,
the supreme ruler of all that was,
the number one guy,
the main man,
the big cheese. 
We would know all that. 
And we would know it because of the stories that were told, and the songs that were sung in those days.
 We would know by heart the story that appears on stone inscriptions found all over the Roman empire. 
The story of the birth of Augustus that goes:
Providence, that orders everything in our lives, has displayed extraordinary concern
and compassion, and crowned our life with perfection itself. 
She has brought into the world Augustus,
and filled him with distinguished goodness for the benefit of humanity. 
In her benevolence she has granted us and those who will come after us [a savior] who has made war to cease and who shall order all things well. 
The [epiphany] of Caesar transcends the expectations [of all who anticipated the good news]. 
Not only has he outstripped all benefactors who have gone before him, but he will leave posterity no hope of surpassing him. 
The birth date of our god has signaled the beginning of good news for the world.
The beginning of good news for the world?
A savior? 
The birth of our God? 
Bringer of peace and good will? 
This was the popular and political belief of the day.

So, it is no accident that Luke makes sure we know that Jesus was born while Augustus was Emperor and Quirinius was governor. 
Of course, Luke did not know then what we know now,
by the time this story was being told by Luke,  Augustus, the so-called savior and
harbinger of good news, was rotting in his grave somewhere. 

But that baby (?),
that baby wrapped in rags,
that baby who spent his first days and nights lying in a manger,
that baby for whom there was no room in the inn – 
when Luke told this story, that baby's people were totally dismantling the very world of Augustus and Quirinius stone by stone. 
Luke is saying that even when confronted with world's most august force,
nothing compares to this Jesus.

Luke wants us to know that Jesus is in contrast to the Caesar: 
Augustus Caesar with his glitz and glamour, promises much and delivers little. 
Jesus appears insignificant, but behind him is the power of the living God. 
We see the lame walk. 
The hungry eat. 
The community that emerges around him is free from Caesar-like power. 
Strangers to God become friends of God.

We become who we are by the stories we hear.
The stories we hear and the stories we tell give us clues about who we are.

Emmanuel! 
Tonight is the main event:
The story we remember tonight is one in which God acted decisively and conclusively –  entering our world to be with us wherever we go,
whatever we do,
for however long it takes. 
Friends, tonight we celebrate Emmanuel.  
May each of you know with certainty that the light that was in the world at the beginning
still shines to illumine the darkest corners of your life.
We become who we are by the stories we hear.
The stories we hear and the stories we tell give us clues about who we are.
Aren’t you glad you came?

Friends, it's Christmas! 
Emmanuel! 
Our God is with us. 
Hallelujah! 
Amen!

The congregation of Christ Presbyterian Church in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania, experienced this sermon by the Reverend Clyde E. Griffith  Christmas Eve, 2009.