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The Eve of the Nativity Tonight, for a few minutes, I want to invite you to come with me to that Bethlehem stable. Perhaps, like me, you have come many times before. Or perhaps, for you, this is the first time. Whatever your disposition, whatever your mood, come with me and see. That lowly stable, in all likelihood, is no more than a cave. A cave where domestic creatures are kept: cows, sheep, and the sort, but also home to less agreeable kinds: bats, mice, and bugs; a cave smelling of mildew and defecation. And because it is a Judean winter, the cave is cold and dank. And because it is a stable, it is a very messy place. Yet, even so, it is here scripture says, right here, and not some more hospitable place, where the Son of God is born. And if we can stay, even for a few minutes in this stable, if we can shake off our disbelief and doubt and longing for some better place, some more comfortable place, something begins to happen. We begin to see and to feel something different. Yes, it is cold in the stable, but no colder that the coldest place in our hearts. Yes it is dark, but no darker that the darkest recesses in our souls. Yes, it is messy, but no messier than the greatest messes we make in and of our lives. And yes, if we look hard at those solitary figures there, barely more than children themselves, bringing new life into the world, we see there an awful pain; the pain of childbirth, the pain and indignity of having to spend this night of nights in a stable. We see there the pain of poverty. But even so, this pain is no deeper or greater than any pain we may be carrying with us this evening. This, this, friends, is the way God comes. In the cold. In the dark. In the mess. In the pain. This, this, is the way Jesus is born. In our numb and cold and broken hearts. In the dark night of the soul. In the midst of our pain and agony. And the wonder and mystery of it all is this: God comes seeking us. The renown Jewish theologian and Rabbi Abrahan Heschel put it this way: “God is not some detached figure, someone we go searching for in life. Rather, God is a lover who creates us out of a passionate longing. Think of it. In this stable, to which all of us pilgrims travel this night, in this stable , God is passionately searching for you, God is searching for me. And all that is necessary in this cold and dark messy little stable, all that God wants this night is our hearts, all that God desires is our love. So that in the cold, we may be warm. And in the dark, we may have light. And in the mess, we may regain our way. And in our pain, we may find comfort and consolation. You know, when I was a very little boy, I remember my mother singing me to sleep, and for some crazy reason, one of those songs has been with me the past several days, a song that, to me, says everything about the meaning of Christmas. I’m not drunk tonight, but I must be a little nuts, because in closing, I want to sing it to you. It goes: Into my heart, into my heart, come into my heart, Lord Jesus, come in today, come in to stay, come into my heart, Lord Jesus. May our hearts, dear friends, be open to the wonder, the mystery, and the blessing of Christ’s birth, this night and evermore.
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