Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church—Unitarian Universalist

Christmas Eve 8:30 service

Rev. Leslie Takahashi Morris

December 24, 2006

Once again, we contemplate the story of the season: that in an ordinary place, without grandeur and gold, someone waits. The place is a stable, it is in a field, it is a shed, it is in a split-level house or a planned community, it is in a garage, it is in the church fellowship hall which houses those who find no room at the inn.

And what do they await? A promise. A prophecy. A golden truth around which to pivot the axis of life. Or just a word. A gesture. A seed of hope cloaked in a small act of kindness.

And why do they wait, in this mythical story? Because an omen foretold waiting. Because a commandment decried it. Because they resist a jealous king’s degree. Because their old ways of life no longer fulfill them. Because they have lost the ability to find peace in their own life. Because they want someone to care for them. Because they need to find themselves connected to something larger than themselves. Because, in some sense, much of life is spent searching, searching, searching.

And who waits in this story? Some are shepherds and kings, wise men and animals, innkeepers and expectant couples. Some have identities hidden, mysterious. Some identities others would not claim. Some work fast food or retail, others peddle knowledge. Some incubate children’s truths. Some pace the streets on restless feet and others get parking tickets on their own couches.

And who are the travelers? Some come with gifts. They are regal. They carry priceless knowledge. They use coins and bills. They remove their shoes in airports. They yearn. They seek. They want. They recognize places never seen before. They open themselves to potential.

And who are we to this story, this echoing tale of infinite proportions? Do we seek to stand outside reporters and astronomers, scoffers and stand-up comedians? Or do we remember that none are guests on this earth and step forward to offer our hospitality, our humor, our hubris, our hopes and put our hands to the work of earthly hosts, tending and loving this place of dirt and miraculous new life. Do we open the door to let in the boy with his crust of bread and, at the same time know ourselves in the boy?

When cast, do we accept the role of gift-bearers? Carrying the sweet-smelling gifts of love and devotion, bearing the most wonderful toys to celebrate the miracle of childhood, the talismans of wisdom and reason, the precious metals of inquiry and truth, the jewels of mystery and promise. In the story of the season, do we dig out the audacity to say we are as good as gold, that we carry a jeweled possibility of an intertwining hope and have seen a vision of a unity larger than our own aspirations, that we are saved by the new day and our thoughts upon waking.

Do we step inside the story to ponder the mysteries as well, to try on the part of the heavenly hosts as well. The ones who leaven, who lift, who raise our world and our lives up to a new level, a new height. Do we labor to connect the firmament of this earth to the ethereal promise that in the darkest, most still moments of our lives we meet our yearning to connect to that and those beyond our current grasp, to know a greater unity, to commit ourselves to its vision.

On this night of wonder and awe, let us stand for a moment in this story and know ourselves to be part of a great unfolding tableaux. A promise that we carry and that carries us. To know ourselves as bearers of the hope that is larger than us. For we are not guests, in this, our world and in it, we carry the promise and we are the promise. May we bear the story forward into this night, and in the bearing, bring its gift like a light to ourselves and our world.

Benediction

May we carry this story into our ordinary days.

May we carry its promise light our darkest nights.

May its peace help us bring peace on earth.

May its gifts grace our tomorrows.