"The Bethlehem Connection"
I would like for all of us to just take a moment to stop. And breathe. Not so much because of the obvious stress surrounding this season, or the fact that it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, but just to first take a breath, think about where that breath is coming from and Whose it ultimately is in the first place. Breathe in the space around you, take in what is new - those things you did not see, hear or feel last week. Take it all in. Then breathe out, breathe out your concerns, your prayers, your anxiety. Breathe out joy as well.
When we breathe, it’s not just the air that changes. We are not only renewed and refreshed, but by the grace of God, we sustain our very lives. We remember the Source of this breath. Our very breaths right here, right now, are directly connected to the first breath — the RUACH - that God breathed into Adam.
Tomorrow night, we celebrate Jesus’ first breath on this earth. We celebrate something very glorious — the Incarnation — God coming down TO US, FOR US - in the form of a living, breathing, human being. At his first cry, Jesus begins to breathe WITH US. He begins to live among us.
Jesus’ first cry was the first embodied song of hope on this planet. There were prophets before him who diligently did the work to prepare us for this moment, yet we never knew exactly how it would be until his arrival. Jesus’ first cry was the first incarnate song of hope — and this morning I’d like to share several other songs that lead up to that holy moment.
Mary had recently had the encounter with the angel Gabriel, who had told her that the Spirit of God would come upon her and she would give birth to a baby boy and he will be called the Son of God. I think what really helped convince Mary was Gabriel’s first words, “Do not be afraid, Mary.” I will always hear those words read by a certain woman in our congregation who would intone them just right… she said, “Don’ be afraid, Mary” with such a beautiful lilt in her voice that I’ll never forget it. I imagine that Mary must have been comforted in a similar way as this angel reassured her, ‘you have found favor with God.” But what really clicked for her must have been the story of Elizabeth herself — and this is what made her run to the hills of Judea to go and find her sister. Gabriel told her, “See? Your relative Elizabeth has conceived a son in her old age, and she’s in her 6th month already…and she was said to have been barren. For NOTHING WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD.”
Mary was probably feeling isolated in her own way. The gossip, the scoffing, the wagging tongues and pointing fingers. Perhaps her sense of isolation is best expressed in a song that came out fairly recently, Amy Grant’s “Breath of Heaven:” I imagine her singing this as she travels to Elizabeth’s house in the Judean hills, talking to herself and God, reflecting on what the angel just said to her -
I have traveled many moonless nightsCold and weary with a babe inside
And I wonder what I've done
Holy father you have come
And chosen me now to carry your son
I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now
Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan
Help me be strong
Help me be
Help me
Breath of heaven
Hold me together
Be forever near me
Breath of heaven
Breath of heaven
Lighten my darkness
Pour over me your holiness
For you are holy
Breath of heaven
(knock-knock-knock). Mary is finally here, at Elizabeth’s house. “Hello?!” she calls. Elizabeth is thrilled to see her. “Come on in!” she cries — and HER song becomes “Ave Maria” — “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Elizabeth was thrilled to hear Mary’s voice, greeting her as she entered her house.
Suddenly Mary felt connected to someone else again. And she spent some time with her sister, who, at 6 months shared a “kick story.” There are, perhaps, fewer things more thrilling as a pregnancy progresses than being able to feel a baby move. And this particular baby, John the Baptist, Elizabeth tells us, leapt in her womb as his mother greeted Mary. Suddenly not only the two mothers intersected, but the cousins did as well. Yes, there were still a few months left to go for Elizabeth, and of course 9 months for Mary. They still had to keep waiting, expecting. But now they were connected.
This season at St. Paul’s, at least since I’ve been here, we have all shared concerns and celebrations. Some of us have gone off to college for the first time, some of us have had to cope with unexpected diagnoses, some more of us are recovering from surgery, and several have lost loved ones. We have had ups and downs in our studies, our work situations, our relationships. We may have been injured physically or emotionally.
Advent can be a profound time of growth and waiting. But we can sometimes feel isolated. Over the next few days, we will potentially encounter a huge amount of people coming through these doors. Some of them we may not have seen in years, some come in once or twice a year, but there they are. For a very short space in time. How can they touch our lives. and how can we touch theirs, just by sitting side by side in the pews?
Well, as we speak of connections just within our four walls, we can start with last Sunday. Three of our own St. Paul's Youth — Catherine, Caelin, and Carson — along with my husband, sang a beautiful concert with the Commonwealth Youthchoirs at the Church of the Holy Trinity on Rittenhouse Square. Now, if you recall this church at all, you know that it’s been around for a long time - at least a couple hundred years. Our performers will tell you this is true because there are very few bathrooms there.
This church itself, however, is notable for something else. The Church of the Holy Trinity on Rittenhouse Square was a site that made music history 150 years ago — not quite as old as “Silent Night,” but it seems appropriate to note that we have our own “Silent Night” story right here in Philadelphia.
In 1863, Phillips Brooks, an Episcopal priest, then rector of Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia, was inspired by visiting the village of Bethlehem in Jerusalem. Three years later, he wrote the poem for his church, and his organist Lewis Redner (1831-1908) added the music.
Lewis Redner describes it this way “As Christmas of 1868 approached, Mr. Brooks told me that he had written a simple little carol for the Christmas Sunday-school service, and he asked me to write the tune to it. The simple music was written in great haste and under great pressure. We were to practice it on the following Sunday. Mr. Brooks came to me on Friday, and said, ‘Redner, have you ground out that music yet to "O Little Town of Bethlehem"? I replied, 'No,' but that he should have it by Sunday. On the Saturday night previous my brain was all confused about the tune. I thought more about my Sunday-school lesson than I did about the music. But I was roused from sleep late in the night hearing an angel-strain whispering in my ear, and seizing a piece of music paper I jotted down the treble of the tune as we now have it, and on Sunday morning before going to church I filled in the harmony. Neither Mr. Brooks nor I ever thought the carol or the music to it would live beyond that Christmas of 1868. Rev. Brooks, a formidable man standing at 6 feet 4 inches tall and went on to become one of the great preachers of the 19th century. Please join me in singing the first verse of O Little Town of Bethlehem (found in ELW 279):O little town of Bethlehem, how STILL we see thee lie,
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet, in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.
“But you, Bethlehem Ephrata…” says the prophet Micah, speaking of that little town of which we just sang. “one of the little clans of Judah.” Bethlehem - or “bet-lechem” means “house of bread” in Hebrew. Just a coincidence? I don’t think so. The Bread of life, the Word made Flesh. The Son of God now come to earth, the living bread we share each week through the very body and blood of Jesus Christ our Savior. That little town with such great promise.
Upon accepting her mission with the words, “Let it be according to your word,” Mary joined ranks of many prophetesses before her, all with distinct songs to sing — Miriam, Moses’ sister, who danced and sang in triumph in the book of Exodus after the Israelites had crossed the Red Sea,; Hannah, singing as she learns she is expecting a the child Samuel, for whom she had proved so fervently, and finally Zechariah, when he was given his voice back — all speaking of justice for the oppressed, raising up the poor from the dust, the Lord opens up the eyes of the blind, those who are bowed down, the orphan, the widow, God makes them to sit in the place of honor.
Yes, Miriam, Hannah, Elizabeth, Zechariah, and Mary and Zechariah, were able to speak this way because they were filled with a certain hope. Despite the things going on around them, despite the odds of their contexts, their level of hope and trust in the future was high.
Like the prophet Micah today, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, in his speech, “Where do we go from Here?” says that “the arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” That is hope.
As we look toward the coming of Christ once again this season, and daily in our own lives - we become filled with hope. That hope heard round the world awaiting Jesus’ first breath, the Breath of Heaven - that first cry giving voice to an everlasting radical love for you and for me — a love that widens our circle, connecting and making room enough for everyone. AMEN
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