Isaiah 9:2-7
Psalm 96
Titus 2:11-14
Luke 2:1-20

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.  This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.  All went to their own towns to be registered.  Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David.  He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.  While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child.  And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.  In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.  Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.  But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:  to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.  This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,  "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!"  When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us."  So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.  When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.  But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.  The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

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Merry Christmas!

Some of you have heard me speak of Fred Shuttlesworth. Fred Shuttlesworth was a minister in Birmingham in the 1950’s and 60’s, and he was one of the heroes of the civil rights movement. In October, I attended a lecture series at my seminary, Sewanee, and Fred Shuttlesworth was one of the speakers.

Like most lectures I’ve heard (and probably sermons you’ve heard), I don’t remember most of what he said. But one thing really stuck with me. He said that during that time of struggle (and often desperation), he got really tired of hearing all these people who called themselves Christians, both black and white, who talked a religion of love and justice, but whose theology lacked commitment. “I got tired,” he said, “really tired, of people talking about a religion that was all pretty words, all fancy ideas, all earth-changing propositions, but they were words and ideas and propositions that had no feet, that had no action, that lacked any commitment to do anything. I got tired,” he said, “of theology without commitment.”

As I watched Fred Shuttlesworth on the stage, I thought, “This guy has earned the right to say that.” Before the nation’s conscience was offended by the way black people were treated, before the rest of the nation paid any attention to conditions in the South, before there was a civil rights “Movement,” Fred Shuttlesworth was agitating and organizing direct action protests. In many ways he laid the groundwork for the Movement’s pivotal triumph in Birmingham in 1963. But not without commitment, and not without cost. The Klan bombed his house. The Klan bombed his church. When he took his daughter to a white school to enroll her after the Supreme Court ordered desegregation, the Klan beat him with brass knuckles. When Bull Connor ordered fire hoses turned on demonstrators, the Rev. Shuttlesworth was pinned in an alley and hurt so badly that he had to spend weeks in the hospital. Fred Shuttlesworth earned the right to be tired of Christians who preached a pretty theology without commitment.

But, tonight we’re a long way from the ugliness of Birmingham in 1963. It’s Christmas Eve. The decorations are beautiful; the music is beautiful; you have bulletins that we sent to the printers. I overheard someone on the altar guild asking that a few drops of wax be removed from one of the sconces. Another altar guild person said, “Who cares? Who will even see that? What’s the point?” Still another person said, “She just wants it to be perfect.”

It’s Christmas Eve, and we work hard to make this service just perfect. But it never will be. Not as long as folks like me and you show up. We are never going to be perfect. No matter how pretty and perfect your finest Christmas attire is, on the inside each one of us is a pretty deeply flawed creature. As St. Paul says in his letter to the Romans, we do not understand our own actions. We so often do not do what we want, what we know is right, but instead we do what we hate, what we know is wrong. And so how often it is that we — dressed up, fine looking people — make mistakes when we should know better, hurt one another, belittle other people, tear down even our own image of ourselves.

We can make the liturgy, the music, the decorations, the festal dress, all that we can make pretty close to perfect, but if you’ve been around people very much, if you’ve looked in the mirror occasionally, and you look around and see that here we’ve got a room full of people, you know that this service can never be perfect, because we bring such imperfection, such painful imperfection, into God’s house.

So that’s when we find out about God’s commitment. Tonight we imperfect people, we people who cause God such great pain, we gather to celebrate that God’s faith, God’s religion, is not about words and ideas and propositions that have no feet, that involve no action, that lack real commitment to do anything. Tonight we celebrate that God came to us in vulnerability, in humility, as a baby born in a barn, to try to get through to us, to try to be with us painfully imperfect people. And, of course, we know that God’s commitment will not be without a price, a devastating price.

When you encounter evil, remember God’s commitment. God is with us. When you encounter death, remember God’s commitment. God is with us. When you encounter illness, remember God’s commitment. God is with us. When you are afraid, when you are depressed, when you are lonely, when you feel abandoned, remember God’s commitment. When you struggle with relationships, remember God’s commitment. When you hurt so bad, when hope seems lost, remember God’s commitment. God is with us.

And when, as sometimes happens, as sometimes needs to happen, you look in the mirror, and you get a devastating glimpse of how flawed you really are, how many mistakes you’ve made, how many opportunities you’ve squandered, how much love you’ve thrown away, how many people you’ve hurt, how many ways you’ve hurt yourself — in that moment of excruciating clarity in the mirror, remember God’s commitment. God is with you.

Fred Shuttlesworth was right to point an accusing finger at people who practiced a religion long on lofty ideas, but short on commitment. But he never thought that religion without commitment was authentic Christianity. Because he knew about God’s commitment.

On this Christmas Eve, as you look into that stinking barn and see that teenage girl holding a tiny baby, a brand new vulnerable human baby who is also the Creator of the Universe, remember always and everywhere that God has committed to being with you.

What will you commit to?

The Rev. James H. Pritchett, Jr. St. John’s Episcopal Church, College Park, GA

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