Grace to you and peace, from the one who is, who was, and who is to come. Amen.

 

There's a Curious George story that my son, Naaman, loves to have us read to him.

In this story George stumbles upon a dump truck in the city park.

This truck is filled with dirt, and in the background of the illustration,

you see workers planting trees and otherwise tending to the landscape of the park.

George, who is always curious,

climbs through an open window into the truck, and,

in an effort to see out the windshield,

steps on a few levers and gets himself situated up on the dashboard.

Of course, one of those levers activates the bed of the dump truck,

which begins lifting up on one end,

and pouring mounds of dirt on the other end.

George immediately climbs out the window and onto the pile of dirt,

having all kinds of fun as he and the dirt are lifted up

and slowly slide down the truck bed.

He slides off the truck and onto a new pile of dirt,

having great monkey fun.

But the truck continues to pour dirt, and soon his face turns from frolicking joy

to what-have-I-done horror,

as the mound of dirt continues to grow and the truck empties its massive load.

What was for him a momentary celebration of joy

has immediately become something much more serious.

What has George done?

This night might be compared to that Curious George story.

We celebrate with great joy and, if not frolicking, with great festivity

at the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Like George who climbed atop the pile of dirt and went for a great ride,

we here tonight have climbed onto a great story

and are going for a great ride.

How great and exciting this is! How wonderful is Jesus’ birth!

Expectant parents, but not entirely expected delivery room,

angels singing, newborn infant, shepherds, manger …

A great story of Good News for all people.

We sing with the angelic hosts, “Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

What a great story!

But then, within moments,

like George who realized that what he was sitting on

was actually no small pile of dirt, but something of much greater significance,

we can easily be overwhelmed and awestruck that this story we’re hearing tonight,

is not just a tale of parents giving birth to a cute baby,

but is something much grander, of much greater significance,

than any light-up lawn nativity scene can depict.

We see the grandeur of this nativity event in this evening’s readings:

the Gospel dramatically paints the picture of

angelic hosts announcing Good News of great joy for all the people;

in Titus we hear that the grace of God has appeared,

bringing salvation to all,

in the Psalm all the earth is called to sing to the Lord a new song,

and from Isaiah we hear that the light shall shine in the darkness,

and that the stuff of war – boots of trampling warriors

and blood-stained garments –

shall be burned, no longer having a purpose

in a kingdom ruled by the Prince of Peace.

Yes, this story is no small pile of dirt that merely entertains a monkey for a few moments.

This is akin to that massive and overwhelming mound of dirt,

more than George could comprehend, more than he knew what to do with.

After dumping all that dirt bystanders could gasp out loud, “What has George done?!?!”

And tonight, as we take in these readings and this liturgy and the birth we celebrate,

we can gasp out loud, asking, “What has God done?!?!”

Yes, tonight’s story is more than the simple narrative of a birth,

at the outskirts of a city some 2000 years ago,

with a handful of shepherd witnesses and angelic announcers.

This is a story for all the world,

a promise of salvation and peace for all people,

it is a chorus of good news raining down on lowly shepherds

and on an unwed, virgin mother, finding rest in an animal stall.

Odd recipients of such a grandiose promise, to be sure.

This is the story of God breaking the divide between human and divine,

bridging the gap between God’s perfect nature and our fallen nature,

of blessing this world with his holy yet vulnerable presence,

come to us not in strength but in weakness,

in order to accompany us in our weakness,

and to redeem our weakness and to redeem us,

and grant to us,

through the most unusual yet intimate means

of this child’s life and death and resurrection,

the promise of never-ending life with him and with those whom he favors.

What we celebrate this night, then, is not just a birth,

and not just the beginning of a story

that will unfold before us in the coming weeks and months,

but what we celebrate, or at least, what we stand in jaw-dropping awe of,

is the whole, massive pile of dirt (to hearken back to George)

the whole story itself, as overwhelming and grand as it is.

We stand in awe of this story’s beginning, yes, and its glorious conclusion,

when what God began in Christ’s birth,

and especially what he revealed in Christ’s death and resurrection,

will be done in all of us, at the last,

when we are raised to life, to a new life, in him.

Dear sisters and brothers in Christ,

the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all.

A child has been born for us, and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

He is laying in the manger,

he is hanging on the cross,

he is standing at the empty tomb,

victorious over sin and death.

Come, let us worship him.