Matthew 27:38-44
Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.’ In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, ‘He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, “I am God’s Son.” ’ The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.
Ruining Christmas
I’m remembering the woman in my internship congregation who declared to me on her way out of Christmas Eve worship, “You’ve ruined my Christmas.”
It was pretty devastating, as an intern, to imagine that I had somehow ruined Christmas for this woman. Apparently, a worship service that moved back and forth between Mary at the manger and Mary at the cross was unacceptable. Christmas was for the newborn babe, the gentle scene, candlelight, carols, Silent Night, angel song. Christmas was NOT a time to consider that this baby grew up, that this mother endured devastating loss, that this world—and our experience of it—is full of awe and horror, lament and joy. To think on that…well, that would just ruin Christmas.
I’m sounding unsympathetic, but I get it. I’m sure it was disconcerting and disorienting to experience that Christmas Eve worship service that night. There’s certainly more I could have done to offer a word of warning, perhaps, or to frame the whole thing differently. Still, I don’t regret the decision to marry Bethlehem and Golgotha that night, to de-Hallmark the holiday. There’s all sorts of sorrow held just underneath the surface during our Christmas celebrations. Why not name it? Why not make space for grief and for celebration, for the magic and for the mess?
Maybe the sorrow beneath the surface can also, somehow, give birth to beauty. Trout Run Trail, Decorah, November 24, 2021.
The baby for whom we wait during this Advent season was born into a world desperate for salvation. I so appreciate the Christmas carols that reflect this reality. “You, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow” and “Nails, spear, shall pierce him through, the cross be borne for me, for you.” We can acknowledge the human condition and this baby as God with us in the heartbreak AND we can belt out “Go Tell It on the Mountain” with all the joy of life in this Christ, this Savior born for us.
On the cross, Jesus refuses to save himself. He surely could have. Instead, fully divine and fully human, God’s beloved child saves the creation, the cosmos…every single character in this brutal, beautiful scene that is our life.
You can access today’s accompanying song, “When I Go” by Ingrid Michaelson, by clicking here.