I did a memorial service last week.
That’s probably not what you were expecting in a Christmas message, but bear with me for a few paragraphs.
What made this service different was the location, a park in Carlsbad, chosen because that park was the closest thing this woman had to a home. It was also the closest thing to a home shared by about a dozen men and women gathered there. I did not know this woman, but I know how to use those trusty prayerbook words we Episcopalians have for such a time as this.
“We thank you for giving her to us, her family and friends.” “Nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
There we were–a small group of homeless men and women, plus a few social workers and a police officer, sharing those Episcopal words. Of course, one wants to personalize a service like this, and I had prepared by talking to the family. There were issues—maybe not a surprise. Our deceased friend had left a trail of disappointments and unresolved conflicts, but in telling me this story, her sister stressed over and over: “Make sure they know that we loved her.” So, few scripture readings, and it was time for remembrances. One by one, the residents of the park shared what they knew, sometimes with colorful language, but still the message was always the same: Love. We loved her.
What does this have to do with Christmas? They say that every memorial is a little Easter, and so it is—meant to remind us of Christ’s victory over death. This time, however, I felt like our service was a little Christmas. Easter tells us about the triumph of love over death, but Christmas tells us who that love includes. Christmas includes us all.
Christmas is about what God does, not about what we do.
Christians often begin the salvation story with the human reality—how we have disappointed God, how we are irreparably estranged, and how we are worthy of nothing but eternal damnation. Christmas doesn’t begin there. Christmas is about God, who comes to us in the person of Jesus. God chooses to be with us. Emmanuel—God with us—becomes Jesus’ prophetic name. Love with us, not because we deserve it or respond to it, or are even changed by it but because God chooses to be here.
Christmas: The story of God’s irresponsible love
Christmas is about what God does, but that doesn’t preach all that well. If God loves us no matter what, doesn’t that give us permission to do whatever we want? Where’s the incentive to behave? Let’s fix people up—get them to know about their mistakes and failings first, then they can know about love. If we tell people they are valued and cherished simply because God has given them life, doesn’t that just encourage them to be irresponsible? Instead of the unexpected news of God’s love, preachers offer the totally predictable news of condemnation. Hope gets lost somewhere, but not at the memorial. The Christmas message may get buried in Christmas excess and Christian theology, but in the park it was there in full view.
Back in the park, the homeless community talked about their friend. They talked about the good times and about loss and grief. We weren’t talking about accomplishments. We couldn’t tie a neat bow on this life and proclaim it well-lived, But we could claim the Christmas truth. On Christmas God chooses to give of himself because that’s what love does. No manipulation, no demands or salvation strategies—on Christmas we see the truth of love, present with all the creation. In the park we saw the same truth. With good Episcopal words we commended our friend to God, not because she deserved it, but because on Christmas, God in Christ proclaims once and for all whose side He is on. Homeless or housed, our story is the same: God is with us because that is where God chooses to be, and we belong to God because love makes it so. Christmas brings us home. Yes, there’s lots more to be said, but just for Christmas, let’s, as the carol advises, hush our babble sounds and hear the angels’ Good News.