A couple years ago we tried something here on December 21st, which is quite literally “the longest night”. On that night, we on this end of the planet are the furtherest from the sun than any other night of the year. And a couple of years ago, on that longest night, we held a worship service here called a Blue Christmas, which was specifically for those for whom Christmas was an extremely difficult time of year -- those who had lost loved ones during these joyful days, those who were going through Christmas bereaved for the first time, those who were just overwhelmed, perhaps dealing with depression, addiction, joblessness, homelessness. The idea was to have a separate service for all the sad people in our midst.
Despite all that, it was a good evening, I think, as about a dozen of us gathered in the darkness. And I had two small candles for everyone to light, two different colors: a pain candle and a hope candle. At one point in the service, we lit those candles, and then each shared briefly about the pain and the hope in our lives. That was good. And God was with us.
But I haven’t done a Blue Christmas service ever since, because I can’t get out of my head this idea that we were segregating the sad people on Christmas, even if it was specifically to care for them. It was almost like having two different water fountains or two different sections of the restaurant. Blue Christmas people over [here]; light and gay Christmas people, you come on December 24.
There are lots of great Blue Christmas services in our churches, and honestly, they are becoming somewhat popular, drawing many from the outside in. All of this is good, and God is with them. But it occurs to me, as we reflect on this text, that festivals are for both the joy-filled and the pain-filled.
Our text today from Ezra, speaks of a time in the Old Testament after the exile. It’s the only post-exilic OT text we get to share together, and the last Old Testament text of the year for us here. Starting week, we get into the New Testament! But back here in Ezra, we hear of the return home. Home for the holidays, in the truest sense! After being captured and held in a foreign and harsh land, God stirs the heart of the King, of all people, and he rules that the people may return home, and he orders that they be provided with what they need to make their homecoming safely and even abundantly: “...let all survivors, in whatever place they reside, be assisted by the people of their place with silver and gold, with goods and with animals, besides freewill offerings for the temple of God in Jerusalem.” Whoa, did you catch that? In addition to your temple offering, says the King, of all people, give generously to those in need! After being locked up for years, God’s people are finally free to go, and free to worship.
And so the festival that they returned home to celebrate, the holi-day (that is the holy day), that they gathered in Jerusalem for, was, as you can imagine a mixed celebration, where all were gathered together in one place -- both the sad old people and the happy young people. “But many of the priest and levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first temple...wept with a loud voice, though many shouted aloud for joy.” It’s this broad diversity of emotion: “The people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people weeping.”
[pause]
Sisters and brothers in Christ, God’s people need a place. God’s people need to be together. And so, God provides for us space for both joyful shouts and weeping, at the very same time. This is what worship looks like.
(Those two candles -- joy and pain -- symbolize the whole worship event: hymns of joy and prayers of the people.)
And at this time of the year, as Christmas is drawing ever closer, this is what Christmas worship looks like -- candles of hope and joy...and candles of pain and sorrow.
I’ve shared this before, and I’ve heard it again: members of our congregation tell me that they didn’t want to come to church this Sunday or that...because they were too sad, and they just didn’t want to bring anybody down. [pause] It makes me want to resign my position as pastor here when I hear that. Something is not working; I’m failing...if God’s people think that they’re only allowed to be happy in church. A vast majority of the psalms are songs of lament, epithets of anger, the sounds of weeping -- did you know that? -- the Blues, as I’ve described before. There’s nothing wrong with Christmas and Blue Christmas being one in the same -- all mixed up together. In fact, it almost always is, if we’re honest! We just have that tendency in our culture -- so as not to put anyone out (including ourselves) -- to force the smile, stuff our lives with stuff, and act like everything’s just fine. [pause] But isn’t every Christmas a Blue Christmas, especially as we look at the state of our world?
I mean, that’s the whole story of the shepherds: God comes down to be with the lost, the forsaken, the smelly, the sad, the hopeless, the scared, the addicted, the depressed, the far-from-home, the bereaved, the broken, the lonely.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, we’re not going to segregate sadness and joy in our church. We need each other. We don’t just need happy people, then we’re not being honest and true...and welcoming. When we say all are welcome, then even shepherds are invited to the manger of Christ, to the table God. Sisters and brothers in Christ, we’re not going to segregate sadness and joy in our church. We’re going to hold each other through it. And we’re going to hold this whole world through it. We are not saved from the world by God, we are saved for the world by God. [pause]
We have one water fountain, and one section in our restaurant. We have Christmas here, and it’s for all colors.
And it’s coming. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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