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There’s a scene in one of my favorite movies – ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ – that for
some reason plays in my mind from time to time. The crazy Captain Jack Sparrow
– played by Johnny Depp, a pure genius of a character – has had his pirate crew
mutiny and take his beloved ship the Black Pearl from him. Despite his bumbling
insanity, he manages to stay in pursuit to get it back. When he turns up alive after
being left for dead yet again, the mutiny leader Captain Barbosa looks at him in
shock, and says, ‘It’s not possible!’ Jack Sparrow responds, ‘Not probable.’ I’ve
always loved that line – a little nod to the absurdity of the entire movie. (But the
absurdity is what makes it so fun.)
Well, it struck me this year how Christmas is not probable. It is even, in point of
fact, not possible. Christmas is the Feast of the Incarnation, when we celebrate
Jesus as the Word made flesh, the incarnation of the Godhead, the promised
Messiah that makes the weary world rejoice. And all of that is told in the small,
shabby story of a baby born to poor refugees in a very unimportant place, a scene
we decorate with worshiping animals, flying angels, and a magical celestial star.
It’s highly improbable. It’s an absurd claim to make.
But as the great writer Madeleine L’Engle wrote, "Possible things are easy to
believe. The Glorious Impossibles are those things that bring joy to our hearts,
hope to our lives, songs to our lips." And as Jesus said to his friends, ‘For human
beings it is impossible. For God, nothing is impossible.’
If you want to find happy things on the Internet, try googling ‘Christmas miracle
stories.’ There’s an endless array offered up of stranded motorists in snowstorms,
families offered shelter, rescues at sea, perfectly timed phone calls – all at
Christmas. That plus the Hallmark movies can make you a little, well, sarcastic. (Or
is that just me?) Yet every year I marvel at how at Christmastime, miracles do
happen. Not necessarily big miracles of cancer cures or world peace. Though yes,
astonishing healings do happen, torn friendships reunite, terrible despots fall –
big miracles happen too.
But at Christmas, I see miracles of softened hearts. People who never ever ever
sing aloud join in singing Christmas carols. Children’s stories and animation
become popular again, even among sophisticated literati. Elegant foodies go out
and buy things like marshmallows and cheese balls. People who have a hard time
agreeing on anything laugh about a sweet memory, and suddenly the tension at
family dinner evaporates. Soldiers at battlefronts agree to stop firing on each
other and for one night, play a friendly game of soccer. Not always, not every
time, not every person, but often enough that after several years around on this
earth, even the most jaded person has to concede that at Christmas, people can
be a little kinder and the world can be a little bit sweeter. It’s impossible and
highly improbable, but Christmas miracles really do seem to happen.
In our results-oriented society it’s a kind of miracle that we can accept this. The
Christmas story of the baby in the manger is a story of hope, light, joy, and peace.
And we sing hymns and carols that bring those thoughts not just to our minds but
to our hearts – we stir up our longing for all of those to come true. But the baby in
the manger doesn’t guarantee hope, light, joy, peace, any of it, on our terms. All
the times we hope for something and it doesn’t happen, all the disappointments
we live with, it can harden our hearts and turn us toward despair and cynicism. All
the times it feels so dark that we just can’t find our way out, can’t see a way
forward from our impossible situations. All the times our hardships swallow up
our joy, dragging us down to where we think we’ll never be happy again. And all
the times that violence breaks out, within our own hearts, within our homes,
around our world. Where is the peace? And the hope and joy and light?
And yet the story of Christmas is that the impossible happens anyway. The
Christian faith teaches us to live with a posture of hope in all things, living in hope
without attachment to a certain outcome – hope as an act of courage and will,
longing for the promise of redemption to come.
The gospel of John affirms the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness
does not overcome it – the light doesn’t defeat the darkness and yet the light
never fades away, is always there, shining.
Joy is persistent even in difficulties – we laugh through our tears, we find ways in
desperate situations to live in the face of death.
And even when we’re all too aware of the violence, that peace that passes all
understanding comes upon us sometimes unawares.
We know all of this, in our hearts. We may not ever figure it all out in our heads
and make a doctrine that settles it once and for all. And yet we know it.
Impossible things happen. As L’Engle’s book says, like love, it cannot be explained,
it can only be rejoiced in. Or like the Rolling Stones sang it, You can’t always get
what you want – but you get what you need. Somehow there is enough joy,
peace, hope, and light to keep us going through it all. At Christmas and all through
the year. Somehow that’s the miracle that happens, again and again. Not
probable. But true.
The year ahead looks dark and uncertain at this point, in all kinds of ways. None of
us know for certain what will come, and our hoped-for outcomes are by no means
guaranteed to happen. But the light and joy of Christmas does not depend on all
that we wish to come true. The peace of this time of year is there despite our
unease; the hope we are given persists despite our arguments to the contrary.
Because the good news the angels bring is good news indeed – it is good news of
great joy, for us and for all the world. News that we can stand on, rest in, trust
ourselves to – Christ the solid rock, while all around us is sinking sand. What we
long for – the peace, the joy, the hope, the light – is real. Whatever unfolds, God
is with us. Whatever comes, the light still shines. And so Merry Christmas. And
may the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing through the power
of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
