Christmas Eve 2024
Published December 24, 2024
Pastor Chris's sermon from the 2024 Christmas Eve Candlelight Service:
Housing the Holy
In the town of Davidson, North Carolina, on the sidewalk just outside of St. Alban’s Episcopal Church on Caldwell Lane, there is a park bench, and on the park bench, laying on its side, there is a shrouded, human figure. At first glance, it would appear that someone experiencing homelessness is sleeping there – so thought one local resident when she called the police to report a vagrant in her neighborhood. But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that the figure is made of metal – bronze, to be precise. And if you look even closer, you might notice the nail holes in his feet. The Homeless Jesus, by Canadian sculptor and devout Catholic Timothy Schmalz, is the first of its kind in the United States and has not gone without controversy. Many in the wealthy neighborhood think it’s an eyesore. Others are offended that Jesus, the King of Kings and Holiest of Holies, would be depicted in such a repulsive manner.
I happen to know the town of Davidson quite well. It’s where, for many years, my family and I attended candlelight Christmas Eve services, just like this one, with my grandmother at her church. Where, just like tonight, we gathered with hundreds of other people to worship a baby, newly born to an unwed teen mother and lying in a feeding trough for farm animals. Repulsive, indeed. When I heard about the reaction to The Homeless Jesus, which was installed well after I had graduated and even started a family of my own, I couldn’t quite understand the disconnect. Do folks not realize what it is they are worshipping – what it is they are proclaiming to be Holy, against all the wisdom of the world, each and every Christmas?
Perhaps we have sanitized this story too much – cleaned it up to make it not quite so offensive to our sense of holiness. The stable is nice and neat. The animals are silent and reserved. The hay in the manger is clean, and the manger itself looks more like a crib than a 1 st century feeding trough. Mary and Joseph, also silent, are grown adults who look like they have everything together and are completely ready for all the challenges of parenting.
Still, as hard as we may try, the Christmas story refuses to align itself with our typical vision of what is holy, what is sacred, what is pure and truly set apart. This story is dirty and smelly; it is full of farm animals and all that entails. I mean, have you ever walked into a barn, taken a deep breath in, and thought to yourself, “this is what holy smells like”? This story is scandalous; it’s about a teen girl, unmarried, who becomes pregnant. Certainly not a situation many of us would label as “holy” in our time. And yes, I know Mary was a virgin. Then again, as my Church History professor used to say, “virgins get pregnant all the time!”
This story is about a family who many Christians, if we were completely honest with ourselves, would hesitate to welcome if they came knocking on our door seeking shelter for the night. If you didn’t know it was Mary, if you didn’t know it was Jesus, would you let them in?
Several years ago there was a man who came to the church one day – he had a job working the night shift at a local factory, but he didn’t have a place to stay. He was saving up money for a deposit on an apartment, but in the meantime he wondered if he could park his car in the church parking lot during the day to sleep. Terry looked about like what you would expect from someone who was living out of their car – dirty, disheveled; I’m not sure when he had last had a decent shower or a shave. “That’s ridiculous,” I told him. “It’s mid-August, you’ll bake to death, even with the windows rolled down. I’ve got a spare bed at home. You’ll come stay with us.” But Terry was insistent. He did not want to impose. He had a portable fan he could plug into his car – he’d be fine.
The next day he came back to me: “Is that offer to stay with you still good?”
Terry stayed with us for a few weeks. He mostly kept to himself, sleeping during the day and going to work at night. Except one time when I was out working in the yard, weeding and clearing the dead leaves off the daylilies, he came out and started bagging up all the yard waste, without being asked. He ended up being a great guest. He was not a dirty person. He was not dangerous by any means. He just needed a little hospitality. No sooner had he come to stay with us than he told us he was leaving – heading back home to Cincinnati to be with his mother, I think. I haven’t heard from him since. But I like to think that maybe, just maybe, God had given me an opportunity to entertain an angel unawares.
Have you ever had that opportunity? The phrase comes from the 13 th chapter of Hebrews, which says “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for in so doing some have entertained angels unawares.” You never know: the person you let in might just be more holy than you would guess. Or, if you are a certain innkeeper in 1 st century Bethlehem, it might just be the Son of God himself you house.
Now not much is said about this innkeeper. Actually, nothing at all. Contrary to popular imagination, there is no innkeeper in the story. The innkeeper is assumed because of the word “inn”, or kataluma in the Greek; and it is further assumed that this innkeeper kicked the Holy family out because there was no room in the kataluma. But kataluma also means “guest room”, and did you know that a typical 1 st century Palestinian house had a manger built into the floor of the main living space, because the animals were kept inside at night? Thus, this “innkeeper” is not an innkeeper at all, but a common resident of Bethlehem. Most likely poor, because most of them were. And this person, whoever they were, already had guests staying with them. But somehow they made room for an unwed, pregnant teenager and her fiancé. I think we typically imagine that Mary and Joseph were alone when Mary gave birth to Jesus – but they were not alone. They were surrounded by their hosts, who had likely called in the midwives to help. The shepherds that showed up later only added to the crowded room that filled the first few hours of our Lord’s life with love and warmth, even in the most humble and provocative circumstances. And that is a Holy thing, if ever there was one.
You see, this is what Christmas is all about: connecting the holy with the profane, the ordinary with the extraordinary. It is the Incarnation – the joining together of Heaven and Earth, Human and Divine. Christmas must teach us to see holiness in that which or those whom we would typically reject.
It was 2009, and Dr. Shelley Rinker – better known to me as “Mom” – had just gotten involved in the recently-renamed organization “Solace for the Children”. Solace was started several years earlier by Dick and Patsy Wilson, members of my home church growing up in Mooresville, NC – Williamson’s Chapel United Methodist, as a means to help Belarussian refugee children obtain medical care here in the United States. But with Belarus recently closed to the U.S., they decided to turn their attention to the war in Afghanistan. American soldiers on the ground were concerned about Afghan children who were getting caught in the crossfire and wanted to make sure they received the medical attention they needed. Mom started volunteering as the Medical Director for Solace, which meant she received case files on the children from the Army and reviewed every one of them. After a LOT of phone calls to various surgeons, specialists, healthcare networks, radiologists, etc., she would then determine whether or not the necessary medical care could be completed, free of charge, within the three-month window the children were here. While they were receiving medical care, between doctor visits, Solace would also facilitate relationship-building among the children with planned activities, outings, and gatherings. They had liaisons in the community who volunteered to take the children to Mosque so they could continue to practice their faith and celebrate their holy days. The program could usually accommodate about 12-15 children at a time. And where were their accommodations? Well, families from all around the Lake Norman area agreed to host them, as well as the young adults assigned to be their translators. You see, the children’s parents didn’t come with them: the fathers typically couldn’t leave their job for that long, and in their culture the mothers were not allowed to travel without their husbands. So, the age requirement for children to participate in the program was 7 years old – any younger, and they couldn’t come without a parent.
But somehow one case file came across Mom’s desk – a little boy with a club foot, and the best they could do in Afghanistan was amputate it. He was five years old. He would need his dad to come with him. But what Afghan dad would be able to get the leave from his job, not to mention a Visa? Furthermore, the work required to fix the foot would take at least six months – twice the typical 3 the children stayed. Solace didn’t think any host families – which typically consisted of stay-at-home-moms and working husbands – would agree to have a grown, Afghan, Muslim man in their house for six months in 2009!
By the time I met little Mati and his father, Zia, when I came home from my freshman year of college, they had already been living with my family for a few months. Mom, Dad, and my little sister, Jessie, had all agreed to host them. Now, I am a huge Friends fanatic – the T.V. show – and at the time I’d recently been gifted several DVD sets of some of the seasons, and I would watch them in my spare time over summer break. Soon, little Mati, who didn’t speak a lick of English, also became a huge Friends fanatic. By the time he left, he knew all the words to “Smelly Cat” by heart.
Zia, his dad, was fascinated by grass. Due to the drought that year, there was a water ban in place, and as soon as it lifted he wanted to help with the lawn work to get it nice and green again. Dad said he was about 5’5” and all of 140 lbs, maybe, but he pushed the aerator back and forth across the yard like it was literally made of air. Mom had a vegetable garden on the side of the house, behind the driveway, and Zia was constantly working in that garden. She said, “We have no idea what he did, but our cucumbers that year were this big around!” Dad nodded, “We had enough sweet potatoes for a whole year’s worth of casseroles…” He was also helpful around the house, completing projects while Dad was out at work.
But in addition, late at night, he and Dad would stay up and talk about religion. Zia shared about his Muslim faith and Afghan culture, and Dad shared about Christianity and our culture. Dad learned to count in Farsi for a game they played (although he says don’t ask him now, because he’s forgotten). Zia thought it was interesting that we say grace before the meal, whereas they say grace after the meal. For her part, Mom learned that Allah, the Arabic word for “God”, refers to the same God we worship as Christians – the God of Abraham. And though they attended Mosque the whole time they were here, there was one Sunday in particular Zia wanted to go to Church with my family – Easter Sunday. Zia said he resented the extremism in his religion and wanted us to know it is a very small minority. Dad said, “you know, we Christians have our extremists, too.” All-in-all, they discovered they had much more in common with one another than they originally realized. Mom said, “He was a blessing to our family.” And, if I might add, an unexpected experience of holiness.
When he arrived, Mati had to be carried by Zia off the plane. But when he left six months later, he walked, hand-in-hand, with his father. Holiness doesn’t need to come from a priest, or a pastor, or an Imam. Neither is holiness location-bound to a Temple, or a Cathedral, or a Sanctuary. Holiness can show up at any time, in any place, and in anyone. In my experience, that which is most holy is more often than not found in those who are most overlooked. So, this Christmas, I encourage you – do not neglect to show hospitality to the strangers God sends into your life, for in so doing, you just might be entertaining Jesus unawares.
I’ve not been back to Davidson since they installed that statue of The Homeless Jesus. Thankfully, I don’t have to travel so far to see it. As of today, there are over 60 copies of the statue all over the world, including one in the Vatican and three right here in Ohio, in Cleveland, Toledo, and Cincinnati. And I am pleased to report that the statue today has far more worshippers than critics. It is now common to see people from all over the earth come, sit on the bench, rest their hand on the bronze feet, and pray. Amen.
Housing the Holy
In the town of Davidson, North Carolina, on the sidewalk just outside of St. Alban’s Episcopal Church on Caldwell Lane, there is a park bench, and on the park bench, laying on its side, there is a shrouded, human figure. At first glance, it would appear that someone experiencing homelessness is sleeping there – so thought one local resident when she called the police to report a vagrant in her neighborhood. But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that the figure is made of metal – bronze, to be precise. And if you look even closer, you might notice the nail holes in his feet. The Homeless Jesus, by Canadian sculptor and devout Catholic Timothy Schmalz, is the first of its kind in the United States and has not gone without controversy. Many in the wealthy neighborhood think it’s an eyesore. Others are offended that Jesus, the King of Kings and Holiest of Holies, would be depicted in such a repulsive manner.
I happen to know the town of Davidson quite well. It’s where, for many years, my family and I attended candlelight Christmas Eve services, just like this one, with my grandmother at her church. Where, just like tonight, we gathered with hundreds of other people to worship a baby, newly born to an unwed teen mother and lying in a feeding trough for farm animals. Repulsive, indeed. When I heard about the reaction to The Homeless Jesus, which was installed well after I had graduated and even started a family of my own, I couldn’t quite understand the disconnect. Do folks not realize what it is they are worshipping – what it is they are proclaiming to be Holy, against all the wisdom of the world, each and every Christmas?
Perhaps we have sanitized this story too much – cleaned it up to make it not quite so offensive to our sense of holiness. The stable is nice and neat. The animals are silent and reserved. The hay in the manger is clean, and the manger itself looks more like a crib than a 1 st century feeding trough. Mary and Joseph, also silent, are grown adults who look like they have everything together and are completely ready for all the challenges of parenting.
Still, as hard as we may try, the Christmas story refuses to align itself with our typical vision of what is holy, what is sacred, what is pure and truly set apart. This story is dirty and smelly; it is full of farm animals and all that entails. I mean, have you ever walked into a barn, taken a deep breath in, and thought to yourself, “this is what holy smells like”? This story is scandalous; it’s about a teen girl, unmarried, who becomes pregnant. Certainly not a situation many of us would label as “holy” in our time. And yes, I know Mary was a virgin. Then again, as my Church History professor used to say, “virgins get pregnant all the time!”
This story is about a family who many Christians, if we were completely honest with ourselves, would hesitate to welcome if they came knocking on our door seeking shelter for the night. If you didn’t know it was Mary, if you didn’t know it was Jesus, would you let them in?
Several years ago there was a man who came to the church one day – he had a job working the night shift at a local factory, but he didn’t have a place to stay. He was saving up money for a deposit on an apartment, but in the meantime he wondered if he could park his car in the church parking lot during the day to sleep. Terry looked about like what you would expect from someone who was living out of their car – dirty, disheveled; I’m not sure when he had last had a decent shower or a shave. “That’s ridiculous,” I told him. “It’s mid-August, you’ll bake to death, even with the windows rolled down. I’ve got a spare bed at home. You’ll come stay with us.” But Terry was insistent. He did not want to impose. He had a portable fan he could plug into his car – he’d be fine.
The next day he came back to me: “Is that offer to stay with you still good?”
Terry stayed with us for a few weeks. He mostly kept to himself, sleeping during the day and going to work at night. Except one time when I was out working in the yard, weeding and clearing the dead leaves off the daylilies, he came out and started bagging up all the yard waste, without being asked. He ended up being a great guest. He was not a dirty person. He was not dangerous by any means. He just needed a little hospitality. No sooner had he come to stay with us than he told us he was leaving – heading back home to Cincinnati to be with his mother, I think. I haven’t heard from him since. But I like to think that maybe, just maybe, God had given me an opportunity to entertain an angel unawares.
Have you ever had that opportunity? The phrase comes from the 13 th chapter of Hebrews, which says “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for in so doing some have entertained angels unawares.” You never know: the person you let in might just be more holy than you would guess. Or, if you are a certain innkeeper in 1 st century Bethlehem, it might just be the Son of God himself you house.
Now not much is said about this innkeeper. Actually, nothing at all. Contrary to popular imagination, there is no innkeeper in the story. The innkeeper is assumed because of the word “inn”, or kataluma in the Greek; and it is further assumed that this innkeeper kicked the Holy family out because there was no room in the kataluma. But kataluma also means “guest room”, and did you know that a typical 1 st century Palestinian house had a manger built into the floor of the main living space, because the animals were kept inside at night? Thus, this “innkeeper” is not an innkeeper at all, but a common resident of Bethlehem. Most likely poor, because most of them were. And this person, whoever they were, already had guests staying with them. But somehow they made room for an unwed, pregnant teenager and her fiancé. I think we typically imagine that Mary and Joseph were alone when Mary gave birth to Jesus – but they were not alone. They were surrounded by their hosts, who had likely called in the midwives to help. The shepherds that showed up later only added to the crowded room that filled the first few hours of our Lord’s life with love and warmth, even in the most humble and provocative circumstances. And that is a Holy thing, if ever there was one.
You see, this is what Christmas is all about: connecting the holy with the profane, the ordinary with the extraordinary. It is the Incarnation – the joining together of Heaven and Earth, Human and Divine. Christmas must teach us to see holiness in that which or those whom we would typically reject.
It was 2009, and Dr. Shelley Rinker – better known to me as “Mom” – had just gotten involved in the recently-renamed organization “Solace for the Children”. Solace was started several years earlier by Dick and Patsy Wilson, members of my home church growing up in Mooresville, NC – Williamson’s Chapel United Methodist, as a means to help Belarussian refugee children obtain medical care here in the United States. But with Belarus recently closed to the U.S., they decided to turn their attention to the war in Afghanistan. American soldiers on the ground were concerned about Afghan children who were getting caught in the crossfire and wanted to make sure they received the medical attention they needed. Mom started volunteering as the Medical Director for Solace, which meant she received case files on the children from the Army and reviewed every one of them. After a LOT of phone calls to various surgeons, specialists, healthcare networks, radiologists, etc., she would then determine whether or not the necessary medical care could be completed, free of charge, within the three-month window the children were here. While they were receiving medical care, between doctor visits, Solace would also facilitate relationship-building among the children with planned activities, outings, and gatherings. They had liaisons in the community who volunteered to take the children to Mosque so they could continue to practice their faith and celebrate their holy days. The program could usually accommodate about 12-15 children at a time. And where were their accommodations? Well, families from all around the Lake Norman area agreed to host them, as well as the young adults assigned to be their translators. You see, the children’s parents didn’t come with them: the fathers typically couldn’t leave their job for that long, and in their culture the mothers were not allowed to travel without their husbands. So, the age requirement for children to participate in the program was 7 years old – any younger, and they couldn’t come without a parent.
But somehow one case file came across Mom’s desk – a little boy with a club foot, and the best they could do in Afghanistan was amputate it. He was five years old. He would need his dad to come with him. But what Afghan dad would be able to get the leave from his job, not to mention a Visa? Furthermore, the work required to fix the foot would take at least six months – twice the typical 3 the children stayed. Solace didn’t think any host families – which typically consisted of stay-at-home-moms and working husbands – would agree to have a grown, Afghan, Muslim man in their house for six months in 2009!
By the time I met little Mati and his father, Zia, when I came home from my freshman year of college, they had already been living with my family for a few months. Mom, Dad, and my little sister, Jessie, had all agreed to host them. Now, I am a huge Friends fanatic – the T.V. show – and at the time I’d recently been gifted several DVD sets of some of the seasons, and I would watch them in my spare time over summer break. Soon, little Mati, who didn’t speak a lick of English, also became a huge Friends fanatic. By the time he left, he knew all the words to “Smelly Cat” by heart.
Zia, his dad, was fascinated by grass. Due to the drought that year, there was a water ban in place, and as soon as it lifted he wanted to help with the lawn work to get it nice and green again. Dad said he was about 5’5” and all of 140 lbs, maybe, but he pushed the aerator back and forth across the yard like it was literally made of air. Mom had a vegetable garden on the side of the house, behind the driveway, and Zia was constantly working in that garden. She said, “We have no idea what he did, but our cucumbers that year were this big around!” Dad nodded, “We had enough sweet potatoes for a whole year’s worth of casseroles…” He was also helpful around the house, completing projects while Dad was out at work.
But in addition, late at night, he and Dad would stay up and talk about religion. Zia shared about his Muslim faith and Afghan culture, and Dad shared about Christianity and our culture. Dad learned to count in Farsi for a game they played (although he says don’t ask him now, because he’s forgotten). Zia thought it was interesting that we say grace before the meal, whereas they say grace after the meal. For her part, Mom learned that Allah, the Arabic word for “God”, refers to the same God we worship as Christians – the God of Abraham. And though they attended Mosque the whole time they were here, there was one Sunday in particular Zia wanted to go to Church with my family – Easter Sunday. Zia said he resented the extremism in his religion and wanted us to know it is a very small minority. Dad said, “you know, we Christians have our extremists, too.” All-in-all, they discovered they had much more in common with one another than they originally realized. Mom said, “He was a blessing to our family.” And, if I might add, an unexpected experience of holiness.
When he arrived, Mati had to be carried by Zia off the plane. But when he left six months later, he walked, hand-in-hand, with his father. Holiness doesn’t need to come from a priest, or a pastor, or an Imam. Neither is holiness location-bound to a Temple, or a Cathedral, or a Sanctuary. Holiness can show up at any time, in any place, and in anyone. In my experience, that which is most holy is more often than not found in those who are most overlooked. So, this Christmas, I encourage you – do not neglect to show hospitality to the strangers God sends into your life, for in so doing, you just might be entertaining Jesus unawares.
I’ve not been back to Davidson since they installed that statue of The Homeless Jesus. Thankfully, I don’t have to travel so far to see it. As of today, there are over 60 copies of the statue all over the world, including one in the Vatican and three right here in Ohio, in Cleveland, Toledo, and Cincinnati. And I am pleased to report that the statue today has far more worshippers than critics. It is now common to see people from all over the earth come, sit on the bench, rest their hand on the bronze feet, and pray. Amen.