St Stephen's Day: The Cost of Christmas

Jeremiah 26:19, 12-15
Psalm 31
Acts 6:8-7:2a, 51c-60
Matthew 23:34-39

On Christmas Eve I spoke of the dynamic of light and darkness; of that light of which we only catch a glimpse, but which nonetheless transforms us into people who consistently witness to the narrative of light in the midst of seemingly pervasive darkness. While, in the darkness of the their world and the darkness of their lives, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds also have the true light revealed to them, they still must return into the dark. The shepherds more overtly into the dark night and the dark fields of pasture; Mary and Joseph into the darkness of fear, flight and exile as they must flee to Egypt in order to escape Herod’s violence. The light transforms their perspective, defines a new narrative, but they have to live still in the darkness while they work to let the light’s truth shine in the world.

If only they could simply have remained undisturbed at the “manger throne”, lost in “wonder, love and praise”, as the old hymn goes. In our celebration of Christmas we also may want to remain there. We like the high, the buzz – even nostalgia – of the light: “peace on earth, goodwill to men”, and all that. We get that high and fuzzy, warm feeling, and we feel we have arrived somewhere – at Christmas; and that’s good isn’t it? In fact, the days following Christmas Day have very little significance for many Christians; and yet Christmas Day is only the beginning. It is only the start of the Christmas cycle, and the full meaning of Christ’s coming into the world is not revealed on that one day, but in the Church’s observances and celebrations throughout the season’s twelve days. As Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and even the wise men find themselves in the darkness once again after their encounter with the Christ-light, so the Church in her wisdom takes us into the dark again. She does not allow to remain passively in the light encounter, but in the days following Christmas Day plunges us into all the violence, prejudice, injustice that darkness affords. Just three days from today the Church commemorates Thomas Beckett, killed within his own cathedral church for defending the Church’s rights and dignities over and against the king. In two days time, we recall Herod’s horrific massacre of all the “children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and under” (Matthew 2:16) in the hopes of extinguishing the Christ-light altogether. Tomorrow she celebrates the feast of St John the Evangelist in whose gospel we find written those marvellous words telling of “the light [which] shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5), but who on account of the darkness of fear, victimisation and persecution will eventually find himself exiled to the island of Patmos at the whim of the Emperor Diocletian. And then there is today, the feast of St Stephen, the Church’s first martyr. All this is Christmas too; and yet think for one moment of sending a Christmas card depicting any of these events? Most people, even most Christians, want the light only, without having to encounter the dark; we want the warmth of the light without having to carry it into the cold darkness of the world. But the Church does not give us that luxury, or much time to bask in the radiance of the light; instead she immediately takes us into some pretty dark places and reveals to us the cost of being light in the world, being light in the darkness. Through her feasts, she takes us into the darkness so we can learn how our ancestors in faith were lights in the darknesses of their own generation, but also how we can be lights in the darknesses of our own.

Being light in the world means speaking the truth, especially when no one wants to hear it. It means being willing to suffer for the right, as well as defending those whom the darkness has robbed of voice and dignity. It means being willing to enter into the places that are dark in order that we can transform them by our witness to light. It means we allow the darkness to challenge us into shining only more brightly, but also to proclaim that its deeds and words are not the final deeds, the defining words. It means that even when we see and feel the darkness overcoming us, we do not give it the final victory by succumbing to its forces, but continue to oppose it even if only, like Stephen, by praying for those who live and work with darkness as their defining narrative.

Christmas that ends on Christmas Day is no Christmas at all, but enculturated comfortableness that allows us to escape the season’s real meaning for Christians. Light has come into the world, and that light is costly to those who collaborate with it, like Mary, Joseph, the wise men. It is costly for those believe in and proclaim it, like Stephen, John, Thomas Beckett. It is costly even for those who simply get in the way of the darkness, like the Holy Innocents slaughtered by Herod’s men. And yet all of them are blessed, all of them are remembered and celebrated, revealing as they do the true narrative of creation, the true purposes of God: light, the light that shines in the darkness and which the darkness does not ultimately overcome.

Beyond the expense of presents, time spent at the mall and long hours in the kitchen, is Christmas costly to you? Is the light revealed in the darkness of that Christmas night a challenge for you to be a light in the darkness of world, or is it merely a comfortable, warm glow centred around your nearest and dearest? Is the darkness in which we often find ourselves simply something to escape and from which to steer clear, or something to encounter, engage with and transform? No matter how often we may celebrate Christmas Day or pay lips service to what it means, it is only when we observe the season in its fullness and accept for ourselves the risky and dangerous challenge it offers that will ever be able to say “Glory to God in the highest heaven (Luke 2:14); “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” (Matthew 23:39)