Daybreak (Christmas Eve; Luke 2:1-20; December 24, 2016)

Daybreak

Christmas Eve
Luke 2:1-20
December 24, 2016

Rev. John M. Caldwell, PhD
First United Methodist Church
Decorah, Iowa

Night has fallen, but it is daybreak.

Shepherds were keeping watch in the fields above Bethlehem. It was night, but we aren't told what time of night. Was the long night still ahead of them? Or did this happen during the small hours, when the darkness seems to last forever? We aren't told, so we aren't sure just what to imagine when the darkness was shattered by the appearance of God's angel attended by God's glory. God's glory shone. It was daybreak while still in the watches of the night.

We might take this for a figure, since their nighttime was not the only absence of light. The chapter in fact began with nightfall. "In those days Caesar Augustus..." Octavian was on the imperial throne, all the while pretending that it wasn't really an emperor's throne, pretending that he was restoring the Roman Republic to its former self, making Rome great again. Rome had just gone through a difficult time. Julius had been assassinated and the Republic plunged into civil war. Octavian came to power promising the restoration of family values, the preservation of the privileges of the one percent, and the administration of peace (or at least the absence of war). As Augustus, which was a title rather than a name, he delivered on his promises.

Of course the subject peoples had to pay. They paid in taxes and they paid in the loss of freedom. Not content with making a registry of one religion or ethnic group, singled out and blamed for Rome's troubles, Augustus registered them all. He ordered everyone to their ancestral city, which, says Luke, is how Jesus, a Nazarene, had come to be born in Bethlehem in the land of Judah. Augustus could order people to go anywhere and do anything. He could do as he liked. He was Caesar.

It was nightfall in Judah, but on the hills above the town, daybreak had come. Don't be afraid, the angels said. Too late; they were already afraid and it was going to get worse before it got better.

"Look," the angel continued. "I bring good news to you--wonderful, joyous news for all people. Your savior is born today in David's city." Augustus called himself "savior," but God's angel says that the savior of all people isn't Augustus; it's a child born in the city of David the King. After the nightfall in Judea, brought to them courtesy of Augustus, comes news of daybreak, delivered by God's angel.

Night has fallen, but it is daybreak.

Today is the beginning of Hanukkah. It comes every year at about this time, but not very often does it begin on Christmas Eve. The first day of Hanukkah. began at sundown, just a little while ago. Hanukkah. is a minor Jewish festival. Only in North American is it a really big deal, I guess because Jewish parents here don't want their kids to feel like they've missed on all the fun that Christian kids have at Christmas.

Minor or not, Hanukkah. is a special commemoration. It remembers a dark time in Judah's story, a few generations before Jesus' time. After Alexander the Great died and the territory that he conquered was split up among his generals, Jews found themselves in disputed territory between two of those Greek kingdoms. One of the kings, Antiochus IV, who fancied himself a revelation of the gods and nicknamed himself "Epiphanes," declared that he must be given divine honors in every place. Jews refused, so Antiochus had the Temple defiled not only by setting up an image of himself, but by having a pig sacrificed on the altar.

Jews rose up in rebellion and won their independence. They wanted to celebrate and give thanks to God for their freedom, but the Temple was defiled. There was a process for purifying the Temple that required eight days to complete. This was the good news. The bad news was that there was no olive oil, not enough anyway to light a lamp for the eight days. A scramble found just enough to light the lamp for a single day. But, miraculously, the single day's supply of oil kept the lamps lit for eight days and the Temple was cleansed and ready for worship once again. Hanukkah remembers these events with eight days of celebration and the lighting, on successive nights, of the candles on the menorah.

In the darkness of Judah's nightfall, the light of the menorah brought daybreak.

Night has fallen, but it is daybreak.

It does seem awfully dark these days. We could really use news of daybreak. It has come before, this news, to ancient Jews and Bethlehem shepherds. Will it come again, this news?

The days are short this time of year and the nights are long. For some of us night does not bring welcomed rest, but the torment of sleeplessness, the struggle of anxious worry or remembered pain. Is there news of daybreak?

In the city of Aleppo more than a hundred thousand civilians have been caught between opposing forces. No one seems to be able to sort it all out. Are there good guys and bad guys there? I don't know. There are victims, though. The city of Aleppo has fallen, but the long night of their suffering goes on. Is there news of daybreak?

The Standing Rock Sioux have achieved a remarkable, if temporary, victory in their struggle to prevent the building of a crude oil pipeline in dangerous proximity to their sources of water. They are still keeping vigil, though, because they know that changing events may reverse their gains. In the long night of their watchfulness, is there news of daybreak?

In recent months racism has gone mainstream, fear of foreigners has become popular, suspicion of Muslims has become acceptable, and harassment of LGBTQ folks has become commonplace. It is a dangerous time for us as a people. Fear and anger beckon us to enter a nightmare, a bad dream that is all too real for the countless folks who haven't the power to protect themselves. When nightfall beckons, is there news of daybreak?

I wish I could answer those questions with an easy and confident yes, but I am at the place where any affirmative answer will not be based on the facts, but on hope that arises when all other forms of resistance have failed. So, I don't know the answer to those questions. But I do know this.

In little churches in northeast Iowa; in churches in the broken, urban centers of our own country; in churches in Syria and North Dakota; and in churches all over the world, the darkness has been shattered. Candles have been lit, pathetic weak little flickering flames. They seem a pitiful attempt to push back the darkness. One by one, they are easy to blow out, cover up, extinguish. But taken together, taken together, they are light shining in the darkness and I will say this: the darkness has not overcome it yet!

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