Home for Christmas

Jesu Juva
Luke 2:1-20
December 24, 2019
Christmas Eve

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

The Christmas Eve crowd here at Our Savior is always an unusual mix of people. Many of our regulars are not here tonight. People who practically own their pew through decades of regular use are nowhere to be found on this night. But thankfully, in their absence, many people who are not here regularly have taken their place—college students, extended family members, and even a few strangers who simply decided on the spur of the moment that this place was the right place to be on this holy night. Welcome, one and all.

Of course, the unusual composition of tonight’s crowd can be rather easily explained: It’s the powerful pull of home. The regulars who aren’t here have, by and large, gone home. They have Christmas reservations with grandma and grandpa, with mom and dad, with family and friends, somewhere away from here. And as for the irregulars here tonight, this service simply syncs up with the area home to which they have traveled. The powerful pull of home is actually hardwired into our hearts and minds. And we feel it quite powerfully on December 24th.

It is precisely the lack of a home that provides one of the biggest plot twists surrounding the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. That decree from Caesar Augustus meant that the newlyweds from Nazareth had to trek nearly ninety miles, all the way into Judaea,

unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem. They had to leave home behind at a rather precarious time, as Mary was great with child. And the most notorious no-vacancy sign in history drove them out of the inn, depriving them of even a temporary home, eventually depositing them in a stinky stable beneath shaky timber, where only creatures with four legs felt at home.

Now, much has been made about the apparent homelessness of the Holy Family on that holy night—and rightly so. But please ignore those who would hijack the nativity to fit some modern political template on immigration policy or a humanitarian response to the refugee crisis. Mary and Joseph were not undocumented aliens. Nor were they refugees in the modern sense. They were simply being good citizens—respecting authority—obeying Caesar’s summons.

Jesus Christ was born away from home because that’s where we are. We’re the homeless ones. We’re the refugees. And since our Savior had to be like us in every way, His birth away from home was perfect. The sad truth is that we’ve been exiles—all of us—ever since Eden’s paradise was lost. We’ve been homeless ever since our first parents decided to be god in the place of God—and so got themselves evicted from the most perfect home ever created. That sinful slide began a precipitous fall through the downward drift of time—a fall that will eventually deposit every son and daughter of Adam six feet under.

But wait! Home is where the heart is, we like to say. We like to say it because it affords some consolation in the face of our sinful situation. But, actually, home isn’t where the heart is, for our hearts were lost long ago, swallowed up by sin. Our sinful hearts can only conjure up sad substitutes for home. This sin is why our earthly homes aren’t always happy places. Home—with all of its joys and memories—can also be a crime scene for conflict, a haven for hateful words, a launching pad for prodigal sons and daughters to spit in the face of our elders, demand our share of the inheritance, and head for the horizon.

Our earthly homes are just temporary shadows of our real home. This is why we sometimes feel homesick at home. It’s why going home at Christmas sometimes triggers more pain than pleasure. It’s why we feel like strangers under the sun. Every night when we go to bed, we lay our heads down in a foreign land, an alien place, far, far from home. We are refugees from Eden, wandering nomads, always longing for home, but never quite there.

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For the Savior born this night—He too was a stranger under the sun. This land is our land—not His. He left His home on high to dwell among us. He lived like one of us, so that He could sympathize with us in every way, yet without sin. He was homeless so that He might lead us home. From His birth in a stable He was whisked away to Egypt to seek asylum from Herod’s sword. Foxes have holes, Jesus once said, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head. Jesus is the homeless God—who came to win a new and everlasting home for you.

He lived like one of us; He died like one of us. His cross was a crime scene caused by our sin. There He took the place of every prodigal son and daughter, rendering perfect obedience to His Father, and earning perfect obedience for all His wayward siblings—including you and me. Our homeless Savior traveled from heaven to hell and back again.

Risen, ascended and glorified, Jesus is now making all things ready for your final homecoming. Christmas is the first step on our long journey home again. The way to Paradise stands open. Jesus, our brother, has gone ahead of us. Home is on the horizon.

But we’re not there yet. And until we’re there, we’re here. This place is where the refugees gather. This church is an oasis where the weary come for rest. This is our Bethlehem, where we gather like confused shepherds, beneath a timbered roof, to be with our Savior, who is Christ the Lord. This is His house, and our home away from home. The cornerstone may say 1948, but this sacred space is as old as Eden; for here the homeless gather. Here every attendee is a refugee who finds asylum from sin and death in the Savior’s warm embrace. And all this a free gift, received through faith.

It’s true what they say: There’s no place like home. Christmas is a reminder that we’re on our way. Jesus once spoke about what He called His “Father’s house.” It’s a spacious place with many rooms. And unlike the inn at Bethlehem, there are plenty of vacancies—always room for more! That’s the home that’s hardwired into our hearts. The powerful pull of that home is what you feel tonight. A home on a hill, aglow with light and laughter and love. The smell of good food—a real feast. A Father’s warm welcome. The embrace of our Brother with the nail-scarred hands. The Spirit of peace and joy. Everyone there a regular. Not one soul a stranger. And the faces! So many old and familiar faces, saints you haven’t seen in God knows how long. They’ve gone home ahead of us. I’ll see you there. But for now, merry Christmas.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[Based on the poem, “The House of Christmas,” by G. K. Chesterton.]