The Marvel of This Night

 Jesu Juva

St. Luke 2:1-20                                                      

December 24, 2023

Christmas Eve                                 

Dear saints of our Savior,

        What day is it?  It’s Sunday, right?  You knew that, didn’t you?  A recently recurring question at our house has been, “What day is it anyway?”  (If not for leading a service this morning at 9:00, I would have no idea about the day of the week.)  As daily routines give way to traditions and celebrations of Christmas, it’s easy to lose your bearings—to lose track of time itself. 

        It’s Sunday night; but it’s not just a Sunday night.  It’s more.  In fact, you can be forgiven if the day of the week suddenly seems irrelevant.  Because God has taken this night and made it so much more.  God has taken this night and transformed it.  This night envelopes all other nights and days, months and years.  Behold the marvel of this night.

        This night has eternal significance because this is the night when Jesus was born—when God became man, when the Creator became a creature, and the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.  And please, please forget everything you’ve been led to believe about the date of Christmas—that the first Christians decided to hijack a holiday for pagans and repurpose it as a birthday party for Baby Jesus.  Nope.  There’s every reason to believe that Jesus Christ was born on this December night.  We can’t be dogmatic about it because the Bible doesn’t specify the exact night of Jesus’ birth.  But haven’t you always known that this night is timeless—a night when all creation pauses to praise the Lord and ponder the marvel of this night?

        It’s Sunday night; but it’s so much more.  God takes this night and transforms it.  God takes this night and makes it more.  God takes the fields of Bethlehem and transforms that landscape into a concert hall for choirs of angels.  He takes a manger—a feeding trough for livestock—and He makes it a throne fit for King.  He takes simple shepherds and makes them evangelists—heralds of good news—making known far and wide all that they had seen and heard.  That’s the marvel of this night.  God takes it and makes it more.  Heaven hallows earth—with peace . . . and good will toward men.

        That’s us.  Men and women—human creatures made in the image of God.  Through the marvel of this night—through the birth of Jesus in human flesh—God takes us and makes us more.  It turns out that God becoming man is a huge upgrade for us men and women.  In Jesus, divinity is joined to humanity; and, suddenly, all of humanity gets a big promotion.  To paraphrase Neil Armstrong, the birth of God’s Son in human flesh is one small step for God (He can do anything), but one giant leap for mankind.  Through this holy Child of Bethlehem, God takes you and makes you more—gives you dignity you don’t deserve—takes you and transforms your life into a wonderful life—something of eternal significance.

        Unto you is born this night . . . a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  The One who makes this night a marvel is called a Savior.  Saviors save.  And you can’t fully comprehend the marvel of this night unless you see how desperately you need a Savior.  For your whole life long, God has been busy at work for you—taking to make more, transforming the ordinary stuff of life into blessings beyond compare:  He takes ordinary water and makes it more—makes it a baptism—a new birth of faith and forgiveness.  He takes ordinary bread and wine and makes it more—a feast of forgiveness in His true body and blood.  He takes ordinary men like me and makes us more—gives us the privilege of preaching glad tidings of great joy year after year—a message that would make angels envious, if that were possible.  From this night forth, God fills our lives with faith and hope and love.

        And yet, we need a Savior.  We are those “who by sin have grieved [God’s] heart of love.”  We take the marvel of this night—the marvel of what God gives us—and we box it up in the basement for the rest of the year—along with all the other stuff of Christmas.  God gives us so much; and we despise it.  He gives us a wonderful life; and we complain about it.  He places people in our pathway who need us—provides ample targets for our love and service—and we cross over to the other side.  He creates and equips us for glorious good works; but we can’t drag ourselves off the sofa; we can’t take our eyes off the screen.  He makes us to be the light of the world; but our dim and darkling lives daily fail even to shine or shimmer. We crave pleasures of our own choosing.  We covet what our neighbors have.  We do not come with haste to this place, where Jesus is always mangered for us.  And all this sin is simply symptomatic of how much we love ourselves and how little we treasure God’s gifts.  God gives us so much and we despise it.

        And yet, here you are, partaking in the marvel of this night, laying claim to your Savior.  The marvel of this night is not the manger.  The marvel of this night is not the virgin birth.  It’s not even a sky filled with angels making music better than Bach.  The marvel of this night is:  unto you—unto you is born this day a Savior.  Saviors save.  And this diapered deity delights to save you from your sin.  He died a horrible death—to give you a wonderful life—a wonderful life that lasts forever.

        Yours is a wonderful life because Jesus has taken it and made it more—He’s transformed it with His forgiveness—renovated it with His righteousness—and filled it with peace that passes understanding.  Your life is a wonderful life—not because it’s free from sorrow and suffering and sadness.  Mary certainly failed to circumvent suffering on this holy night, bringing her little Son into the world in a dark, chilly, smelly, unsanitary space—without one drop of warm water.  Jesus shares in your sorrow and suffering.  He redeems it and repurposes it in ways that are mysterious and marvelous.  In Holy Baptism He takes your life and makes it more—takes your life and joins it to His own.  That’s the marvel of this night.  Christ is born for you!  Unto you, this day. . . 

        At Christmas we preachers often say that God has entered into time.  The eternal Word—without beginning or end—stepped into our world of clocks and calendars—did it on December 25^th of that specific year when a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.  God has entered time to rescue us from the ravages of time—to liberate us from time’s tyranny.  God has entered time to draw us out of time, and into eternity with Him. 

        One day we each will permanently, finally leave clock and calendar behind, when we make that last giant leap from earth to heaven.  Christmas Eve gives us a taste of that timelessness—a teasing taste of what Jesus has prepared for us.  On this night all it takes is one Christmas carol, or the smell of a spruce tree, the taste of cinnamon or sugar, a flickering flame of candlelight and the warmth of melting wax—and we, we leave time behind.  We are transported to another time and place—looking ahead to another shore and a greater light. 

What day IS it?

This is the day the Lord has made.

Let us rejoice and be glad in it.