Dr. Dale Miller, December 24, 2006

Recovering the Wonder

Christmas Eve

Titus 2:11-15

When our four children were young I was able to mesmerize them by making a coin in my hand disappear, only to reappear behind their ear. They looked on in wonder at the magical achievement demonstrated before their very eyes. Actually, I wasn't very good at making the coin disappear flawlessly. Most of the time the coin would disappear not only from their view, but also mine. When you accidentally drop the coin into the cushions on the couch, it is extremely difficult to make the coin reappear behind your child's ear! Why did I do it? I loved to see the wide-eyed expression of wonder on my children's faces. They thought I was a man of magic that could make the impossible possible. As the years passed they grew to understand that I was not a magician. They also grew to understand, as we all do, that it is often difficult just to make the possible happen the way it should happen.

Somewhere in the journey of our lives, wonder becomes obsolete. The story is told that Franklin D. Roosevelt and Bernard Baruch talked late into the night at the White House. At last, President Roosevelt suggested that they go out into the Rose Garden and look at the stars before going to bed. They went out and looked up for several minutes, peering at the thousands of stars. Then the president said, "All right, I think we feel small enough now to go in and go to sleep."

We need that sense of wonder, don't we? It is part of what it means to be human, but it is so easily lost in our time. We forget to be amazed at the most basic wonders of existence. We drive ourselves on such relentless schedules that we lose sight of some of the most elemental miracles of our lives. We are such creatures of habit and routine that we cease to see and hear the most astounding sights and sounds in our environment.

We don't go through life on tiptoe, saying, "How wonderful! How marvelous! God has planted miracles everywhere, and all we have to do is see them!"

One of the wonderful things about Christmas is that it is an annual reminder of the importance of seeing the miraculous in our midst. This whole business about a child born to be the savior of the world, and shepherds seeing angels on a hillside, and wise men following a star to Bethlehem, is an invitation to see and hear like children again.

Children do see and hear more than we do. It is because we have lived long enough to get in the habit of editing everything that comes to our senses, of selecting what we want and forgetting the rest. I know that I have the ability to tune out certain things, hearing only what I want to hear, what I think is important. Young children don't do that. Their senses are more alert than ours because they haven't been organized yet to see and hear certain things and screen out the rest.

We naturally do a certain amount of this to improve our ability to function in the world. We do not have the time, as adults, to see and hear everything around us. If we did, we would never get through our personal agenda for the day.

But Christmas says, "Wait a minute! Maybe we are too organized. What if we are missing a lot of beautiful experiences in the world? Suppose we slow down and look more deeply into things. Suppose we listen with fresh hearing to learn what is really happening around us. Wouldn't it enrich our lives to be more sensitive to the world God has created, and not to rush through it as if our only objective was to get to the finish line?"

In her book, And the Trees Clap Their Hands, Virginia Owens says we are really put in the world as children to become "spies" and to discern the meaning of things. We are expected to investigate the properties of matter and explore the realm of intelligence. But gradually, over time something goes wrong: The spy slowly begins to forget his mission. He spends so much time and effort learning the language, adopting the habits and customs, internalizing thought patterns flawlessly, that somehow, gradually, imperceptibly, he becomes his cover. He forgets what he's about. He goes to school, grows up. He gets a job, collects his pay, buys a house, and waters the lawn. He settles down and settles in. He wakes up each morning with the shape of his mission, what brought him here in the first place, grown hazier, like a dream that slides quickly away. He frowns and makes an effort to remember. But the phone rings or the baby cries, and he is distracted for the rest of the day.

Somewhere along the way, says Owens, everything becomes "merely" - it is merely water or merely snow or merely fire or merely colored leaves or merely sand or merely matter. Its connection with the God of creation has evaporated. It no longer points to eternity, saying, "You think this is something, wait for what is next!" It is merely what it is, and no more. How sad!

Christmas points us beyond the "merely." Christmas is a "Yes, but."

• "Yes, it was merely a stable, but..."

• "Yes, it was merely a noise those shepherds heard, but..."

• "Yes, it was merely a star the wise men followed, but..."

And the "Yes, but" points to all the deeper meanings, to the things we were put here to spy out, to the mystery that drew near to earth that first Christmas evening.

Once we get beyond the "merely" and see deeply into the significance of things, everything begins to be transformed. Things are not merely things; they are the creations of God Almighty.

• People are not merely people; they are the dear children of the Divine.

• Our daily behavior is not merely daily behavior; it is the way we relate to God.

Christmas says that nothing is "merely:" not the stable, not the song of the angels, not the shepherds and their sheep, not the star, not the magi and their gifts, not Jesus and his ministry, not the cross on which he died, and not the empty tomb in the garden.

Everything in the world is changed with the beauty and grandeur of God, if we have but eyes to see and ears to hear. This is why the gospel puts such a premium upon seeing and hearing. There is no relationship with God apart from being sensitive, from beginning to understand that God is somehow in and through and a part of all that God has made. There is no redemption if we cannot fall on our knees and worship before the wonder of it all.

The greatest sadness is to look at the world of Christmas - at the greenery and the trees and the gifts and the lights and the faces of children - and not see anything in it, not be aware that God is somehow in all of it.

Graham Greene dreamed he was present at the first Christmas, right there in the stable with the animals and the holy parents, but, when he looked in the crib, he could not see the Christ Child. For him, there was no Christ at the middle of it all, and he felt lost, hopelessly and forever undone. If we cannot see when we look, if there is no magic and wonder in any of it any longer, then we are undone as well.

We are invited tonight to take our own miracle and ourselves so seriously that we treat each other with love and give ourselves to each other in new ways. That is the greatest wonder we can experience tonight. The wonder is simply this: God says to us in the Christ child, "I love you; I love you all; and I will always love you." No matter how old we are, each day is precious. Life is sacred. We are to treat each other with love and respect.

An expanded view of what human life might be - its significance, its preciousness - is given to us. Then we can see the wonder of it all once again. We don't have to be naive and sentimental, but live from the sheer giftedness of life. We are a miracle.

On this Christmas Eve let us concentrate on recovering our wonder.

• Let us pause as we hear the carols and as we listen for the voices of angels.

• Let us look carefully at the manger scenes and the glistening trees and the brightly wrapped packages.

• Let us see the miracle of love and the Incarnation behind them.

• Let us open our hearts to the people around us who get excited about Christmas and discover a world of caring and joy.

We have found our way to church tonight. We are here because something warm and vital stirs within us. We feel the presence of the Christ Child.

A group of Princeton University students once went to sing their carols outside the home of Albert Einstein, the great physicist. They had sung only a carol or two when the front door opened and the professor stepped outside and began accompanying them on his violin.

I like that picture. There is Einstein, one of the greatest minds of our time, drawn out by a little group of carolers. Maybe it is also a picture of us, drawn out this Christmas by the carolers and the lights and the traditions of the season.

Something inside of us responds and answers to something that happens outside of us. And when it does, the whole world suddenly becomes a better place, and we want to join the angel's song of peace on earth, good will towards all. Merry Christmas, my friends. Enjoy the wonder!