A meditation on Luke 2: 4-7

You’re in a draughty stable,
warm,
smelly,
straw,
animals ….
A young girl, teenager,
fussing over a cattle trough ….
A young man, a little older,
hovering, anxious ….
A newborn baby, wrinkled,
messy, sleeping ….

The place is quiet,
charged with excitement,
weariness,
and a strange peace pervading everything.

You find yourself
kneeling by the manger,
wondering what to offer ….

You remember your childhood,
early Christmases,
memories of people,
some no longer here …
good feelings, and not-so-good ….

(pause)

And you’re back in the stable,
kneeling on the floor,
and your memories
are wrapped in coloured paper
in your hands,
and you lay them quietly
beneath the manger.

(pause)

You remember Mary’s story,
and the angel,
and her shock
at God’s abrupt entry into her life,
and you think back
to a time when God burst in on you
unannounced,
surprising ….

(pause)

And you’re back in the stable,
kneeling on the floor,
and your memories
are wrapped in coloured paper
in your hands,
and you lay them quietly
beneath the manger.

(pause)

You remember Joseph,
and a dream held onto tenaciously,
and a life turned upside down,
plans wrecked
and replaced with uncertainty,
and you think back
to a time when God spoilt
or re-directed your plans.
Resented,
disruptive ….

(pause)

And you’re back in the stable,
kneeling on the floor,
and your memories
are wrapped in coloured paper
in your hands,
and you lay them quietly
beneath the manger.

(pause)

You remember the others,
shepherds,
wise men,
who came in obedience
to signs they didn’t understand,
and gave what they could
or what they had,
and you, in the quiet,
ponder what you have
or are
or want to be ….

(pause)

And you’re back in the stable,
kneeling on the floor,
and your memories
are wrapped in coloured paper
in your hands,
and you lay them quietly
beneath the manger.

(pause)

And now you’re back here,
in this place,
aware of the quiet,
and the presence of Jesus.

Remembrance Sunday

Remembrance Sunday is always a challenge for me. It's an occasion where the world and the church meet - seemingly in unity, but actually with very different agendas hidden behind the words.

Obviously it's right to remember those who died in war: love and sacrifice go rightly together, and those strands tie easily into our faith story. But it's a short step from there to claiming that God's on our side, not their’s - and that's a dangerous place to be. Or we were right, and they were wrong – and that too is dangerous.

I want to argue, that Remembrance Day demands work from us. That remembering the fallen with love should lead to repentance for pain caused. That (as I think Solzhenitsyn said) the boundary between good and evil lies within you and me, not "out there". That sin lies on both sides of the fence, and cannot be compared, since all sin requires repentance. I’m not sure the idea of a “lesser evil”, as some claim as justification, has any biblical validity.

So the grief we feel for our fallen friends or relatives is matched by the feelings of our “enemies”. Therefore condemnation of Auschwitz stands next to repentance for Dresden; and condemnation of atrocities in Burma, next to the viciousness of Nagasaki.