By Reverend Laurie DeMott

We sentimentalize the story of Jesus' birth, scrubbing away the smell of manure from that barn, and in so doing, we scrub away the radical message of Luke's gospel. Luke wouldn't have recognized our beautiful creche scenes that create a fairy-tale atmosphere around that first Christmas morning because Luke's intent was to paint a stark picture of rejection and loneliness. He wanted us to feel the cold of the night, see the stains on the manger, smell the odor of animals crowded into close quarters, and feel pity for that outcast family. He tells us that Mary laid the baby in a manger, not to question her maternal instincts, but so that we will see in our mind's eye the weakness and alienation experienced by Jesus from the moment he entered our world. "The Savior of the world", Luke tells us, "began life with hay and animal spit on his infant skin."

And all of his life, Jesus' lowly upbringing continued to cling to him.
“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?,” some mocked.
“Isn’t this Joseph’s son, whose father and mother we know?” others laughed, scoffing at Jesus’ teaching. From the story of a newborn baby lying in a feeding trough to the laughter of soldiers nailing the sarcastic sign “King of the Jews” to a cross, the gospel writers make sure that we understand that Jesus was neither powerful, nor rich; he was not regarded with high-esteem by the authorities, nor given much notice by the well-to-do. He came in weakness, he lived among the meek, he died a criminal’s death. By our standards of society, there was nothing – absolutely nothing – to recommend this man.

And yet God chose him to save us.

Now, our society likes stories of people who overcome their undistinguished backgrounds to make it big in the world – Abraham Lincoln and his log cabin, Frederick Douglass born into slavery. We tell these stories to give us the hope that even nobodies can become presidents if they just work hard enough and persevere, but unlike Lincoln who moved out of that log cabin to reside in the White House, Jesus never overcame his background. He died a criminal's death on a cross and was, at the very end, abandoned by even his friends. It's not really an inspirational story.

When my son, John was little, he said, "I think I'd like to be Jesus."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," he said, wiggling his fingers like a magician. "I could heal people and calm storms and stuff. Of course," he added upon reflection, "then I'd have to be crucified, so maybe I'd rather be a Jedi Knight."

Luke's message is not that Jesus saved us because he worked hard to overcome his weak beginnings and go on to achieve power and greatness; Luke's message is that Jesus saved us because he was weak and he remained weak. It was his very weakness that allowed him to enter our worlds and bring us salvation.

In our self-help society, weakness is something to be despised and overcome, and when we despise weakness, we come to fear our own failings. Every mistake we make confirms our inadequacies; every interaction with others becomes fraught with worry that we will be judged. We boast so that no one will guess our lack of confidence, we shrink into the background so that no one will see our wounds. Our society admires the strong, the powerful, the successful, the smart, the beautiful, and the charming, and so we who are weak, powerless, medicore, sometimes stupid, awkward, and ugly, often barely put together, often barely holding it together, wonder how we could possibly have anything to offer the world, let alone God. The radical message of Christmas is that Jesus didn’t save us by overcoming his weakness; Jesus used his very weakness to save us. Jesus, being a nobody from nowhere, was able to meet other nobodies from nowhere on common ground. He was a man of sorrow, acquainted with grief, and because he knew the suffering of the world and experienced it in his life, people were drawn to him because they found in Jesus a holy place where they could at last find freedom from judgment and a deep understanding of their pain. It was the compassionate love born out of Jesus' weakness that healed their hearts and saved them.

Each of you sitting here today has weaknesses, short-comings, past hurts that still cling, trials that keep you from being whole and perfect. Society would tell you that your most important task is to work on overcoming those obstacles in order to find inner peace, but Jesus calls you not to overcome and put aside your weakness but instead learn how to use your weaknesses to help others find peace. The woman who is stricken with grief at the death of her husband finds that her aching heart helps her to listen better to the pains of others. A man who is so shy that his tongue cannot get through five words of coherent conversation finds that his quiet encourages people to talk about their troubles with a security they might not feel in the presence of an eloquent talker. At Christmas God says, "You can sit around and feel sorry for yourself because your life stinks -- stinks to high heaven like the stink of a cold barn in Bethlehem filled with the manure of farm animals -- or you can use that pain, that suffering, that trial, and that weakness to open your heart to others so that their suffering is lessened because they have found a friend in you."

A Savior born in a stable. A Messiah crucified on a cross. Christ says to us this day, "I will be with you in the cold. I will be with you in the dark. I will be with you in the stink of life. And be assured, my weakness will save you for you will know that you are not alone in your trouble. May you likewise, use your weakness, your failings, and your pain and sorrow to open your heart to others so that all will know peace and hope in your embrace." This is the message of Christmas.