Other Homilies



Homilies by Rev. Andrew Collis unless indicated otherwise.

Home Mission Statement Homilies Liturgies In Memoriam Reports Resources Contacts Links

Christmas Day, Year B
South Sydney Uniting Church
December 25, 2017

Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-12; John 1:1-14


‘Good, beautiful, possible’

Nativity sets are fun. We get to see what we’re talking about. We get to touch and move the figures. In some traditions, we kiss and touch them. From at least the time of St Francis of Assisi, nativity sets have been something we might smell as well. Think of the straw, the animals, the frankincense … God be with you

While incarnation can be a heady affair, nativity sets engage our senses, our sense of imagination and our sense of what’s good, beautiful, possible.

I love Noah’s nativity set. He worked on it last Sunday, pretty much the whole time he was here that morning. I love that it’s both faithful and playful. Serious and humorous.

It’s all there – the workers/shepherds and the visitors from a foreign country/culture (with wisdom and gifts to share), the beloved creatures (sheep, cattle, donkey, chickens …), the angels and elves, Joseph with a protective staff in hand, Mary in a red sleeveless dress, with a short blonde bowl-cut (I’m tempted to say a Christmas Bowl-cut). The baby Jesus at the centre of a colourful (and not so stable) stable, his green face grinning and his green toes exposed!

Not only is it perfect in the sense of presenting a fresh and contemporary scene (the gospel goes on), but it perfectly captures something that often goes missing – incarnation as mystical paradox. We might call it sacro-comic reversal. Transformation.

How good it was to hear the gospel message by way of the children’s Christmas pageant yesterday! Of course, we know that the story of St Nicholas concerns loving-kindness, a special regard for the poor and excluded. But gospel verses (such as “the first shall be last and the last shall be first”) amid reindeer games enacted joyfully comprise a carnival to truly overcome divisions.

Richard Rohr has recently written a book on the “divine dance” – the Trinity as play. Reflecting on the Orthodox icon of the Trinity by Andrei Rublev, Rohr writes: “Jesus comes forth from this Eternal Fullness, allowing us to see ourselves mirrored, as part of this table fellowship – as a participant at this banquet and as a partner in God’s eternal dance of love and communion.”

Richard Kearney writes: “God is a loving possible that needs to be remade by us – in a play of recreation.” Reimagining the sacred – incarnation as play, as dance – leads to actualising the good.

Both Richards believe that modern Western religion needs urgently to rediscover the arts. We need artists (and scholars) for reflection and action, that we might enter the dance through touch and taste, sound and image. Images we can touch or that awaken other senses.

Meister Eckhart once said: “God is looking at us through the eye of a cow.”

I remember a conversation with a Buddhist monk in Balmain, many years ago. Why was he a vegetarian, I wanted to know. “The cow in the stable looked down and saw the baby Jesus,” the monk answered “… and the cow loved the baby Jesus.” You don’t need to find this historically compelling to appreciate the wisdom of resacralisation – a re-enchantment of the world, a play of love.

Incarnation is sacro-comic reversal and transformation.

It is said, in some churches, that Christ might be portrayed as a donkey, for example, the highest would become the lowest and the lowest the highest. There is a tradition that sees the symbols of the office of bishop – ring, mitre, staff, pectoral cross – handed to a child on Christmas morning. It’s about the wisdom of children. It also calls attention to a certain foolishness on the part of ecclesiastical authority – and welcomes laughter as subversive daring, love as risk.

The Sufi poet Rumi writes: “Without cause God gave us Being;/ without cause, give it back again./ Gambling yourself away is beyond any religion./ Religion seeks grace and favour,/ but those who gamble these away are God’s favourites …”

Sacro-comic reversal, transformation entails interplay between divine call and human response, possibility and actuality, art and action, masculine and feminine, the holy and the profane (in a good way), the poor and the wealthy, the sick and the healthy, the self and the strange/repellant/dreadful, the human and non-human, grace and freedom, healing and wisdom, catharsis and Sophia, Spirit and flesh, Word and flesh …

We can think of Christmas in this way. As a dance, as gift and task – the possibility of God as love in the world. Incarnation/sacro-comic reversal turning despair into faith ­– turning melancholy into mourning, enmity into empathy, pain into peace. Divinity as a promise of goodness and justice. The baby Jesus with green face grinning and green toes exposed.

One more thing. The goodness of play assumes what Paul Ricoeur calls the ontological primacy of yes over no, the primordiality of good over evil. What we can do, in all manner of contexts (personal, familial, sociological, in relation to work, politics, journalism, art and activism), is attend to what’s growing in the dark and help bring it into light and language.

If we need a hopeful example, and as if an answer to prayer, Julie has posted a photo of Noah’s Christmas Eve message to Santa. The note, beside a plate of carrots and cookies, reads: “Santa, I want you to have my clay dog.” Sacro-comic reversal, transformation …

While incarnation can be a heady affair, nativity sets (the hearts and hands that create and enjoy them) engage our senses, our sense of imagination and our sense of what’s good, beautiful, possible. Amen.

Three Little Homilies for Christmas (with thanks to Tim Kearney, Richard and Anne Kearney)

Etty Hillesum, a young Jewish woman who was assassinated in Auschwitz in 1943, wrote: “I look your world right in the eye, my God, I don’t run away from reality and take refuge in beautiful dreams ... and I stubbornly praise your creation despite everything! … When I stop being on my guard ... all of a sudden there I am resting on the naked bosom of life and its arms that hold me are so gentle and so protecting. And the beating of its heart, I cannot really describe it – slow, so regular, so gentle, almost stifled, but so faithful, strong enough to never cease and at the same time so good, so merciful.” Amen.

Jean Vanier writes: “Our world seems to be on the edge of a cliff. Millions of men and women suffer from hunger, others are prisoners of fear, victims of wars, refugees in camps, exploited by mafias, innocent and imprisoned. We know all of this – the media speaks of this and then silence comes to encourage us to forget the cries, as if they no longer existed, and lose ourselves in the arms of comfort. One day we will hear, over the noise of fears, bells ringing and Christmas carols singing, ‘Peace, peace, peace on earth’. Christmas happens each day when out of darkness comes a small light. Yes, peace is in our hands, is in my hands. I can do small acts of tenderness and love to reveal to the different ‘others’ their beauty.” Amen.

Philosopher Charles Taylor refers to “excarnation” as disembodied thinking and living (A Secular Age). He is also critical of digital virtuality. The original message of the incarnation – the invitation to relate to each other in flesh and blood – is increasingly challenged by our digital culture – the internet, social media, simulation, pornography, ecommerce, elearning, ebanking, eliving. There is a constant lure, he argues, to live by proxy, vicariously, through media and mediation. He has a point. The digital revolution exacerbates a gnostic disregard of bodies, elements, earth, not to mention the messy realities of relationship, history, community. And yet, digital technology brings huge opportunity for new modes of empathy, invention and imagination. It’s a matter of assuming responsibility for how we use it. Amen.


Homily