Christmas is a time for storytelling.

But the best kind of storytelling is the kind that happens around the kitchen table or in the living room with belts unbuckled after you’ve ate too much, there’s paper all around and kids playing with their presents, and the adults are sitting around telling stories of times past. Isn’t that one of the best parts?

But have you ever told a story and then another person around the table goes, “That’s not what happened!” and then they go on to tell a very different version of the events?

Sometimes it’s just a different perspective, usually one that makes them not look so bad, but sometimes you’ll be sitting there going, “Oh yeah, that’s right, I forgot about that part!”

Most of us here tonight are very familiar with the Christmas story. We’ve heard it more times than we can count.

But if we’re not careful, that familiarity will mean that we don’t actually engage with the story. Like watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the 17th time, it’s just kind of on in the background of our Christmas celebration.

I would encourage you tonight to try to hear the story with fresh ears. This actually happened. It was raw, real, dirty.

The story hits differently in our family this year with another baby girl on the way this spring.

Kay’s labors have progressed very rapidly (2 hours!) in the past, so I’ve already got multiple routes to Carbondale planned depending on what time of day it is… just so I can avoid the situation that Mary & Joseph found themselves in that night.

If you’ve ever been present at the birth of a baby, it’s a miracle, and there are a lot of words you could use to describe it. But two of them I would not use are silent and calm. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It was not a silent night, but it was a labor of love.

Labor of Love

How much did Mary understand about that night? That’s a question people have thought and about, and sang about, for many years now.

I saw an interview with Mark Lowry, the author of Mary, Did You Know this week, he said, “I had a whole bunch more questions, the rest of them just didn’t rhyme!”

We don’t really know how much she understood, but she knew enough to sing a song in Luke 1, before Jesus was born.

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
because he has looked with favor
on the humble condition of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations
will call me blessed,
because the Mighty One
has done great things for me,
and his name is holy.
His mercy is from generation to generation
on those who fear him.
He has done a mighty deed with his arm;
he has scattered the proud
because of the thoughts of their hearts;
he has toppled the mighty from their thrones
and exalted the lowly.
He has satisfied the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.

Luke 1:46–53

Mary certainly didn’t know all God was doing, but she knew that He was merciful, that He was doing something amazing.

And she understood that by knowing God’s Word for herself, because she was using a lot of the same words from another woman in the OT by the name of Hannah. Another poor, humble woman who was in an unhappy marriage and had struggled with infertility for years.

I think Mary connected with the words of Hannah, because they both came to the same place: “Let it be done to me according to your word.” And God exalted her, and she sang most of these very same words.

That’s a complete reversal of the way the world normally works, isn’t it? Both then and now!

We all know, deep down, that something’s fundamentally broken in the world, and we have this intense longing to see it be made right.

The hope of Christmas, the promise that Mary claimed over her unborn Son, was that He would be the beginning of God’s turning the world upside down—or rather, right side up again.

Or to put it into the words of Mary’s
cousin-in-law Zechariah later on in Luke 2…

Because of our God’s merciful compassion,
the dawn from on high will visit us
to shine on those who live in darkness
and the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Luke 1:78–79

I don’t think any of us would argue that we live in a dark world. But if we’re honest, we all know the darkness is not just out there. The darkness is in here, in me, in you.

Later on in the New Testament the apostle John would write:

God is light, and there is absolutely no darkness in him.

1 John 1:5

Light doesn’t have any fellowship with darkness. It can’t.

But the good news of great joy for us this Christmas Eve is that light always overcomes darkness. Darkness can’t resist light.

The reason we’re here tonight, the reason in a few minutes, we’re going to light candles and sing together, is that the morning light from heaven has shined on us.

Just like Hannah, just like Zechariah, and just like his own mother prophesied over him, Jesus came to shine the light of his own glory into our darkness, ultimately by taking all our darkness upon himself.

Jesus, the Son of Man, was laid in a rough, wooden manger.

Thirty-three years later Jesus, the Son of God, would be nailed to a rough, wooden cross, tortured and executed to take away our sin.

And three days after that, he rose from a rough, hollowed out tomb to shine His light into the darkness of death itself.

But still, each one of us is born into a world that’s still full of darkness. And soon enough, we realize that we’re born with hearts that are just as dark.

The reason we call this story the Good News is that we don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to measure up. The whole point is that you don’t measure up, you never could, and neither could I. He had to measure up for us.

In fact, the one and only qualification you have to have his light shine into your darkness is to admit that the darkness is there, and you don’t have any light of your own.

If you could get rid of your own darkness, wouldn’t you have done it by now?

He’s in the business of lifting up the fallen

Lisa Clow’s Story

Lisa Clow is an artist, designer, and songwriter, and she tells the story about a time when the darkness was overwhelming to her:

I was struggling. It had been a long year and a half. Finances were stressful, I miscarried twins, and on top of it I was battling a deep relational bitterness. My church was having their annual service where they kick off the Christmas season with carols and special songs and I, for once, was not singing. I told them that I wouldn’t be able to sing, but what they didn’t know is that I was too overcome with shame to stand on stage before my church.

That Sunday morning, I stood at my seat as they began to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful” and the first line of the song just clobbered me. It hit me like a giant wave of guilt. 

O come all you faithful, joyful and triumphant!

I remember hearing those words and thinking, “I have been so unfaithful. My joy has dwindled, and I am a triumphant…failure.” And I didn’t sing the rest of the service.

I drove home, my mind still churning, “Is that really who is invited to come to Jesus? The faithful? The joyful? The triumphant? If so, then I am hopeless.”

Thankfully, later that afternoon, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11:

At that time Jesus prayed this prayer: “O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank you for hiding these things from those who think themselves wise and clever, and for revealing them to the childlike.”

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

Matthew 11:25,28–30, NLT

This video contains people who are processing “O Come, All You Unfaithful,” most of them for the first time, in light of their own experiences. A stillborn child. A strained marriage. Feelings of shame. Legalism. Loss. Loneliness. Or simply having a heart that weeps with those who weep.

Come, see what your God has done.