A Sermon preached by the Rev. Michael Anderson Bullock
{Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-20]
It was Thursday night, and the household of the young family was gearing up to conclude the day. The kids (a five-year-old and a newborn) and their Mom and Dad were finishing dinner. Mom was clearing the dishes and making a quick tidying up of the kitchen. Thursdays were her choir night. She loved singing in the choir. Learning and practicing the music gave her special time. It was also a way she prayed, as the music and her voice served the community’s worship life. Choir for her was also a social time. It was a community within a community because her fellow choristers were joined at the hip in a gathering experience of care and support. But before driving to the church for choir practice, she had one more detail to tend to: She needed to feed the baby, while her husband took his turn with the five-year-old’s bedtime routine.
The dad and their daughter were already snuggling on the couch, watching one last bit of t.v. before the bedtime routine began in earnest. The process began when the father took his little girl by the hand and announced that tub-time had arrived. Pajamas were next, followed by brushing teeth, and then a preemptive going potty for the night. The last step lay with the five-year-old’s choice of a bedtime story, jumping into her bed, and making room for her dad to lie next to her. Then he would read the story to her. For her, this was always the best part of bedtime.
With the story completed, her father led her in the bedtime prayers; and after the “Amen” was sounded vigorously by them both, the dad gave her a kiss, told her he loved her, and switched the bedside table lamp off.
As her father quietly closed her bedroom door, darkness and silence filled her room. Dad paused outside her door, listening to confirm that all was well with his daughter. Satisfied, he gently stepped away and walked into the living room. With a slight groan, he sank into his big chair; and after a long day allowed his body to begin to relax. With a quick snap of the newspaper, he perused the daily news with a sigh.
He had hardly finished reviewing the front page, when he thought he heard a noise. Putting the paper down into his lap, he cocked his ear toward his sleeping children. “Nothing”, he said to himself and returned to the newspaper. But then again, he thought he heard a sound. He listened and heard it again. Muffled, as if being swallowed, nonetheless, it was his five-year-old softly crying. He went to her door and cracked it open. “Are you ok?” he asked just above a whisper. In her child’s little voice, she confessed that she was scared. He asked her what she was afraid of, which led to a discussion that everyone has moments of fear but knowing that you are not alone to face them is an important thing to remember.
With such parental wisdom, his daughter seemed reassured by her dad’s words and his presence. Again, they said “good night” to each other, and he returned to his chair and newspaper. But this was a short-lived reprieve because more muffled crying came from his daughter’s room. He decided not to go into her room as before, not wanting to foster an endless cycle of fighting sleep. So, he simply stood in the hallway and reassured her that he was there, that he loved her, and it was bedtime.
“Night, night”, he said, and things seemed to settle down. Feeling good about his parenting skills, he returned to the living room. Yet, before he could start anew, his daughter’s crying began again; and this time it was not so muffled. Knowing that she was safe, he decided to employ his hallway intercession again. Assuring her that he was still with her in the house, that he loved her very much, that it was time to go to sleep, he thought he’d add some heft to his statement. “God loves you, too.” he intercedingly said through the closed door.
At that, the father noted that his daughter had stopped her crying. He waited an additional moment to make sure that this time his daughter was resigned to sleep. It was quiet. Reminding his daughter that God loved her had given pause to the crying, but the next thing the father heard was the strong voice of his five-year-old, responding: “I know God loves me, but I want someone with skin!”
“Skin in the game.” It’s an interesting turn of phrase; don’t you think?. It means that in a relationship someone has both the upside of a risk that he or she takes, and also the downside: that is, the risk-taker (the one with the skin in the game) has something to lose. To have “skin in the game” means that the one with the “skin in the game” has a personal investment in the undertaking, and therefore a vested interest in its success.
So, here we are at Christmas. Christmas: Christmas is all about the truth that God has “skin in the game”. Jesus is God’s skin: God’s personal investment in the undertaking of human life’s purpose, which is Communion with God. Jesus is the living, incarnate, enfleshed reality of the Holy One’s vested interest in our success as God’s people and God’s partners.
In Luke’s Christmas gospel, there is a particular point that touches on the fact that in the birth of Jesus, God, indeed, has “skin in the game”. It is at that point in the narrative where an angel of the Lord breaks upon the unsuspecting shepherds. While dutifully watching their flocks by night, suddenly an angel stood before them; and the bright glory of God shattered the darkness. Terrified by such a sight, the shepherds were frozen with fear, which then caused the angel to say, “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord.”
Personally, I can’t hear these majestic words without thinking of the Peanuts cartoon character, Linus and his presentation of the angel's words in, “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. It has been said that in this increasingly secular, biblically illiterate culture of ours most people recognize the Christmas proclamation because of watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. This show originally aired on television in 1965, and I vividly remember sitting in front of our family t.v. with my three younger brothers when it was first broadcast. All four of us (along with tens of millions of viewers ever since) absorbed its magic and its ever-so-subtle Christmas witness. In almost sixty years since, I have never missed an annual showing, which speaks to the power both of the cartoon’s enjoyment and its unpretentious witness. Yet, with sixty years of viewing, here’s something I just learned last week from a colleague about the show; and it has to do directly with the cartoon’s subtle but clear Christmas message.
As I say, whenever the Lucan Christmas gospel is read aloud, I hear Linus’ clear, child’s voice, reciting what the angel told the shepherds. In the cartoon’s storyline, this specific scene comes in the growing wake of Charlie Brown’s frustration and befuddlement over not being able to find the true meaning of Christmas. The telling scene unfolds this way.
Standing next to Linus on the Christmas pageant’s stage-right, Charlie Brown has a melt-down. Throwing up his hands in resignation and defeat, Charlie shouts to no one in particular: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”
With his knitted, winter cap atop the crown of his head and holding his ever-present security blanket, unflappable and faithful friend, Linus stands attentively facing Charlie Brown, and matter-of-factly responds to his friend: “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is about.”
With a beguiling naturalness, Linus does an about-face, and from the wings of the stage moves to its center. The rest of the cast mutely looks on from stage-left, as Linus simply requests, “lights, please”. In the furnished spotlight, Linus faces the audience and recites the key words of Luke’s Christmas gospel.
As he recounts the encounter between the shepherds and the angel, Linus gestures with his hands (one of which is holding his security blanket, as if he were keeping time and emphasizing the story’s rhythm. But here is what I learned just last week. After sixty years of watching this show, I never noticed that when Linus begins to report the angel’s message to the shepherds, the screen’s picture zeroes in on Linus’s face, as in a cameo appearance. And then it happens so very subtly. Linus speaks the angel’s words, and as soon as he utters the assuaging greeting: “Fear not, I bring you tidings of great joy…” – at that moment, the viewer can see that Linus uses both of his hands, as he continues to point out the story’s rhythm. And, behold, his hands hold no blanket! It is the only time in the history of “Peanuts” that Linus is without his security blanket! “Fear not, I bring you tidings of great joy…”
After Linus concludes the Christmas gospel with the recitation of the angels’ Gloria, he turns stage-right to where Charlie Brown stands in stunned amazement. Picking up his security blanket, Linus walks over to his friend and says, “And that’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown”.
According to Charles Schultz, the author of all the “Peanuts” cartoons, Linus dropping his blanket at the angel’s proclamation was no accident. “Fear not. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
And Linus is right: That’s what Christmas is all about. In Jesus, God’s got skin – real skin -- in the game! And that skin belongs to God’s Son Jesus, who is Christ the Lord. “Fear not”, Emmanuel: God with us, which means that God’s got skin in this game – our game.
Alleluia! Thanks be to God. Amen.
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