It’s True!

The sermon preached by Fr. Ernie on Christmas Day 2022.

It’s True!

by Ernest Boyer

 Maybe you remember this from the news a several years back. Apparently, a few Christmases ago, as you drove north along the New Jersey Turnpike, just before you hit the Lincoln Tunnel, there was a large billboard at the side of the road. Actually, there are many billboards on the New Jersey Turnpike, but this one was just before the tunnel. On the billboard were all the traditional images of the Christmas story — the manger, the baby, Mary and Joseph, the animals, the wise men, the shepherds, the star — everything. Beside all this, though, are these words: “You know that it's a myth.” …You … know… that… it’s … a … myth. The sign was put up by the Society of American Atheists.

The thing is, as soon as you passed the sign you went directly into Lincoln tunnel. I’m sure there’s a metaphor there, since those of you who have driven through that tunnel know what a purgatory it is. Just getting into the tunnel is a horror. It’s a vicious bottleneck, with six lanes of cars all trying to squeeze down to just two lanes. Add to this the fact that New York and New Jersey drivers are not exactly known for their politeness, which means that in addition hundreds of cars all pushing to get in front of each other, you have the blasts of honking horns and windows rolled down for shouted obscenities. And those are the good days. On the bad days, it’s just a complete standstill.

 Eventually, though, you enter the tunnel where the chaos continues so that you find yourself traveling through a nightmare of darkness, noise, blaring horns, and stop-and-go traffic. It seems to go on forever. But finally…finally… you reach the other side. You break into the light. And there waiting for you, you find a second billboard. At first you think it’s just a repeat of the first. Much of it is identical. Here again are all the images of Christmas: the same manger, the same wise men, the same shepherds, the same star. But then you notice the words. Where the first sign said, “You know it’s a myth,” the words on this sign are: "You know that it's the truth." … “You know it’s the truth.” This second sign was put up by the Roman Catholic Diocese of New York in a direct response to that first billboard.

 As I say, there’s a metaphor in all of this. I think it’s no coincidence that the first sign leads to a long, troubled passage — a dark tunnel of chaos and struggle and conflict. Then comes the second sign and with it the brilliance of the sunlight once more. There’s a great truth here, because Christmas involves far more than just a beautiful story. It also expresses a profound hope both for each one of us individually and for humanity as a whole — a promise of joy, love, and transformation that is lost if all that it promises is rejected as untrue.

And yet, as that first sign makes clear, there are some people who do reject this hope, tragic as that is. It’s very sad, but it does happen. It happens because some people simply find it hard to believe that something so beautiful, so wonderful could really have taken place. It’s not that many reject the idea that Jesus actually lived or even that he was so poor that he might have been born in a stable surrounded by animals. No, what they reject is that he was God come among us as a tiny babe — a human being just like us — so that his coming would change for all time what it even means to be human. That’s because, with his coming, he showed that each of us, too, has the spark of the divine within us, a bit of God that can help us to become far, far more than we ever thought possible. They don’t believe this is true.

But let me tell you, I believe it’s true. In fact, I know it’s true. I know it, because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen that transformation. I’ve experienced it in myself and I’ve witnessed it in others. More and more as I’ve grown older I’ve found that I am able to be a better person than I know I really am — not because I somehow make myself better, but because I have help — help from a power greater than myself. And not only that. Again and again and again I’ve seen the same thing happen in others also.

Let me give you an example with a lovely story I heard a while ago from a member of this very congregation, Loren Cantrell. I hesitated at first to tell his story, worrying that it would embarrass him, so I checked with him. (I never tell another’s story without checking it with the person anyway.) Loren was embarrassed, but he did agree that I could tell it.

What happened was this. Loren was cleaning up outside the church one day when he noticed two women at the church’s fig trees. I didn’t even know that the church had a fig trees until Loren told me. We do, by the way. They are at the edge of the property, and they can produce lot of figs. That’s what the two women were after. They were picking the figs.      

Now, most people’s reactions would be: “They’re picking our figs!” That’s the natural response: to be indignant … to be both protective of the church and resentful that these women were taking what wasn’t theirs. That wasn’t what Loren thought, however. The thing is, just then he noticed that both women were wearing hijabs, the head scarves that marked them as Moslems and at once something that he himself has been saying for years came back to him. It was this: “When Jesus said, ‘love your neighbor,’ he did NOT add ‘EXCEPT FOR…’”

With that, Loren put down his tools and went over to the women. They turned to eye him suspiciously. Each held a basket half-full of figs.

“I see you’re picking the figs,” Loren said.

At first, they didn’t respond, but clutched their baskets more tightly. At last one nodded slowly. “Yes, we are,” she said cautiously.

“Well,” Loren said briskly. “You’re going to have trouble reaching the figs higher up. Let me get something.” He returned with a ladder and set it up. With his help, the women soon filled not only the two baskets they had, but two more.

As the women left, they thanked Loren profusely. “You’re very kind,” one said to him warmly. “Very generous.”

Loren just smiled. “That’s what my religion taught me,” he said. “It told me to love my neighbor as myself and that’s what I try to do. I try to love everyone.” 

You see? … This is just one example — it’s a particularly lovely example — but it is one among billions upon billions upon billions of such examples, and together they prove that the Christmas story is true. Jesus’ coming changed things forever. Sure, people can still be cruel … and prejudiced … and nasty … and hostile. But I’m convinced that for every one of those sort of people, there are a hundred others who are more generous … and giving … and loving … and open hearted than even they think they can be. Such people very seldom make the news, but they are everywhere. I know this because I know Loren and Loren is one of those people. And so am I. And so is each of you. Together we prove it: it’s true.  Something very, very special happened that night 2000 years ago in a run-down stable in a dusty little town in Palestine. What happened there changed the world. It became an infinitely better place than it ever was before. We know it’s true because we’re part of that change. The world has changed forever. And as a result… so did we.… It’s true.… Merry Christmas! AMEN.

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