O Come Let Us Adore Him: A Sermon for The Nativity of our Lord
One of the many blessings of Christmas is that it has inspired some of the most magnificent works of sacred art, music, and traditions. The Christmas hymns are my absolute favorite corpus of Christian music. And the lovely greenery, poinsettias, and wreaths that adorn our church remind me of how much I love the festive sights and smells of this holy season. And when we darken the sanctuary and light candles as we sing Silent Night, I will need no further reminder of why this season is so profoundly meaningful to me.
A Christmas tradition I have developed a new appreciation for is nativity scenes. Since Emily and I have been married, we have in one way or another accumulated several nativity scenes. Some are hand-me-downs from when our parents downsized their homes. I love that Julian and Madelene have some of the same nativity scenes that Emily and I had growing up.
One thing about our plethora of nativity scenes is that they are entirely different from one another in terms of the size, shape, style, and culture they represent. Each one tells the story of the birth of Jesus in its own way, inviting us to repeatedly “ponder in our hearts” the miracle of Christmas during this holy season.
Another thing that I have recently come to notice about the nativity scenes in our house is how the supporting characters are arranged. That is part of the beauty of this sort of Christian art – we have the opportunity to tell and re-tell the story through the eyes of the angels, shepherds, magi, livestock, and the earthly parents of Jesus. And of all the Christian art we have in our home, the nativity scenes are the ones that elicit the most curiosity and interaction from our children. Somehow baby Jesus in a manger is more fun to play with than dead Jesus on a cross.
Lately I have been paying closer attention to the direction in which the supporting characters are pointed. Sometimes when our children play with our nativity scenes at home, the characters end up being are pointed outwards, away from the Holy Family. It is as if the characters were responding to a photographer who implored, “Hey everybody, turn around and look here… smile for the camera!!!” To make sure that all the characters’ faces can be seen, they have actually turned them away from the very king to whom they are paying tribute.
Perhaps I am looking too deeply into this phenomenon of outward-facing nativity scenes, but once I noticed one, I couldn’t help but to notice more and more beyond the walls of our home. And on a deeper, more introspective level, my mind then goes to the many dark forces that persistently draw our attention away from our saviour – sometimes to the point where we have completely turned our backs on him.
Sometimes folks will ask me why I turn away from the congregation for the Collect of the Day and Hymn of Praise at the beginning of the worship service. The reason is that as much as possible, I try to face the altar and cross when I pray. I want my attention to be towards the primary symbols of our faith – the places where we meet Christ and where Christ meets us. And when I am facing away from you, hopefully it is drawing your attention away from me and towards Christ. He is much more worthy of our gaze than am I.
I imagine that when the shepherds ran “to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord ha[d] made known to [them],” their eyes and hearts – every ounce of their being - were fixed upon on the child…Emmanuel…who was God in their very own midst.
Clearly, from the gospel story we hear, the shepherds had not been distracted that evening. They didn’t turn their backs on the Messiah to go pet the farm animals or pull out their phones to take a selfie with Baby Jesus. The text tells us that after paying homage to the Christ-child, “The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”
And the story they told wasn’t about them. And it appears that they did a faithful job of not making it about them. The same goes for the Magi when they finally arrived to pay homage to Jesus three years later. But in both cases, those whom God called to bear witness faithfully responded. They went out and proclaimed the great Good News of a newborn king who was the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy of “a child [who] has been born for us, a son given to us…Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
Now I understand that the playing field is not totally level; we are not comparing apples to apples when we place our 2021 selves alongside the shepherds who were in the same room as Jesus on the night when he was born. I get that. It’s harder for us to keep our gaze focused upon Jesus when he has ascended into heaven where he is now seated at the right hand of the Father. It’s easier to turn our backs on him and towards the masses like some of the nativity scenes I mentioned before. And one could argue that we have many more distractions this day and age than a first-century shepherd.
But I am still hung up on the outward-facing nativity scenes – the symbolism is just too profound for me to ignore. So much of the emphasis of the Christmas story is on the reverence and adoration of this child who was born – this child who is God in our midst. And that is why I think the Christmas hymns are so extraordinary. They so exquisitely capture the awe, wonder, and joy of the incarnation.
There are two long-standing traditions in Anglican worship that point to this solemn reverence and adoration for Jesus. In the Nicene Creed, the tradition is to bow at the mention of the incarnation when we say,
“For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven:
by the power of the Holy Spirit
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made man.”
This simple-yet-profound act of reverence is not a requirement. And it is not meant to draw attention to ourselves. It is meant to solemnly and reverently draw our own attention towards the moment when God became incarnate in Jesus Christ. And it draws us into solidarity with the shepherds who kneeled in reverence at the foot of the manger on that holy night in Bethlehem.
A similar tradition in Anglicanism is to make a slight bow of the head whenever we hear the mention of Jesus’ name in the liturgy. This is a nod to Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which says, “that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.”
In the 17th century, Queen Elizabeth actually mandated this bow of the head at the mention of Jesus during the liturgy. Thankfully this act of reverence is no longer mandated by law. It is not meant to be a requirement, but rather a simple, humble act of reverence for Jesus. And again, none of our acts of piety should draw attention to ourselves, but rather, they should help us place our attention on the wonderful, sacred mystery of God incarnate in Jesus Christ. Just as those gathered around the Christ-child in the manger did.
These acts of reverence are just two of many different ways that we can respond to the “O come let us adore him” refrain we sing in the magnificent hymn “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Again, the labor of love for Christ that went into decorating the church is a great example of how we can faithfully turn our attention to Who and What matters the most. And the discipline of decorating our homes for Christmas can be a way to show our adoration for Jesus Christ. But as we decorate our homes and churches, let us always be mindful of why we are doing this. To what or to whom are we drawing attention?
Exquisite worship in a beautifully decorated church, combined with the glorious music of Christmas all do what a thoughtfully laid out nativity scene intends to do – draw our gaze towards Jesus, “who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own.” As we focus our attention on Jesus on this holy day, may our hearts, minds, and souls be purified in such a way that when he comes again in glory, he may find is us a mansion prepared for himself.
Alleluia! Unto us a child is born: Come let us adore him! Alleluia!