If Jesus were born today in Western Mass, where would that take place? Cooley Dickenson? Nope. If Jesus were born in Northampton, it would be, maybe, in one of those tents, hidden in the woods, alongside the bike path. If Jesus were born in Amherst, it wouldn’t be at the Boltwood Inn. No. It might be in one of the campus’s groundskeeper’s sheds. If Jesus were born in Hadley where would it take place? Anyone? A tobacco shed? A barn? One of those trailers by the river at the end of that farm road off Cemetery Road?
No palaces for the birth of Jesus. Not even a birth doula! Jesus was born poor and stayed poor until he died. He always depended on the kindness of strangers. For food. For shelter. For clothing. His mother was pregnant before she was married to his father. Why? How? No matter. Not really.
His father, as I mentioned this past Sunday, could’ve called off the wedding and publicly humiliated her. But he chose not to. He didn’t leave her quietly, which was his first thought. But, he married her. No miracles there. Only defiant acts of bravery, individualism, and love.
Joseph, you know, came from royal stock. He’s a descendant of King David. But, alas, the family fortune didn’t make it to him. So, dad’s a tradesman.
And no sooner was the baby born, and the shepherds gone, and the Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh delivered, then they had to flee the country. The King learned that a “king” was born and got nervous. And so, this little family left in the night for Egypt before the king’s agents could get them.
And this was Jesus’s life until he died. A man in his thirties, homeless, penniless, wandering. Jesus was poor. In Shekels. Not in spirit. Not in action. He spent his life, from manger to cross, speaking against the empire, preaching a message of love and healing. Jesus heard the call, as did his mother and dad, and answered.
Certainly before, and definitely since I made this ministerial role a part of my life – which has been only about 2 years – I’ve met, spoken with, spent days among, traded ideas with, listened to, and marveled at a bunch of very ordinary people who were also extraordinarily insightful, spiritually expressive, and so intelligent, and often hilarious. And so dedicated to living and spreading the truth of wondrous love. And except for the angels they had heard on high and the three kings from orient were, the characters involved in this God-come-to-earth story are just people. Simple folk. Workers. Women. But with a difference. They felt a call and they followed it. Followed the call, despite societal norms.
This call that people receive can be answered in several ways: one answer is no, thank you. Other possible answers include working for a degree at Divinity School, volunteering to participate in Sunday worship, accompanying your grandmother to church, keeping an open mind, giving a couple of bucks to a person asking for money, volunteering at a food kitchen, saying hello to someone who seems disheartened, going through your clothes and giving them to an organization that distributes them (in fact the Springfield Rescue Mission collects clothes and small home items and makes them available for free to anyone who needs them). This is the Christmas gift. Compassion through Love.
This is how we can respond to a calling. You don’t have to shout the name of your personal Lord and Savior from a pulpit, or in front of a Cumbies for that matter. You simply have to respond to a call to lift up the downtrodden, welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, free the prisoner. This is the work of Jesus. This is the good work of the soul. This is who we are called to be. 365 days a year.