The Sunday School of a certain church had been hard at work for several weeks getting ready for their annual Christmas pageant.  The Moms had been busy making costumes out of bathrobes and towels and colored fabric.  The children had all been assigned their appropriate roles in the story and had worked hard to memorize their lines.  One little seven-year-old boy had been chosen to play the angel Gabriel; he only had one line to say, so his part was an easy one.  He was to enter from stage left and swoop across the stage to where the little girl playing the part of Mary was sitting, and say in an angelic-sounding voice, “It is I, be not afraid.” 

 

And so on Christmas Eve, the congregation – full of parents and grandparents and friends and neighbors – gathered to hear the familiar story of Jesus’ birth.  As the pageant began, the angel Gabriel stood backstage, repeating his one line: “It is I, be not afraid.  It is I, be not afraid.”  But as he looked out through the curtain and saw the congregation, the realization hit him that he was going to have to go out there and stand in front of God and all those people sitting in the pews.  In that moment, he decided that perhaps he would rather be somewhere – anywhere – else; as he was about to turn around and flee, he heard his cue, and his teacher took him by the shoulders and shoved him out onto the stage…where he stood absolutely petrified with fear.  Looking at all those people, he struggled to remember what it was he was supposed to say, and finally, he blurted out in a high-pitched squeak, “It’s only me, and I’m scared to death!”

 

The Christmas story of a baby born to a peasant couple, alone and far from home, is one we’ve heard every year for as long as we can remember.  The poetry of this night belongs to everyone, no matter who we are or the level of our faith, and it connects us with generations across twenty centuries who have sat year after year, just as we do now, hearing it and making it their own.  There is a power in what we do tonight – it is the power of eternity touching a moment of time, the power of God becoming real for us again.

 

The familiar passages from Isaiah and Matthew and Luke and John wash over us: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” and “…she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger…” and “…he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace…” and “Be not afraid, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy…”

 

“Be not afraid…”  As we gather in this sanctuary tonight, listening to the story in scripture and in song, we hear the words “glad tidings,” and “great joy,” and “silent night.”  But as we listen again, we almost forget how many people in the Christmas story are afraid.  The nativity scenes with which we decorate our houses, or the pageants we put on with children, emphasize the serenity of shepherds abiding in quiet, moonlit fields, while choirs of angels sing about peace on earth, and we imagine that the scene in the stable of Bethlehem was a picture of tranquility and calm.  But the Scriptures tell us that of all the emotions of the story – joy, amazement, adoration, exaltation – the most prominent is… fear. 

 

Old Zechariah is terrified and overwhelmed with fear when the angel Gabriel appears to him, but Gabriel tells him "Be not afraid, Zechariah… Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John.”  And the elderly Elizabeth does indeed give birth, to the one who becomes known as John the Baptist.

 

Gabriel then appears to Mary, and she is perplexed and troubled by the angel’s words.  But he tells her, “Be not afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God.  You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.”

 

When Joseph, who is betrothed to Mary, finds out that she is with child, he has in mind to divorce her quietly.  But an angel of the Lord appears to him in a dream and says, "Joseph son of David, be not afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.”

And it is unlikely that it was a silent night, all calm and bright, for Mary and Joseph that first Christmas.  Hurrying to get to their home village of Bethlehem for the census decreed by King Herod, the onset of labor, the rush to find a place to stay, the anxiety of waiting, the pain – it is likely that their predominant emotion is fear.

And at the moment the newborn emerges with his first cry, an angel of the Lord stands before a group of shepherds gathered on a hill overlooking Bethlehem, and the glory of the Lord shines around them, and the Gospel of Luke tells us that "they were terrified," or as the older King James Version puts it, "They were sore afraid."  A pastor recalls as a little boy asking his third grade Sunday school teacher what “sore afraid” meant, and she answered, "Being so scared it hurts.”[i]  Standing in a field in the middle of the night, blinded by a light that seems to drive away every shadow, the shepherds are so scared it hurts.

“Be not afraid.”  From the first time God speaks to Abraham in Genesis[ii] to the final words of the risen Christ in the book of Revelation,[iii] these assuring words are said to the greatest figures of the Bible: Isaac,[iv] Jacob,[v] Moses,[vi] Joshua,[vii] Elijah,[viii] Jeremiah,[ix] Daniel,[x] the disciples,[xi] the apostle Paul,[xii] the women at the tomb.[xiii]  For each one of these people, at one time or another, become fearful, and it’s not just fear of an encounter with the divine; they are afraid of the unknown, of scandal, of change, of loss, of failure, of pain, of death — the very same kind of fears we experience.

And to each one, God says, “Be not afraid,” “Do not be anxious,”[xiv] “Peace be with you”[xv] – “for I am with you,”[xvi] “I have heard you,”[xvii] “I will help you.”[xviii]  And God says these words to us, too, offering us an enduring hope and an inner strength to face the troubles that will inevitably come. 

And fear is so much a part of our lives these days, isn't it – terrorism, war, violence, disease.  And most of us struggle with our personal fears – fear of a loved one’s illness or death, or our own; fear of loneliness, of job loss, of abandonment, of the future, of the unknown.  We struggle with addictions and financial uncertainties and grief; we worry about our children or aging parents; we suffer from broken hearts, broken homes, broken spirits; we feel inadequate, anxious, depressed, discouraged, disillusioned, powerless.  Our fears can imprison us; they can paralyze and haunt us, and if we were honest with ourselves, we'd probably confess that there are many times we feel like blurting out the line of that little guy in the Christmas pageant; "It's only me, and I'm scared to death."

It seems that to be human is to be afraid.  In fact, there is probably no more widely shared experience of human life than fear – except, perhaps, love.  And so listen to these words from the apostle John: “God is love” and “…perfect love drives out fear…” [1 John 4:8, 18].

God is love!  And this love is revealed in that most fundamental of all human experiences, the birth of a baby. In the darkest of times, in the most fearful of circumstances, the birth of a child is a sign of hope, of the future, of God's faithfulness to God’s covenant with the human race.  Perhaps that's why God chose to reveal God’s love for us and God’s presence among us in just this way —in the poverty, pain, humility, fear, and glory of the birth of a baby.  The Christmas story has the power to drive out our fears for in the cry of every newborn child is the sign that God is still with us, even during the darkest night of our soul.

Whether you walk daily in faith, whether you are one who slips in and out of belief, or whether you have yet to be convinced of God’s existence, what happened on that first Christmas on that long-ago night was for you.  God came in human form to enfold all of us in a welcoming embrace and say, “Stop running, stop fearing, for I am here with you, I am here for you.” 

 

And so go to the manger this Christmas; it is a place of reunion and peace and joy, where the glow of human love meets the warmth of heavenly compassion.  It is there we come to be comforted and sheltered; it is there we kneel with the shepherds and kings, laying down the burdens of our lives, that we might experience God’s love and grace.  And it is where, enveloped in God’s divine embrace, we find healing in the midst of pain, hope in the center of hurt, and peace in our anxious hearts. 

 

In the face of all the frightening uncertainties of life, we need not be afraid, for lying in that manger is the certainty of God's love.  No matter how far we separate ourselves from God, we need not be afraid, for lying in that manger is the assurance of God’s acceptance and forgiveness.  We may feel alone, we may be scared to death – so scared it hurts – but we need not be afraid, for lying in that manger is Jesus.  Emmanuel.  God with Us. 

 

So take up your bundle of fears, your anxieties, your apprehensions, your troubles, your concerns; gather up whatever fills you with dread, whatever distresses or torments you, whatever causes you alarm, dismay, or panic.  Gather them all up this Christmas and go to Bethlehem, and kneel before the manger and listen again to the angels say: "Be not afraid, for unto you is born this day . . . a savior who is Christ the Lord."  Amen.