Midnight Mass 2021: Isaiah 52: 7-10, Hebrews 1:1-12, John 1:1-14
Break forth together into singing, your ruins of Jerusalem, for the Lord has comforted his people.
There is something instinctive about singing.
Something so powerful about the human voice expressing itself in song: taking up a melody, holding the harmonies, daring to improvise, moving towards resolution.
In the notes and pauses, in the breath itself, the unsayable is made known
We find comfort in coming in breaking forth into singing together: and how much we’ve missed it.
Last year, we couldn’t sing carols in churches; we couldn’t sing along to Slade in the pub.
This year, new songs are competing for our attention to be a Christmas classic alongside Mariah Carey, Chris Rea, The Pogues and Kirsty McCall.
Ed Shreen and Elton John try to name the ways in which we’ve had to carry on with the love we’ve known and the ones we’ve lost. Kelly Clarkson’s sings that Christmas isn’t cancelled - even when places and favourite things are tinged with sadness at the memories of those we’ve loved.
She describes her song writing as something that can: “breathe hope into one’s life and let possibility wander”.
And may be that’s what this night is about: breathing hope into life.
That hope is breathed into life as light shines in the darkness.
The darkness does not overcome it.
The hope is breathed into life as God’s very self becomes flesh and dwells with us.
Mary’s labour brings God’s Word of love to birth.
Our carols give breath to this hope; our voices make possibility wander.
We break forth together into singing: singing carols that name the “ruins” of a ‘weary world’ that has ‘suffered long’; yet which invite us to ‘hush the noise’ and hear ‘the love song’ that angels sing.
We break forth together into singing: singing carols which name the “comfort” offered by the one who comes with ‘healing in his wings’; a newborn king born who ‘feeleth for our sadness’ and ‘shareth in our gladness’.
We break forth together into singing: singing on this ‘silent’ and ‘holy night’ of the child who is ‘of the Father’s love begotten’; the one ‘born this happy morning’ bringing ‘light and life’.
This is the love song that gives breath to hope: the one who created all things in and for love - for relationship and tenderness, for community and trust.
This love song continued when our hearts are broken by grief and fear: for the one who created all things in and for love, reached out to us through the prophets, who called us back to ways of compassion and mercy.
The Word of this song was breathed as life and hope in flesh and blood: Jesus took on the very stuff of life that makes us vulnerable.
From that starting point, this love song begins to open up new possibilities: for community and forgiveness, for intimacy and understanding, for purpose and joy.
We’re all in different places emotionally this Christmas: delight at time with family and friends, or longing to be away from pressures of work; rebuilding the habits of life we’ve lost; disappointment at what’s been postponed; the grief, anxiety, uncertainty and loneliness are real - co-existing alongside the laughter, comfort, opportunities and loves.
But today we celebrate the way in which God speaks to us by a Word, a Son: the fullness of life and love and light became like us.
Who shares the joys and the sorrows: who says, in the darkest hours, I’ll be with you.
However hard it feels to live well - with the struggles, laughter, hopes and loves; with our longing for healing, peace, joy and comfort - there is a promise.
A new song: I am with you.
This love will win, even over death; this light will shine and not be overcome.
This love opens up for us new possibilities: in the intimacy of a blessing received, in the joy of bread shared.
May the love brought to birth in our world through Jesus, be breathe hope into our life.
May the way we share that love with others, bring to birth new possibilities for our life together.
May our lives echo God’s love song. Amen.
© Julie Gittoes 2021
