Decades ago, a friend gave me a copy of A Room Called Remember, a book of essays and sermons written by Presbyterian minister Frederick Buechner. The theme of one of Buechner’s pieces has stuck with me ever since, continuing to shape much of my approach to the celebration of Christmas. In “Air for Two Voices,” Buechner delves into the familiar first verses of John’s gospel, comparing two voices he sees as present.
He describes the first voice as musical—“a hymn, not a homily”—and soaring beyond the limits of our earthly experience. “In the beginning was the Word,” it announces, and “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Buechner describes the second voice as “down-to-earth” and concerned with getting the facts straight. In this second voice, the gospel writer wanted to ensure that no one would confuse John the Baptist with the light that was coming into the world; the Baptist’s role was to “testify to the light.”
Over the years, I have come to appreciate each of these two voices. I’ll always associate the proclamation of this passage from John’s gospel with the voice of the former principal of my seminary. When, in the college chapel, Archdeacon John Morden proclaimed that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth” it seemed to me that Christmas had come. No matter how glorious the music or how beautiful the decorations, it is the proclamation of these words each year that offers me a moment of transcendence.
That said, I’ll never forget the Christmas Eve when I was approached after worship by a mother who was upset that we had proclaimed John’s gospel that evening. She had wanted her children to hear the “real” Christmas story, which for her meant Luke’s telling of the birth of Jesus, complete with Mary and Joseph, and with angels and shepherds. As I have continued to remember that moment, and to reflect on its significance for me, I have been reminded of the second voice of the gospel, the one that seeks to speak in real flesh and blood terms.
It is not enough for us to be transported by the beauty and power of the good news, by its life and light. The good news must also take root in our time and in our lives. It must be real for us. Eugene Petersen’s biblical paraphrase, The Message, offers us this interpretation of John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, generous inside and out, true from start to finish.”
I believe the Christmas gospel comes to us in many voices, and not only the two identified by Buechner as being present in the prologue to John’s gospel. The gospels of Matthew and Luke introduce a variety of characters in their telling of the Christmas story. Some of these characters have speaking parts. That is, we hear their voices. Others remain largely silent, even as their presence and imagined perspectives speak volumes. Over the centuries since the birth of Jesus, other voices have told the story of Christmas and have added layers of meaning to our understanding of the gospel, whether through music or poetry or visual arts. We are part of a wide community of readers, and we ignore these voices at our peril.
Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has become well known for her 2009 TED Talk, “The Danger of a Single Story.” As a child, Adichie only encountered Western literature featuring white people, something that limited her early attempts at writing. Only later was she exposed to African writers. Her perspective was altered, and she was no longer limited by the “single story” she had carried from her youth.
Similarly, as a college student in the United States, Adichie encountered classmates and professors who projected onto her the stereotypes they had previously accepted about Africans, stereotypes that were slowly released as they grew in relationship with her. “I’ve always felt that it is impossible to engage properly with a place or a person without engaging with all of the stories of that place and that person,” she said. “The consequence of the single story is this: It robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar.”
Our proclamation of the Christmas gospel is impaired when we limit ourselves to a single story or to the perspective of a single voice. In these times, the world needs the Church to offer a full-throated and multi-voiced proclamation of the good news of God’s love for all people. We are fortunate that God’s Holy Spirit gives us the power to proclaim the gospel in voices that allow the message to be heard by every person, according to their need and their situation.
To be fair, I understand the challenge of planning Christmas Eve worship that will speak powerfully to every person present. Some of us long for candlelit worship and the singing of familiar carols and hymns. Some will hope that Christmas Eve worship will include a pageant offered by our children. Some will wonder if the preacher might offer a sermon that speaks to the personal challenges that they are facing; others desire a sermon that will adequately address the mysteries of the Incarnation and answer at least some of their questions. Some will wish for quiet, meditative worship while others will come ready for a loud and happy gathering. Many of us will celebrate Christmas Eve with congregations that are able to host a variety of liturgies, each offered in a different voice.
This year, I will be leading Christmas Eve worship with a congregation that will combine two beloved liturgies for the first time—one that has traditionally been planned for children and families and the other for those who can stay up a little later into the night. Congregational leadership has given great care to blending these voices together into one celebration.
Whatever expectations we carry with us into worship this year, let us be ready to listen for the many voices that will be present, and through which God’s good news will be shared. Rather than seeking only the familiar elements that mean much to us, let us also have eyes open to see those in our midst for whom our customs, however cherished, have little meaning, and for whom new voices may need to be found.
The voices of the Christmas gospel will never be expressed fully in acts of worship alone; they will also need to find expression in concrete expressions of compassion and love. I’ll never forget the Christmas Eve, so many years ago, when my grandmother lay dying in a hospital bed in another city as my father, her son, led worship in the congregation where we worshiped as a family.
The compassion shown to her and to us by hospital staff and her parish priest when she died on Christmas Day remains clear in my memory. It was, perhaps, this experience that has opened my heart to those who suffer the loss of loved ones during the Christmas season. In recent years, many congregations have introduced Blue Christmas worship as a way of caring for those who mourn during a season when the world expects us all to be joyful.
Another congregation I served had a longstanding program, “Christmas All Year Round.” Rather than focusing their acts of love and compassion to a few weeks during the Christmas season, they found ways to extend their actions throughout all 12 months of the year. In this effort, they might have claimed Ebenezer Scrooge as their inspiration. It was a transformed Scrooge who, in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, said “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
One more voice should be added in conclusion to what might now be better described as a complex canon rather than a simple air. This voice is from Howard Thurman in his poem “The Work of Christmas”:
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.
The Rt. Rev. Robert Skirving is Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of East Carolina. Previous appointments include parish ministry in Michigan and Ontario, Canada. From 2018 to 2022, Bishop Skirving served as Chancellor of the University of the South.
