Christmas Eve
Texts: Luke 2:1-20;
Isa 9:2-7; Gen 1:1-5
YouTube: https://youtu.be/O2pLsLRDr-c
STORIES OF RESISTANCE: SHINING LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS OF NATIONALISM
We have heard read this evening from the prophet Isaiah, that, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined.” In a few minutes, before everyone lights a candle and sings “Silent Night,” we will reference the creation of light in Genesis 1, and proclaim [as part of the liturgy],
The God who said, “Let there be light” has caused light to shine in our hearts. That light is the glory of God reflected in the face of Jesus Christ. As our candles become a flood of light lit from the one light of Christ, so may we reflect Christ’s light and love in the world.
Those are inspiring words, especially as we sing one of our favorite Christmas carols in the warm, flickering candlelight. But the point, I take it, is to take the meaning of our Christmas experience out of this place and into our neighborhoods. To shine our light. What does it mean to “reflect Christ’s light and love in the world” in this time and in this place. What constitutes the darkness today that people walk in, so that they are in need of the light of Christ which we may shine?
For the prophet Isaiah, when he wrote those words, the darkness that was posed to them was by the Assyrian empire, which was about to invade the Northern kingdom of Israel, conquer them, and they would never be the same after that. This was just the first of many empires to follow, over many centuries. Next were the Babylonians, who would vanquish the Southern kingdom of Israel and destroy Jerusalem with its temple. For centuries and centuries, the Jews lived in the darkness of other peoples’ empires.
At the time of Jesus, King Herod would rebuild that temple to perhaps an even greater splendor than the original one. Yet Luke opens his Christmas story by naming the current darkness descending upon them: “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus. . . .” By the time Luke actually wrote those words, some eighty years later, he knew that the Roman imperial power had already crushed the Jews and destroyed their temple for the second and final time. This nationalistic oppression over many centuries — named by Isaiah as the “yoke of burden” and the “rod of oppression” — that was the darkness. So much death and suffering.
So what was the light in the darkness back then? We have been trying to lift up and understand and explain in new ways that the light which Jesus shines represents a new governance, a new politics, if you will — but even more basically a new way of being human that doesn’t rely first and foremost on the violent power of imperial armies. Belief in the power of empires and nations to conquer others has been the darkness throughout our human history. It is the age-old story in human history of a way of being human that believes that our side is right and the other side is wrong, so the gods want us to destroy these evil ones. The Jews at Jesus time knew that darkness on the underside of it. They had been oppressed by imperial power for centuries. The Romans were only the latest, if not the most powerful, in a long procession of empires and nations to brutally rule over them. That was the darkness surrounding them once again.
What’s the light? It was the birth of God’s Messiah in Bethlehem, the city of once mighty King David, and what he grew up to offer us, something so startlingly different: a way of being human that no longer puts faith in armies, and weapons, and that kind of power, the power of violent force. He taught us radical things like turning the other cheek and loving our enemies. And then he put all that on the line — walking the talk, if you will — by giving himself over to typical imperial violence on the cross. For that faith in a nonviolent God of love, God raised Jesus on Easter to show us that the power of love is ultimately the power of life itself, a power mightier than the power of imperial armies to kill and oppress.
This year we’ve talked a lot about how, in the many centuries of Christian history, belief in the power of love to stand against the power of imperial or nationalistic armies seemingly went underground for more than a thousand years.
But I would remiss to mention that just because the light of nonviolence against the darkness of violence went underground for a long time, it was certainly still aglow. Ever since the first Christmas, the light has shined in the darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it. For example, I asked Jeff Alderson for Christmas sermons that he gave her at the Danish service, and I was inspired to see that he has featured stories of resistance, of shining the light in the darkness. Several years, as Bethania was celebrating its 125th anniversary, there was a blank spot in the list of pastors around 100 years ago in 1920. In researching this, even going to the lengths of searching microfiche of the Racine Journal-Times at the library, he not only found the pastor’s name but some amazing stories about him.
His name was Knud Bodholdt, and the stories about him revolve around an area along the Danish-German border, a place called Schleswig. It has generally had a heavy Danish population, though since 1864 it has been under German rule. During World War I the Danish people of Schleswig suffered greatly. So Pastor Bodholdt led the Danish heritage people of Racine to raise a considerable amount of money to help them. In one of his speeches at a fundraising event. Pastor Bodholdt of Bethania, said, “The Prussians are not called to be masters, they are too tyrannical. They are not like the Americans who can understand and tolerate the beliefs of another people.” Pastor Bodholdt led the members of Bethania, and other Danes of Racine, to shine the light of God’s love in the darkness of a nationalistic war-time.
Jeff Alderson also followed up that story of Pastor Bodholdt with a personal note about how it was that the Alderson family had immigrated from Schleswig to America four generations ago. Their emigration had been a refusal to be conscripted into the Prussian army. They refused to fight. Another act of resistance. I know that many of you here tonight have your own stories of resistance during the German nationalist occupation of Denmark under Hitler during World War II. You can count yourselves among those who have continued to shine the light of love in the darkness of nationalistic hate and violence.
Brother and Sisters in Christ, we worship tonight as nationalism looms in our own nation and threatens to cast a pall of darkness over us in the year ahead. I hope I’m wrong about that. But we may ask ourselves: are we going to be called upon to write our own stories of resistance to nationalistic hate and violence, our own stories of shining the light of God’s love in the darkness of those who promote nationalism? A nationalism that betrays the ways of the Christ child, I believe, by calling itself “Christian Nationalism”? As we celebrate the holy birth of the Christ child this night, as we light our candles and sing “Silent Night,” will be called upon in the months ahead to “reflect Christ’s light and love in the world” in new and bold ways? Will that act of lighting candles in just a few moments not be just a quaint holiday exercise to warm our hearts, but also an act of commitment to join fellow citizens in resisting Christian Nationalism from taking hold in this wonderful nation of ours?
I’d like to end this evening with the inspiring words of a leader who has taken Christian resistance to violence from the ‘underground,’ and turned it into a mass movement: Martin Luther King, Jr. In a sermon King gave on “Loving Our Enemies,” he is bold to pit the power of love against the power of force, in light of Jesus’ bringing God’s very different kingdom into the world. King writes,
Love is the most durable power in the world. This creative force, so beautifully exemplified in the life of our Christ, is the most potent instrument available in [hu]mankind’s quest for peace and security. Napoleon Bonaparte, the great military genius, looking back over his years of conquest, is reported to have said: “Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne and I have built great empires. But upon what did they depend? They depended on force. But centuries ago Jesus started an empire that was built on love, and even to this day millions will die for him.” Who can doubt the veracity of these words? The great military leaders of the past have gone, and their empires have crumbled and burned to ashes. But the empire of Jesus, built solidly and majestically on the foundation of love, is still growing.1
And why is love, even to the point of loving our enemies, the only power that can ultimately bring peace? It has to do with the nature of light and darkness that we experience tonight. I give Dr. King and the Gospel of John the last word:
Why should we love our enemies? The first reason is fairly obvious. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. So when Jesus says “Love your enemies,” he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition. Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies — or else? The chain reaction of evil — hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars — must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.2
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:5) Amen
Paul J. Nuechterlein
Bethania Lutheran Church,
Racine, WI, December 24, 2024
YouTube: https://youtu.be/O2pLsLRDr-c
Notes
1. Martin Luther King, Jr. These two quotes are actually from a well-known sermon, titled “Loving Your Enemies,” first published by King in his 1963 book Strength to Love. I quoted them from an anthology of King’s work, The Radical King, edited and introduced by Cornel West (Beacon Press, 2015). The first quote is found on page 63.
2. Ibid., 59.
