The Art of Christmas: A Homily for Christmas Eve

A Homily preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, Christmas Eve, 2025.  Texts for tonight: Isaiah 9:2-7, Psalm 96, Titus 2:11-14, Luke 2: 1-20.  

 Try to imagine a Christmas without certain images in your head.  No magical star, no wise men and camels, no manger and animals, and not just no religious themes, but no reindeer, no jolly Santa, no Christmas trees, nothing. I don’t think you can, or at least, I don’t think I can.   The Christmas story first existed as words on the page, with no illustrations, but that’s never been enough.   For centuries, we’ve been imagining and recreating the Christmas story in paintings and sculpture and arts and crafts of all kinds.   

If I asked you to name some of your favourite images that you associate in your head with Christmas, it might be an image from popular culture, like Charlie Brown hopefully trudging home with his little tree.

 

Maybe it’s a favourite Christmas ornament, like this one with a Currier and Ives print.

(In our house the Starship Enterprise can be found close to the top of our tree amidst the angels, dogs, and coloured balls).

You might also think of a beloved nativity set or creche, like this one knitted by a parishioner of All Saints.

In our house there’s a treasured crêche, it’s a gift from a dear friend, a set of figures that were hand cast from lead and lovingly painted with tiny brushes.   They are absolutely beautiful, not just because of the work that’s gone into them, but because of what they represent.

The Nativity Set or crêche speaks to many of us, I think, because in it's own simple way it allows us to see something of the whole mystery of Christmas.  It combines earth and heaven.  There’s the physical world, the blood and messiness of birth, the ordinary animals in the rough little barn, combined with the metaphysical world, the extraordinary star overhead and the angels that are out there announcing the birth, speaking to shepherds like they spoke to Mary and Joseph.   There is all of human society, from the exotic and wealthy kings or wise men, to the ordinary shepherds who live rough and dangerous lives.   And there is the baby itself, a human child who has somehow come from beyond the veil of eternity, on whom everything depends.  As the old hymn says, “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

I would say that the appeal of the Nativity image is that we see our ordinary human selves and a loving, rescuing God in the same frame.   Take this painting by Georges la Tour from 1644 called The Adoration of the Shepherds.

Framed between Mary on the left (with her adorable and rather ordinary jowly face) with her hands clasped in prayer (a typical posture for Mary in these sorts of paintings) and Joseph on the right are two shepherds.  Then there is a servant girl carrying a bowl of water, another ordinary touch, she’s a working girl with a job to do.  Joseph on the right is depicted as old, according to the tradition that he was an older man.

No one is talking, everyone is watching the baby, except for the lamb in the centre, which is busy munching hay from the crib.   The lamb may have theological significance, pointing to Jesus’ role as the Lamb of God, but here it is just an ordinary, animal, doing what hungry animals do.

It’s often said of this painting that La Tour is showing off his technique as a painter by having all the light in the painting coming from the one candle that Joseph is shielding with his hand.  

In a lovely meditation on this image, Sean Rubin writes that 

“If you want a materialist explanation, by all means assume the candle is lighting the scene. Most candles don’t shine that brightly, but then again, neither do most infants. Maybe the baby really is just a baby. Or maybe you’re missing the implications.”

And maybe as Rubin suggests, the implications are cosmic, that Jesus is indeed what John’s gospel said he is, “The true light, which enlightens everyone, coming into the world” (John 1:9).

 

If we look at the two shepherds, the one in the foreground looks like any young man driving around Collingwood in his pickup, just put a ballcap and a puffy coat on him, whereas La Tour gives him a bit of a lacy shirt, we see the collar above  his rough coat, because maybe he has a girl somewhere that he dresses to impress, even though he’s a working man.    We can only guess at his thoughts but it’s unusual for a young man to stay that still.  The man to his left is mostly in darkness, but he has a smile on his face as if he’s found an unexpected moment of peace.   His touching his cap, a gesture of respect because he seems to know somehow that this is no ordinary baby, and he's holding a recorder, so maybe he's about to play a lullaby or something merry,

If La Tour meant for us to identify with anyone in this painting, I think we are meant to see something of ourselves in these shepherds.   For Christmas has come once again into the business of our daily, ordinary lives.     We’re here tonight because some sort of voice, maybe an angelic choir heard even subliminally, something has prompted us to come out of the cold and dark to linger in the light of the crib.    

All Nativity images speak to us, but tonight I hope this old painting has reminded us of the greatest gift that the Christmas story offers us: the reassurance tat there is light, and truth, and goodness in the world.    Jesus invites us to pause just for a moment, to be still amid the endless chatter and noise of our information-mad world, and to receive this simple message, that we are not alone, that we are loved by God, and that we are forgiven of whatever it is we fear keeps God away from us.  Take this message with you when you leave this palce tonight, and like the shepherds, go on your way rejoicing (Lk 2.20), because light has come into the world.

Water We Can Trust: A Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent

 Readings for the Third Sunday of Advent (Yr C):m. Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:4-9 OR Canticle 18 (Luke 1:47-55); James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water (Isa 35:6-7) 

Most of us have spent our lives trusting the water that comes out of our taps.     You might have lived or travelled in parts of the world where that isn’t the case.     Just before Covid I spent three weeks in Ethiopia, in a fairly decent hotel, and still had to force myself not to hold my toothbrush under the tap, as I habitually do.   

Because we take safe water for granted at home, it came as a bolt from the blue yesterday when Collingwood got a boil water advisory.  Those of us with longer memories immediately thought of Walkerton and took the warnings seriously.    This morning we learned that the water main has been repaired, and if we’re lucky, the water advisory will be lifted early next week.   In the meantime we will keep calm and carry on, and take appropriate precautions at our coffee hour today, but it has certainly come as a shock in the run up to Christmas.

In case you doubted that God has a sense of humour, our first reading this morning has, as I quoted, much to say about clean, fresh water.     Through Advent we have heard wonderful promises from the prophet Isaiah.  On Advent One we heard of the holy city that gathers all the peoples into a new age of peace.   On Advent Two, Isaiah told of us a ideal, just ruler whose reign would bring harmony even to the lion and the lamb, to the child and to the snake.   And today we hear the prophet speak of a way home for exiles who long to see their homeland, a safe and smooth way through deserts suddenly full of clean, fresh, water.

Now it’s very tempting to think of these promises merely as the prophet’s poetic flights of fancy, as Isaiah imagines what God’s future reign might look like, and to be sure, that reign of God is part of what our waiting in Advent looks towards.   However, we listen to scripture because we believe that somehow God speaks to our present reality through scripture.   And so, when we hear the prophet promise clean water when we have none, that should get our attention.

There are parts of Canada where if you talk about clean water, you will definitely get people’s attention.   According to the Council of Canadians, there are twenty-nine indigenous reserves that currently have unsafe water restrictions.     Some of these advisories date back twenty or more years, which means that there are children and young people that have never known clean running water in their homes and schools.    The Council says that seventy three percent of First Nations water systems are at risk for water contamination.

There are also parts of Canada, specifically in Ottawa, where if you talk about clean water, you will have trouble getting people’s attention.    Water systems on indigenous reserves are the responsibility of the federal government, which has treaty obligations to provide services, including proper funding for First Nations water plants.  During the 2015 election, Justin Trudeau promised to end drinking water advisories on First Nations reserves in five years, and this promise was never kept.

Here in Collingwood, I’ve noticed on social media that people are grumbling because the lab workers won’t come into work on the weekend to do the necessary tests.  Imagine how people would feel if the water advisory lasted until Christmas.  Or Easter.  Or for a year or more.   Prosperous Collingwood would never stand for such a delay.   Governments at all levels would throw truckloads of money at the problem until it was fixed.    And yet somehow, in places far to the north of us, these same problems are tolerated.

One of the things that Isaiah points to in today’s lesson is that clean, lifegiving water is part of creation, a gift from God to the world that God loved into being.  As Christians, we believe that our neighbour’s welfare is as important as our own, and this very belief as led to a long partnership among Canadian faith communities across Canada.

What we used to call the Primate’s World Relief and Development Fund, now known as Alongside Hope, has been working with several indigenous communities, Pikangikum and Kingfisher Lake First Nations, to bring clean water into homes and schools.    This partnership led to a network that calls itself the Pimatisiwin Nipi (Living Waters Group), and in 2021 the Living Waters Group began partnering with twenty five communities across the North and with the Anglican Diocese of the Arctic to bring clean, safe water to homes and churches.  Imagine coming to All Saints and not having clean water for our many functions

In our recent Regional Ministry Newsletter, our Alongside Hope representative, David Penhale, challenged us to consider helping this clean water project by joining the Advent Conspiracy.   This Consipracy doesn’t require disguises and secret handshakes!  It’s simply a movement that has gained traction in recent years as a rebellion against the relentless monetization of Christmas to drive corporate profits.  Here's how the conspiracy works.

1. Ask yourself what you would normally spend on a present for someone you love.
2. Don’t buy “stuff” this year, give the gift of water!
3. Make a donation to Alongside Hope’s Indigenous Water Partnership (through your church or directly to Alongside Hope
4. You can download a Donation Card
5. Give that Donation Card to your loved one this Christmas to tell them how much you love them

Since Joy and I are frantically downsizing to get into our newer, smaller house, and don’t need any more stuff, we’ve decided that we will give one another the gift of water this year,    Perhaps the Advent Conspiracy will make sense for your Christmas as well.    Whatever you decide, may our prayer be that clean water isn’t just a wonderful prophet’s promise, but an imminent reality, for Collingwood and for everyone, and may our soul’s thirst be met in the living water that Jesus promises all his followers.

The Kingdom of God Is Coming Near: A Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 30 November, 2025.  Readings for the First Sunday of Advent (A):  Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44

Advent as the church celebrates it can be an odd time, when we aren’t sure if we should be anxious or joyful about the future.  We look to the future because  Advent is a forward looking season, the word itself, Advent, coming to us via Latin as a translation of the Greek New Testament word parousia, means something like coming, presence, arrival. returning.   Our collect this morning speaks of Jesus’ second coming,”in glorious majesty”.  Jesus speaks of this coming (parousia) as being unexpected, like an unexpected disaster or a thief in the night.   Jesus warns us to be ready and expectant, which can be an exhausting posture over time, and the comparisons of his return to Noah’s flood or to a nightime robbery do not make us feel cheerful or relaxed!

But there certainly is joy in our first two readings!   Isaiah promises a day of peace and plenty, when all nations will sit together at God’s feet, and our psalm speaks of gladness, security, prosperity, and quietness, things that we will find when we seek God’s presence.  So as I said, a mix of anxiety and joyfulness.

Isn’t it all rather like that moment of quiet late on Christmas Day when we can finally relax?   Imagine the scene.  The family and guests all made it.  Everyone liked their presents.   Nobody argued over politics.   Everything came out of the oven on time and the turkey was moist and perfectly cooked.    Everyone is enjoying a food coma and watching sports in the family room.  You can finally sit back in peace and quiet and have a second glass of something nice.

Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?  But think of how many challenges and anxious moments you faced?   Would all the guests make their connecting flights, or get through the snowstorm that started on Christmas Eve?   What if the turkey wasn’t big enough?  Would you forget some crucial ingredient or dish?  What if cousin Bert gets drunk and quarrelsome again?   What if the grandkids are bored and cranky?   Some of our cherished Christmas stories and films play on these anxieties, as the late Stuart McLean did in his great story, “Dave Cooks the Turkey”.

Advent points us towards a future that will be better than we can imagine, but the trip there may be a nervewracking.   And maybe that’s a fitting insight for this, the First Sunday of Advent, whose theme is traditionally Hope.     Isn’t hope simply our wanting things to be better?     Isn’t hope our desire that there is a better future out there, the belief that things will work out for the good?  Hope might be as simple as “I will get though Christmas and it will be lovely despite cousin Bert” or it can be as grand as “peace on earth, and goodwill to all”.

Hope for Christians has taken different forms and had different intensities over the centuries.   Our gospel reading, with it’s talk about Noah’s flood, people disappearing, and Christ coming like a thief in the night, probably comes from a time when the very first Christians believed that Jesus would come in their lifetimes to end their problems and overthrow the tyranny of the Roman Empire.   Well, that didn’t happen and over the centuries Christians have wondered what the second coming of Jesus would look like.

In recent times, some Christians have taken passages like today’s gospel out of context and assembled into doctrines like the Rapture, which some Christian churches use to terrorize their members into belief, or to comfort them that their fates will be better then those terrible unbelievers who won’t get taken up into heaven.   

I would say that notions such as the Rapture are wrong for several reasons.  First, we should never be afraid of the coming of God.  Yes, Jesus knows all the secrets of our hearts and Jesus will come to judge us, as our creeds remind us, but the coming of Jesus, even at the end of time,  should never be frightening because Jesus is waiting now, like the Jesus with the lantern in Holman Hunt’s famous painting, standing at the door of our hearts and waiting to be let in.

What if the coming of Jesus isn’t some far off, unlikely event, but something that is happening now, for each of us?  Paul writes in Romans that “salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers” (Rom 13:12).  Do you remember when you first became a believer?  Maybe it was recently, or maybe it was long ago, in Sunday school or when you came back to faith after a lapsed time.    No matter.  If that was the first point on a line separating you and Jesus, Paul is saying that Jesus has gotten closer to you since then and is getting closer.  

 So what is this salvation that is getting closer?    I would say that if we want to imagine what salvation looks like, then think about what the Kingdom of God looks like as Jesus taught it. We know something about what the kingdom of God looks like from Jesus’ parables and teachings.  The kingdom of God is whereever justice and protectionare given to the defenceless, wherever the poor lowly are lifted up, and wherever mercy and forgiveness are shown.   Jesus did not imagine this Kingdom.

As a Jewish preacher, Jesus was drawing on a tradition such as our second lesson from Isaiah 2, which promises a time when the nations shall be friends and weapons are turned into tools for farming.   Imagine how we could hunger and poverty if all governments turned their defence budgets to useful purposes that benefitted all humanity.   

Likewise, Psalm 122 is a vision of what the presence of God looks like - like being in a city where we are safe, joyful, free to live good loves and to work for the good and welfare of one another.    Which of us wouldn’t want to live in such a place?

I said earlier that Advent is about hope, and can you think of anything better to hope for then the Kingdom of God as justive, peace, and love?   Jesus wants to being this Kingdom into our hearts. We can lock Jesus out of our hearts if we say that his kingdom is naive and unrealistic, that wars will happen, that we need to be strong, and that some will have to go by the wayside.  But if we say such things, then aren’t we denying hope itself?   Aren’t we saying that Jesus is a fool and God is naive?

The challenge of Advent is letting down our guard and letting Jesus come closer, into our very hearts.   Advent is about embracing the hope of the Kingdom of God as something that will come in its glorious entirety , while doing our small part in the present can to make the kingdom real on earth.   And Advent is an acknowledgement that even if there are things that make us afraid, the coming of God’s son is not one of them, for Jesus who is drawing near, who comes to give us all the gifts of Advent: hope, joy, peace, and love.