Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Christmas Eve - Never Wake a Sleeping Baby



Most people who gather here tonight will be somewhat familiar with the Macintyre household.  Two adults, four kids, and three bedrooms makes for a very loud, very busy household.  Yet we manage with a minimum of fuss and bloodshed.  The kids play very loudly usually; there is probably more than the normal amount of yelling, screeching, music-making, and general mayhem.

But the household is governed by one simple rule. It is the source of order and sanity in our little home; it is inviolable and concrete; those who dare to break it must suffer the scorn and derision of the rest of the family, and be publically shamed.  That rule is very, very, simple (and no, it isn’t ‘daddy is always right’):

It’s never wake a sleeping baby.

That does not, in fact, mean that our house is as quiet as a mausoleum for 14 hours a day.  I’ll make fair wagers that our home is just as much, if not more, chaotic than some others.  But that one rule reigns in our home.  Never wake a sleeping baby.

For the most part, we can be as loud as we want; because there are many things a baby can sleep through.  The vacuum cleaner.  The washing machine.  General chaos.  But, it turns out, in fact, that the baby will not sleep through conflict of any kind.  Tears over a hogged toy: the baby wakes up.  A temper tantrum over permission not given: the baby wakes up.  If I speak sharply to my wife, or one of the other littles (and it does happen): the baby wakes up.  Even I am not allowed to transgress that one rule.

So when I think about, and reflect upon that first Christmas night, I confess that my images are coloured by that one simple rule; that rule has been in place since the birth of our first child.  This proves problematic when I consider some of the popular hymnody that we sing at this time of year.

For example, take that little drummer boy carol.  I haven’t looked it up; but I would be very surprised to find that it had been written by someone with children.  Especially the part when Jesus’ mother gives the little boy permission to play, and the assorted barnyard animals keep time.

If you played a drum near my newborn, God would have mercy on your soul, I guarantee it.  I rather imagine that Mary would have looked at someone coming into that stable with a drum with the best ‘mother’ look a young woman could manage – you know, the kind that leaves an imprint of your shadow on the wall behind – and that drummer would have beaten a hasty retreat.

Never wake a sleeping baby.

It extends beyond that, too.  Do you know why angels appeared to shepherds in their fields, way out in the countryside?  Because not even an angel is going to wake a sleeping baby and invite the wrath of his mother.  The angels appeared to shepherds in their fields singing their ‘glories’ because it was a safe enough distance away.  They had to sing; there were going to sing; they just knew better than to do it in that stable.  And then the shepherds, who would understand all about keeping silent so as to not spook their flocks, went to see the baby.  The shepherds could adore, and love, in silence.

We sang ‘Go Tell It On The Mountain.”  That’s a good idea.  If you want to shout about the birth of the Messiah, go and find a mountain.  Don’t wake the baby.

It’s funny, what living in a house governed by that rule will do.  The littles learn conflict resolution skills at a very young age.  My wife and I learn that there is very little worth raising our voices over.  We all learn, in fact, that the presence of that baby in our house brings a peace that passes all understanding: it doesn’t change the way we are; but it changes who we are. 

Maybe there’s a lesson there to be shared; a lesson learned from a baby born in a stable, and laid in manger.  That welcoming that baby into our lives won’t change the way we are, but that baby will change who we are.

There’s something about spending time with babies – any babies – that changes the way we look at the world.  It’s not that it seems any more peaceful; in fact, more often than not a baby will throw the violence and capriciousness of the world into sharp relief.  But a sleeping baby…well, a sleeping baby is a beautiful thing.

A beautiful thing.  And sometimes, a painful thing.  My family has experienced the loss of a baby born sleeping.  I know too many parents who have buried their babies – even babies well into their 30s or 40s.  Joy at Christmas is tempered by sorrow; or maybe it’s the other way around sometimes: that sorrow that Christmas reminds us of can be tempered with joy, or hope.  I know that because of that baby born in Bethlehem there is hope that we will see those babies again.  But instead of watching them sleep, we can watch them wake up. 

Because there’s a big difference between watching a baby wake up from sleep, and waking one up.  For starters, the noise level is decidedly different.  But to see a baby come to gradual awareness of their world…that’s an amazing thing.  I sometimes think that a sleeping baby is seeing a little bit of heaven; and that when they’re startled awake they cry because they see the world for the way it is: and know doesn’t work the way it should. 

Never wake a sleeping baby.

This Christmastime beloved, try not to wake the baby who is sleeping in the manger.  Turn down the lights; light your candles.  Sing your songs, and say your prayers.  Let out your little ‘glorias’, and find your joy to the world.  But be at peace with each other.  Forgive those who long for, or ask, for your forgiveness.  Love those who do not; for your love means more than your forgiveness.  Let that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.  Try not to wake the baby.

Soon enough, that baby will wake up; will wake up to a world of hate, and fear, and hunger; a world of uncertainty and doubt.  That baby will soon enough be a Saviour; will find out all too well about suffering, and shame, and dying, for you.  For you, so that you can know the everlasting peace that a sleeping baby, in a manger brings.

God comes as a baby, to us, tonight.  There is hope, and peace, in believing.  There is hope, and peace, to know that those who have died rest in love, and everlasting joy; because that sleeping baby became a king who reigns forever in a place where there is no sorrow, where this are no tears; where all there is, is glory.

Don’t wake a sleeping baby; watch, and wait, and wonder, and worship, because that baby is going to be your Saviour.

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