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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