Scripture: Isaiah 40:1-5; 28-31; Matthew 2:7-23

It was mid-November.  There were birthdays to celebrate, Thanksgiving arrangements to Advent services to prepare, and all those extra school activities to attend!  Then, as if our schedule wasn’t impossible enough, one of the girls woke up sick . . . on the day of an out-of-town vocal workshop and concert.  While she was old enough to make it through the day with me running in and out to check on her, there was no way I could leave her to attend the concert in which her sister would still be participating.

Knowing there was no way to be two places at one time, I did what most mature single adult parents do.  I called Mom!  Well . . . I didn’t exactly call her.  When she came to the United Methodist Women’s meeting, I cornered her and ask if she would stay with Nichole so I could go to Michelle’s concert.  She, of course, agreed . . . with conditions.  She wanted me to go get a poem that I’d been promising her.  

It seemed like a fair enough trade.  So, after lunch and before the afternoon program, I ran up the steps to my office in order to retrieve the poem.  Before reaching the top step, I heard Mom say:  "That young lady had better slow down or one of these days God’s going to knock her flat."  They were to be the last words I would ever hear her speak. 

Before I had time to get the poem and formulate a snappy come-back, one of the women came down the hall yelling:  Kathleen, come quick.  You’re mom’s fallen.  In the time it took me to run back down the steps and turn her over, she had stopped breathing and even her hands were turning blue. 

Dropping down beside her to do CPR, I started calling out orders to the women who were standing there.  In between, I kept yelling:  Breathe Mom!  Darn it, breathe!  But even then, I knew.  She had turned blue too quickly.  Even if we got her to breath, the mother I knew was dead. 

So, in the days that followed, I sat about doing those things she had always asked me to do.  I conducted her funeral, adopted her cats and paid her final bills.  We also celebrated a fifteenth birthday, observed Thanksgiving, celebrated the life of one of Mom’s closest friends, and made the final plans for Advent – plans that included a congregational dinner and an all-church decorating party.

I, however, just wanted to be alone.  I wanted some time to think and pray.  So, I said the mandatory prayer  then slipped into my office.  But it seemed as if I had no sooner shut the door than it opened again and one of the leaders of the church walked in.  She was a kind woman who had been there the day Mom died.  She had helped organize meals and lodging for out-of-town guests.  But on this day, she closed the door and said:  It’s been long enough so get over it.  Besides, it’s Christmas.  Don’t spoil it for everyone.

It had been less than three weeks!  But it was time to get over it and be merry!

Christians, when are we going to learn there is room enough in the Christmas story for all of us?  While the angels sang with joy and the shepherds were amazed, there was a young, frightened mother huddled in a stable.  While the magi searched and followed a star, there was also a jealous king and an anxious father making his way into foreign, and sometimes hostile, country.  When one father stood in Egypt, holding his young son safely in his arms, there were parents in Ramah mourning the massacre of their children. 

But, friends, that was the point of Christmas – so God . . . so Emmanuel . . . could be with us through all the moments of our lives?  Up until that moment when the angels heard the baby cry, God had been pent up in the temple with priests who were so afraid of coming face-to-face with the Holy One they would draw lots to see who would have to go into the holy of holies.  The people refused to speak the name of Yahweh for fear of being stricken dead.  And when tragedy struck, it was because God was angry and had either caused the calamity or had withdrawn so it could occur.

But Christmas changed all that.  Suddenly God is with us – in the joy and in the sorrow; in those moments when our dreams, or our worst nightmares, come true.  God is with us when our hearts take flight, or break into pieces.  In the midst of the quiet or the chaos, God is with us.  And nothing, not even death itself, can separate us from that love.

Emmanuel is with us.  And because he is, we all have a place in the story.  We can laugh, or we can cry.  We can anticipate the future, or find comfort in our memories.  All we really have to is get over thinking we, or someone we love, have to get over it and believe that God is with us through it all.  Then, like Joseph, we will find the comfort, the hope, and the strength to believe and to follow even when the world turns against and our future seems blue. 

To God be the Glory.  Amen.