It’s Christmas eve. And it’s been 25 years since I didn’t need to travel a great distance to come home to see my parents and family. Now that I live a half hour from most of them, I can visit more often as well. But more frequent visits don’t make them less significant. They will mean what we want them to mean. If we diminish their value, it is because we choose to diminish their value. We often can’t fix the physical distance between us and those we love. But we definitely have a choice whether or not to use that distance, physical or otherwise, to keep us apart.
When we spend time with people, whether family we don’t get to choose or friends we do, we might pause every now and again to consider the ties that bind us. Despite any DNA or history we share, despite words we’ve spoken or actions and attitudes we’ve expressed, despite any remote or immediate plans of improving any of these connections or calling it quits, it all comes down to what we value. We hold on tight to what we value. What means nothing we won’t have trouble ignoring or setting aside. And in this season of light and life, of comfort and joy, of peace on earth and goodwill to men, we have a special opportunity to give every person we encounter a glimpse of God’s goodness that hopefully we have ourselves come to know.
His name will be Emmanuel, God-with-us. When Israel finally secured peace, it was a loosely formed collection of nomadic tribes under the successful military leadership of a charismatic general. And there was both cause and opportunity to consider finally settling down, raising their families and building a stable life. It was a logical development of claiming ownership of a strip of land in the midst of other established peoples, some measurable territory with borders to defend, of having a king, a royal household, and a highly successful army, of having flocks to tend, crops to raise, orchards to harvest. So when David told the prophet Nathan he would build a house for the Lord, he was suggesting the end of a familiar way of life. A permanent structure such as a house meant an end to all the wandering. To most of us this sounds like a wonderful idea. But to people unaccustomed to staying put, it was unheard of. The nomadic lifestyle brought significant freedom. And God living in a tent like themselves made him accessible, available, and familiar with Israel’s daily reality. A house had potential to distance God from the people and their experience. It would wrap God in ritual and mystery. People would have less and less to identify with God, no journey, no hardships, no daily problems to share. It would take yet another generation and yet another king to embrace the idea. But God took the opportunity to change David’s plan and build for him an enduring house instead, firmly establishing David’s name in Israel’s consciousness. It would assure him descendants for generations, a house of privilege and promise, of prestige and power, favored by God in a unique way. It was not for David to honor God this time. Instead, God would honor David, and not to outdone in generosity.
The culmination of that favor and promise would be the designation of an heir to sit on the royal throne of David, the Son of the Most High, who would rule the house of Jacob, and whose kingdom will never end. The response of a lowly maiden carried all of Israel’s hopes. God promised David a royal house, one that would endure forever. God fulfilled that promise. Now God wished to bestow an even greater favor on David’s house. God would play a part in the fulfillment of that promise.
Today we mark the fourth and final week of Advent, just 24 hours. Once again we hear about God choosing to build a dwelling among us, to build a life with us and to share our story. Many of us have lived elsewhere before moving to this area, coming perhaps from another city, another state, another part of the country. Some may have grown up here, moved away for school or work and returned. We pitched our tent or built a house among a new people. We built a life and shared a new community’s story. We paid local taxes and sent our children to local schools. We supported neighborhood organizations, law enforcement and first responders, the school board, little league, the garden club, the local paper, local industry, the local theatre group, the community college, the animal shelter. We joined a church nearby, gave to the collection, helped with a couple of capital campaigns, and participated in worship. We joined leadership councils and served as catechists. We served on committees in the parish and in schools. We shopped at the corner store, the cleaners down the street, the florist next door, the hardware store, and the bookstore. We bought lemonade from neighbor kids, popcorn and cookies from the scouts, candy from the school band and Christmas trees from the boosters. We paid the kids from the other church down the block to wash our cars. We planted trees and flowers at the local park. We voted in local elections. We immersed ourselves in the life of the community. We rejoiced in each other’s achievements, we mourned each other’s dead, we showed up at each other’s backyard barbecues. At some point, we packed up our lives and moved to this area, to rent or buy or build a home, to join a new neighborhood and a new church. We made friends and got involved in new pursuits. In effect, we built new lives. We may not ever be considered locals for many years, but we have come to belong to those we consider our new friends and neighbors.
I still meet people who refer to other places as “home” even after being in this area for so long. They are from New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Georgia, Maryland, North Carolina, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, West Virginia, California, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Panama, Cuba, Colombia, Nigeria, Cameroon, the Philippines, Poland, Austria, and Sicily. Sometimes I ask, “And when will this place be home? How much more of your life do you intend to invest in this community before you call it home? Do you intend to stay here much longer if home is someplace else?” I usually don’t get an answer right away.
Today we hear about God’s decision to build his house among us, to share our lives, to share our story, to be at home among us. By being born a weak, helpless child of a lowly maiden in a remote part of the world constantly drenched in turmoil and poverty and strife, God fulfills a promise made generations ago to David, to Israel, and through them to you and me and all humanity. God longs to be at home among us this Christmas and every day. Mary said “yes,” and God became her little boy. Will we welcome God into our homes and into our lives?
Rolo B Castillo © 2023
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