Luke 2:1-20; Titus 2:11-14; Isaiah 9:2-7
In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Many who view the earth from space report a sudden and overwhelming sense of awe at its beauty, its isolation, and its fragility in the vast and mostly empty universe. This dramatic shift in perspective has come to be known as the Overview Effect.
For some, that moment brings peace and wonder. For others, it brings dread. Because from that vantage point, everything we once thought was so large – our nations, our possessions, our ambitions, even our lives – suddenly appear very small.
Yuri Gagarin, the first human being to see the earth from space, said, “Circling the Earth in a spaceship, I marveled at the beauty of our planet… let us safeguard and enhance this beauty.”
Apollo 11 astronaut Michael Collins described the earth as “tiny… beautiful… home… and fragile.”
And more recently, William Shatner, after briefly traveling into space, said that what overwhelmed him most was grief. He realized that we live on “a tiny oasis of life, surrounded by an immensity of death.”
Down here on earth, however, we rarely see things this way. We are preoccupied with work and worry, with making ends meet and preparing for the future, with protecting what is ours – our money, our comfort, our nation, our way of life. We accumulate possessions, debt, prescriptions, and anxieties. Our eyes, minds, and hearts are trained downward and inward.
But from another perspective, the truth becomes unavoidable: we are small, dependent, and fragile, yet astonishingly blessed. Because the God who made the heavens and the earth, the sun, moon, and stars, did not abandon this tiny world. He loves it. He loves us. And He gave His Son to save us from sin and death.
That is very much the world the Son of God entered on that holy night in Bethlehem.
People were going about their ordinary lives. Traveling to hometowns for a census. Looking for lodging. Preparing meals. Nursing infants. Tending animals. Watching sheep by night. No one was expecting anything to happen. Nothing felt momentous. Nothing seemed holy.
No prophet had spoken for four hundred years. The promises of God had not disappeared—but they had grown quiet. Faint. Easy to ignore beneath the weight of daily survival under Roman rule. The kingdom of David looked like a burned-out stump. Hope for restoration seemed long extinguished.
When all was still, and it was midnight…
That is when God acts.
Your almighty Word, O Lord, descended from the royal throne.
This was the greatest change in perspective the world has ever known. Not human beings looking down on creation from the heavens, but God Himself coming down into His creation. Not God remaining distant and untouchable, but God made small. God made vulnerable. God wrapped in swaddling cloths and laid in a manger.
All but a precious few had stopped looking for the Messiah. Even those who still waited could scarcely imagine how God would act. The promises were there, but they seemed buried beneath centuries of disappointment.
And yet, God was keeping every one of them. An angel was sent to shepherds, men at the margins, watching their flocks by night, and said, “I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people.” Not for the powerful. Not for the important. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” And this – this is the sign: a baby. Not a throne. Not a sword. A baby, wrapped in cloths and lying in a feeding trough.
God’s holy angels certainly knew that He would redeem His people. But they did not know He would do it this way. They longed to look into these things. They did not expect the eternal Son to take on human flesh. They did not expect heaven’s King to lie in a manger. They did not expect salvation to come so quietly, so humbly, so vulnerably.
And so, when the angel finished speaking, heaven itself could not remain silent. “Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased.’”
This is the true Overview Effect. Not humanity gazing upward into the heavens, but heaven opening and looking down upon us. Not the realization that we are small and insignificant, but the revelation that we are small and deeply loved.
Tonight, the world does not look impressive. It looks much as it always has. Fragile. Anxious. Divided. And so do our lives. Many of us arrive here tired. Burdened. Grieving. Distracted. Wondering what the future holds.
Christmas does not deny any of that. Instead, Christmas tells us that God has entered it. The Son of God does not remove us from the ordinary. He sanctifies it. The mundane is no longer empty. The temporary is no longer meaningless. The small and fragile things of this world – human flesh, spoken words, bread and wine, water and light – are now the very places where God meets His people.
And so tonight, you are not asked to manufacture hope. You are not commanded to feel joyful enough, faithful enough, or spiritual enough. You are given something far better. Unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. When the world feels vast and hostile… when life presses in… when hope feels thin… remember this: the God who holds the universe together chose to lie in a manger. The God who rules all things chose to save you by becoming one of you.
And in a moment, as the lights dim and candles are lit, remember this too: the darkness did not overcome Him. It never has. It never will. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot extinguish it.
This is the peace the angels proclaim. This is the joy of Christmas. And it is for you.
In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.
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