A Christmas Eve Service of Lessons and Carols
The Reverend Dr.
December 24, 2007
First Congregational Church,
www.firstconge.org
630-469-3096
I can only blame the review in the Tempo section of the Chicago
Tribune for my behavior. If I hadn’t read the review entitled “PDA at the MCA,”
I never would have thought of going. The article referred to “The Kiss,” a
performance art piece at
Mostly real life couples, they perform a carefully choreographed slow motion routine in which they run through famous kisses of the art world, in poses envisioned by artists like Auguste Rodin, Gustav Klimt and Edvard Munch. The couple on duty will perform these eight minute routines, called “living sculpture” over and over all day long, for seven to ten hours a day, giving the impression of, if you didn’t know that this was an art exhibit, well, two people spending an entire day kissing in an art museum, making a very public display of affection.
It has created quite a stir at the museum, since most art appreciators who wander by have no idea that these people are actually involved in a work of art. That, of course, is just what the artist had in mind. Part of the fun of performance art is the reaction of the audience. This form of living art generally provokes a strong reaction, and then the reaction of the observers becomes part of the art – particularly when the observer has no idea what to expect.
When I read about this, I thought, “I’ve got to go. This is life in the big city because unless I
am mistaken, we have not had performance art like this in
Sure enough, the fun was in the reactions. I went up to the top
floor of the museum, and there I saw them, a couple kissing in the middle of
the floor as coy art patrons turned politely away. Bolder people pointed out
the obvious, that the polite people were trying to ignore, and more aggressive
Interestingly, one man, who didn’t know, watched for awhile and then decided to get down on the floor and join them. He was escorted out by security. Apparently what they were doing was art but what he was doing was not art.
The whole scene reminded me of a New Yorker cartoon, in which a sophisticated man is sidling up to a beautiful woman, both of them staring at a modern art work, and the man says to the woman, “It’s meaningless lady, believe me – I painted it.” This wasn’t meaningless, I think. The kiss has always been a powerful image in our culture, and our reaction to the image is powerful, too.
You see, kisses may be our earliest experience of love. I don’t know of any mother who did not, if she was able, upon first meeting her baby outside her womb, quickly rest her lips upon her child’s soft head. It is most people’s welcome into the world, our mother’s kiss. While none of us remember it consciously, I suspect we remember it subconsciously. Our first kiss is often from a parent: that first tender greeting that marks us as loved, cherished and ready for the world.
Those first kisses, from a mother to a baby, or a father to a tot, or a big sister to a brand new little one, may be the easiest of all kisses to receive. Then they get more complicated.
I witnessed this scene, and when I did, realized that I had seen it many times before. The little boy, dressed in his holiday best, in other words, completely miserable and uncomfortable, enters the room full of relatives who have traveled far and wide. The adults squeal with happiness to see one another, throwing bear hugs around with abandon, and then they focus on the little one. “You’ve grown so big,” says one, capturing the tiny boy in her wide arms, and covering his face with kisses. He wipes them away, only to be attacked again, this time by a woman he does not remember being related to at all. “My little muffin,” she says, kissing him all over his cheeks, his forehead, even his eyelids. “I could just eat you up.” The boy suspects she could, and she might. Another auntie moves in for the kill, and at the moment her lips come near he flings out his arms in a karate escape and dashes for the corner. “What’s wrong with you?” the relatives ask. The little boy decides to tell them all the truth. “I just don’t like kisses,” he says, folding his arms across his holiday vest.
An awkward pause, and then “Oooooh, that is so cute.” And once again the army of love circles around, to bestow more kisses.
Can you blame the little boy? Sometimes, for children, all that love and affection is overwhelming, almost scary. All the relatives want him to know that he is loved, cherished and adored. He wants them to know that he is big, and strong, and not a baby anymore. It’s the struggle of love, repeated generation after generation.
I picture God creating the universe, creating the heavens and the earth and every living thing, and declaring it good – the Garden of Eden with every earthly delight, and then the first people, Adam and Eve. For some reason, instead of making them puppets, God decides to give them free will. These, God’s greatest creatures, are going to have the power to make their own choices. They will not be babies, but will be big, and strong and independent. God will watch them, and their babies after them, grow up to make both brilliant choices and terrible ones.
Yet this adoring God will not let go. As much as we human beings say we are independent, and that we don’t need God, God hovers, waiting, and I suspect even wondering, “How do I get through to these kids?”
God came up with the event that we note this evening: the birth of Christ. In the incarnation, God slipped in, like a little kiss, to a universe in its toddler years. In the birth of Jesus, we get God’s greatest public display of affection. He comes to us in a form we can handle, as a baby, as one of us, vulnerable. Later, Jesus too, will grow up to be big and strong and die on a cross. Although not well-received by everyone, God still made this greatest public display of affection.
If we human beings have trouble exchanging affection with God, we don’t do much better with each other, do we? Even in the season of Christ’s birth, we can have trouble giving and receiving love.
That was the case in a story about a man and his college-age son. They had fought so much over the last few years that as Christmas vacation approached, they were not communicating at all. The son, away at school, gave no indication that he was even coming home for Christmas, and the father gave no indication he was invited, and the rest of the family swung nervously in the balance of their conflict.
Yet as the season progressed, the father yearned for his son. He just wanted him close. Their ego clashes seemed less important, as did the answer to questions like “Whose fault was it?” By now the college term was about to let out, and so the father called the dean of students to see if he could get some sort of announcement out to his son. Something extraordinary was called for, since the boy had stopped returning phone calls.
“Can you put up a sign on all the bulletin boards everywhere around campus? I don’t care what it costs, but I want the signs to say this: ‘John, all is forgiven. Let’s make a new start. I have given the dean of students money for your transportation home. Please come home for Christmas. Love, Dad.’ ” Before he finished, he added, “And please forgive me, too.”
The days went by, and the father heard nothing until Christmas Eve, when the dean of students called. “I wanted to let you know that John came by today, and picked up the money. He’s coming home.” “What did he say?” the father asked. “He didn’t really have words,” the dean said, “But he held the flyer close, as if it was very precious, and took the envelope of money tentatively, like it was the first gift he had ever received.”
Sometimes we recoil from public displays of affection, like the little boy overwhelmed by his aunties’ kisses. One day, when that little child grows older, and experiences not only love but conflict in the world, his needs will be different. He may look back on all that unconditional love, and long for that affection and wonder if it will ever come his way again.
The story of Christ’s birth is our bulletin board announcement from God who calls us home year after year. The incarnation of Christ is God’s greatest public display of affection. So, if you have been away, come back. If this is your spiritual home, see the warmth and affection of this church as precious and new each day.
As the father thanked the dean of students for all his help, and prepared to get off the telephone, the dean said, “Wait, there’s one more thing I have to tell you about this story. Ever since we put your notice up around campus, well, every day this week, I came into my office to find a bunch of students all named John, all wondering if this had come from their father. Now, I’ve been trying to get them all home, and reconnected one way or another.”
This Christmas Eve, wherever you come from, wherever you are
on life’s journey, no matter what, you are welcome here. God has called you
home. Amen.