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Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God.
Christmas Eve is always a subtle mixture of what is and what you would like things to be. The secular world often speaks of the "Magic of Christmas", but those of us who are drawn here into this church, to this holy table for midnight mass on Christmas Eve, are Christians, or of Christian intent, and would prefer to speak rather of the "Mystery of Christmas".
Yes – you are waiting for the midnight hour to come and for it to be Christmas Day, but the closer you get to that hour, to the stable in Bethlehem in both heart and mind, the more you realise the depths of the mystery of Christmas that has gently and enigmatically drawn generations before you to this very moment. Time melts away, and you feel yourself to be on the threshold, not only of the Bethlehem stable, but also of discovering, as Douglas Adams once described it, the secret of life, the universe, and everything. Well – you are not wrong. You are.
But the paradox is that what you may find is perhaps not precisely what you are expecting to find – here exists the tension between what is and what you would like things to be. You will find a baby, assuredly. He has been born, and he was born for you. However, you will also find a series of signposts that will take you the rest of your life to follow, but in the course of the journey, you will find God himself, and ultimately gaze upon him, and dwell with him for all eternity.
We spend so much of our life trying not to find things, just in case what we find is not what we want. Some years ago, our youngest daughter got us tickets at the Cardiff International Arena for a concert by Bob Dylan. At the last moment, I was very much in two minds whether to go or not. It would not be the Bob Dylan I first discovered when I was in my teens. Did I want to hear him sing "The times they are a-changin'", knowing that he had a bus pass in his pocket whilst he was singing it – and thus proving categorically the truth of what he sang forty years ago? Would I not prefer to remember him as he was, and still is, in his recordings? Well, we went, and I experienced very strong mixed feelings. It was wonderful, but it was a bit like listening to The Who singing, "Hope I die before I get old," knowing that the two remaining band members are now well over sixty.
We make similar excuses for not looking for God, just in case we never find him, or, if we do, he turns out to be the sort of vindictive deity that fundamentalists of all the world religions try to harangue us into believing that he is. But then you look upon the Christ-child in the stable at Bethlehem and you just know that if this is truly the Son of God, then God himself – the real God, and not just a god of man's twisted imaginings – cannot be a vindictive overlord, with prejudices and hatreds.
No – on Christmas Eve we want to find God, and we want him to be there, but in this case, is what is and what we would like things to be one and the same in truth? And even if he is there, is there any possible correspondence and communication between the reality that we perceive and the reality that we hope must lie behind the whole of the universe?
For our first signpost, why don't we start with the experience of the shepherds of the Bethlehem fields? There were no orange street lights to spoil the view in those days. From where the shepherds sat on the frosty hillside above the town, the entire dome of the starry heavens spread far and wide above and around them. It is almost incredible to countenance just how many stars there are out there, but it was the natural nightly backdrop to a shepherd's life. Centuries ago, philosophers and scientists believed that every star made its own music in the heavens, unperceivable to the human ear – just beyond human hearing, like those whistles that drive dogs absolutely barmy. They used to call it "The Music of the Spheres".
I do not know whether it is true or not, and even if it is, then we could not hear it with the human ear through the vacuum that is space. Scientists from later centuries were to pick up radio signals from the far reaches of the universe, static noise perhaps, but the shepherds of Bethlehem were unaware of that and sat as they had always sat, listening to the sounds of the night – little creatures about their nocturnal wanderings, the odd fox loping about looking for supper, and a few birds frightened into flight. And, of course, there was the usual shuffling and bleating of their flocks.
Then the world unseen made itself known to the world that is seen. That thin veil that obscures our perception of the metaphysical from the physical was parted briefly, and the voice of a messenger of God broke above the earthly sounds… the child who will be your Saviour is born… go and look for him. What is and what we would like things to be is one and the same in truth… Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God. The shepherds heard the music of the heavens, and the voices of those who dwell in the presence of God. And then it was gone. The moment of human perception was curtailed, just as it was to be years later when the baby of Bethlehem had grown to be a man and led his closest friends on to a mountain top. There too on the Mount of the Transfiguration, human beings were made aware of the wider realities of the divine before that moment also was brought to a close.
The shepherds of Bethlehem never forgot the music and the song of that night. They never forgot the message, for they went and found the baby. In the thin cry of a new-born baby is the echo of the song of the heavens over the Bethlehem fields.
Come to this table to praise God on this holy night, but come too to receive something that that child, grown to be a man, gave you at the end of his earthly life, and gives you still. It is so simple, so unremarkable – a scrap of bread and a drop of wine. But in receiving it, you will encounter God as surely as those shepherds were bidden to find the Christ-child. I cannot tell you what you will find at the moment of encounter. God will decide that for you. Perhaps you will only find the stillness of a Bethlehem night, and the awareness that round about you are hearts filled with love and a desire to kneel together where shepherds knelt centuries ago. Perhaps you will be allowed to find more.
But when Christmas Day has come and you go to your homes through the frosty and holy night, know that the same stars hang above you as hung over the Bethlehem fields. The same music still echoes, if not in your ears, then deep in your hearts.
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 men with whom he is pleased."