Forty years ago today, Americans turned on their televisions to watch a live broadcast from outer space. Frank Borman, William Anders, and James Lovell were on the first manned flight to the moon. In their broadcast, after describing what they saw from more than 200,000 miles away from planet earth, they read the first ten verses of the creation story from Genesis 1.



These astronauts were not the first to connect Christmas and Creation. In the opening verses of his Gospel, the Apostle John writes: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”



John is telling us that the story of Christmas did not begin with a young peasant couple from Nazareth. The story of Christmas began thousands of years before with another couple, a man and a woman who lived together in a veritable paradise. Life for them was good – very good. This man and this woman had everything they needed and much more. Their relationship with each other and with God was healthy and complete. They had no problems, no worries, no fear. Life was absolutely perfect.



Perfect, that is, until the woman’s pride was piqued, and seeds of dissatisfaction were sown in her heart. She wanted more, and so did her husband. Acting independently of God, Adam and Eve reached out to pluck the forbidden fruit because they thought that with it they would be like God. Ever since that time, the world has had a dark and ugly side.



The familiar words with which Charles Dickens begins A Tale of Two Cities are words that in some sense describe every age. He wrote, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”



This is true today. This is the best of times; this is the worst of times. This is the season of Light; this is the season of Darkness. This is the spring of hope; this is the winter of despair. Pride and greed and dissatisfaction still cast a shadow of darkness over our world. It’s not pretty out there right now – not on Wall Street or on Main Street, neither in the city nor in the suburbs. It’s not pretty for the unemployed and those in danger of loosing their jobs. It’s not pretty for those struggling to pay their bills or in danger of losing their homes. It’s not pretty for those soldiers embedded in a long and difficult war in Iraq or Afghanistan who would really like to be home for Christmas. It’s not pretty for those who are seriously ill or those grieving the loss of one they love. It’s not pretty for those who have seen their retirement income dramatically reduced from a year ago or those who are watching their retirement be pushed further and further into the future.



Once again we are tempted to reach for some low-hanging fruit that seems so pleasing and so promising. Retailers are slashing prices this year in a desperate attempt to entice consumers to buy more stuff and they tell us that if we do, things will be better. Wal-Mart says that shopping there means we will “save more” and “live better.” Sears promises that our purchases will fulfill our “dreams.” Sharp Electronics says that its new LCD series will change our lives: “Change your TV. Change your life.”



We all know that advertisements are by nature overstated, and yet they work. Perhaps it is because we so want them to be true. We want to be able to buy something that will make life better. We want to be able to buy something that will change our life. The truth is that nothing we put under the Christmas tree is able to provide any real joy, any real peace, any real hope. The truth is that we cannot buy our way out of the darkness.



But on this night, the darkness is overcome – not with something wrapped in colorful paper, but with someone wrapped in swaddling clothes. It is the first Christmas gift – given by God to a world dark with suffering and sorrow, a world dark with sin and shame. On this night, God lit a light in Bethlehem – a light that shines in the darkness, a light that the darkness cannot overcome.



That first Christmas gift was a child – a child born to Mary but conceived by the Holy Spirit; a child who was nothing less than the Son of God. Do you realize how extraordinary that was? So extraordinary that a choir of angels announced his birth. So extraordinary that it was marked by a new star in the heavens. But it has become such a familiar story, told and retold so many times in words and music and art that the words no longer always fill our hearts with awe and the crèche no longer always makes our eyes wide in wonder.



Tonight, in the a world muffled by a blanket of snow, in a world where the hustle and bustle of shopping has given way to the quiet of a silent night, holy night, ponder these things in your heart. Let the wonder and the awe of what happened on this night sink deeply in.



God became one of us. The creator of heaven and earth entered into our world as one of us. He did not come in power and glory, but as a tiny baby, so fragile, so vulnerable, so dependent upon a simple peasant girl and her unsuspecting husband. God did not shatter the darkness with a blaze of light, but God chose to enter into the darkness as one of us. Yes, he was heralded by angels, but he was also threatened by Herod. He was worshipped by shepherds, but he was rejected by priests, because the King of kings was born in a barn rather than a palace, wrapped in swaddling clothes rather than fine linen, laid in a feedbunk rather than a cradle. The light God lit in Bethlehem was a small, flickering flame indeed.



At the very time that that the astronauts read the Creation Story on Apollo 8, Gerald Coffee was pending his third Christmas in a Vietnamese prison. He heard his guards laughing and talking with their families. One of the guards had a son who was about 3 or 4 years old. Gerald thought of his own children back home. The guards gave him some candy wrapped in red and silver foil. After eating the candy, Gerald formed the foil into the shape of a star and stuck it over his bed. He thought of the star of Bethlehem.



Looking at this lone Christmas ornament, Gerald began to think about the birth of Jesus. He knew that it was his faith that was getting him through this experience. He wrote later that in that place there was nothing to distract him from the awesomeness of Christmas, even though he had lost everything that defined who he was. “I continued to find strength within. I realized that although I was hurting and lonely and scared, this might be the most significant Christmas of my life.”



As many have observed, the light shines more brightly in the darkness. Your darkness many not be as dark as Gerald Coffee’s was 40 years ago, but your light is as bright. No matter what your darkness, the light of Christ can shine in you. It shines with in the love of a God who would not let us go – a God who became one of us so that we might become one with him. It shines with the joy that goes deeper than a merry Christmas – a joy that no sorrow or grief can overcome. It shines with peace – peace between us and God, peace between us and others – a peace that no conflict or fear can overcome. It shines with hope – a hope that is not based upon the goodness of humankind but upon the greatness of God – a hope that will not be overcome, a hope that will not disappoint us.



This is why we celebrate Christmas. It is God’s gift – wrapped in love and delivered as a newborn child. It is a gift that keeps on giving – a gift whose peace and joy and hope only grow brighter in the darkness. Ponder these things in your heart and experience again the wonder and the awe. Amen.