The Lutheran Hour
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"Loneliness"
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Text: Luke 2:8-11
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Let us all with gladsome voice praise the God of heaven,
Who, to bid our hearts rejoice, His own Son hath given.
To this vale of tears He comes, here to serve in sadness,
That with Him in heaven’s fair homes, we may reign in gladness.
Christ is born! He is born, indeed.Christmas can be, and often is, a very lonely time. Now I understand that most of you would never, ever admit to feeling lonely during this holy season of holly and ho-ho-ho’s. Still, 28 years of being a parish pastor has convinced me that many of you, indeed, most of you, if you’re honest, will understand holiday loneliness. The mother who, maybe many long years ago, lost a child – she understands. She wonders how her life, her holidays would have been different – if things had been different. The wife, or husband, whose spouse is serving overseas in the military or is away on business can understand loneliness. The person who has buried a faithful mate remembers festive family gatherings which will never be again. Those who make calls upon a family member who no longer recognizes or responds to their presence understands. The individual who fears the approach of this season because it has always meant fights and feuds, differences, disagreements, disputes, and discord; they understand. There’s no need to continue. You’ll get too depressed. Listen, this message is going to get brighter, but the point had to be made: loneliness comes when it is least wanted, and stays long after it should have departed. I needed to make the point – this sermon needs to come to you where you are, rather than where you pretend or think you ought to be.
Loneliness. Loneliness is what brings The Lutheran Hour microphone, Mark Eischer, and 35 of our friends to the remote Greek island of Patmos this Christmas Eve Day. We are hardly the first Christians to come to this place. Nineteen hundred years ago, Jesus’ friend and apostle John found himself here walking its sandy beaches. A Roman Emperor had demanded an allegiance and acceptance which John could not give. As a result of his refusal, John was banished to the island that lies now in front of us. It was a move calculated to silence John’s message concerning this Christ; it was a cold, cruel attempt to isolate the old man and grind him down with unrelenting, unrelieved loneliness.
Scripture is silent as to what he thought about during these long days and endless nights of exile. There can be little doubt that John would have drawn comfort from the familiar stories of the outwardly lonely heroes of the Old Testament: Noah, whom God rescued from a global flood; Moses, who had been called back from a self-imposed exile to be leader of God’s people; Elijah, who while hiding in a cave was assured that he was not alone; Daniel in the lion’s den; the three men who found a divine friend in a fiery furnace.
But John didn’t have to dwell upon those stories from centuries gone by. Had he not heard the account of a young girl from the Galilean town of Nazareth? That girl, Mary was her name, had been lonely. No, not at first. At first her life would have been well ordered. She, like others before her had been born; like others she had grown up; like others she had become engaged to a man – a man by the name of Joseph. Soon they were to wed, and the rest of her life would fall into place. But then a visit from an angel had told Mary that she would, even as a virgin, bear a child, a special child, a divine child. With great faith Mary had accepted this news, but who could she tell? With whom could she share her story? Would her father accept the pregnancy of his daughter; would he believe her when she said that she was pregnant by the power of the Holy Spirit? Could she tell her mother, her friends, her fiancé? It was lonely for this young girl, Mary, after the angel’s visit.
And her fiancé, what about him? When he found out; when he heard the humanly improbable story of his beloved, who could he tell? To publicly share the story of Mary’s pregnancy would have endangered her life; she could have been stoned for unfaithfulness. To tell his friends – that would have made him a laughing stock. To break off the engagement as silently as possible seemed the only solution; but that plan was put off when, in a vision, an angel confirmed Mary’s story. She would indeed have a child by the power of the Holy Spirit, and that child would save God’s people from their sins. It must have been lonely for Joseph after that dream.
From his cave in exile, John would have remembered the story of this lonely couple. How, by an emperor’s decree from far off Rome, they had been compelled to leave Nazareth and journey to Bethlehem. John would have recalled when they arrived, that there was no place that would open its doors for them and how the young girl had given birth to her Son in an animal’s stable; had wrapped her Son in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger. All this was done without support, without assistance, without caring hands of family and friends. It must have been lonely in that stable the first Christmas night.
Those recollections would have reminded John that he had no patent on loneliness. Others had lived with loneliness, hadn’t they? For example, John might have remembered some shepherds who had kept watch over their flocks that fed in the fields of Bethlehem. It had to have been lonely in those fields. Nothing ever changed in a shepherd’s field. One generation of shepherds followed the next. Every night, every night, the sheep would be settled in and the lambs would rest near their mothers. As the sun set, the shepherds would spend some time talking about the day that was gone and the tomorrow which would come.
But then everything changed. I mean everything changed. The solitude of the shepherds was broken by the appearance of an angel. An angel from heaven, an angel from the throne of God, an angel with a message. “Fear not,” the angel said, “unto you is born a Savior, Christ the Lord.” The angel continued, “And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” Lonely shepherds? Not likely. For suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising the Lord, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” And the shepherds, the no longer lonely shepherds, did something remarkable. They left their flocks; they left their sheep and went to see this thing which had come to pass, which the Lord had told them about. They went and saw the baby’s mother, Mary, and the baby’s foster father, Joseph, and they saw… the baby. They saw Him lying in a manger just as the angels had said. And with the coming of the shepherds, the divine child’s parents knew that God had made the news of His Son’s birth public. He had told the shepherds about what had happened, and they told their friends, even as I am telling you: with the coming of the Christ, loneliness can be a thing of the past.
Exiled John would have been able to tell you the same and more. From firsthand experience, John could tell you how the Bethlehem Baby, grown to manhood, went out to minister as God’s heavenly friend to those who had no one. John would tell you how Jesus healed the scarred bodies of outcast lepers, ordered devils out of the hearts of those who were possessed; reached out to a socially outcast Samaritan woman at a well; and saved an adulteress from the stoning of a self-righteous mob. John could relate how Jesus ended the lonely mourning of a widow by raising her son from the dead; and how He brought hope to rejected sinners. Yes, John could tell you about Jesus, the spiritual physician to those who were sick in their souls; the companion of those who had lived in loneliness.
There can be no question. Jesus had been lonely. He was lonely when the voices of those He had come to save called for His crucifixion. He had been lonely as Roman soldiers pounded great nails into His hands and feet. He had been lonely when, even as He died, His own Father in heaven turned away from Him. Lonely? There is no word in any human tongue which can come close to describing the loneliness of the Lord as He hung upon the cross, dying for us on His wooden island of exile. Now, if this message had to end with Jesus’ death upon the cross; if this sermon had to conclude with John standing alone with his thoughts on the shore of this small Aegean Island; if this Christmas Eve Day there were nothing more to celebrate than the birth of a human child in a far away stable in a far distant century, then this would be a most dark day indeed. If these stories all ended here, then we are to be pitied, for we are still in our sins and left with our loneliness. But as I promised a few minutes ago, this message gets brighter and better. Christmas is upon us, and God’s story of salvation does not end with the birth of a baby, nor is it completed with His death on a cross. The story continues and with its continuation it fulfills the angel’s promise of bringing good news of great joy to a lost and lonely world.
The story of salvation continues with the resurrection of the Christ; for on the third day after He was buried, Jesus came forth from His grave. A living Lord, a loving Lord came and appeared again and again to those who felt their futures held nothing but dark days of mourning. Jesus came out of his open, empty tomb and said to those who were overwhelmed by the reality of the resurrection, “Here, put your hands in My hands and My side. I am real. Do not doubt, but believe.” And what should we believe? We should believe that a risen Jesus conquers the sin that is the source of all the loneliness which separates us from God and each other.
Believe the words of a victorious, conquering Christ who stood before His disciples and made a promise that no one else could keep He said, “Surely, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.” Do you hear those words? They are God’s promise that believers will never be alone again. The same Savior who forgives the sins of those who, with repentant hearts, have faith in Him as their heaven-sent substitute; the same friend who guarantees that the grave will not have the final word in their lives; has promised to be with them.
That was God’s heavenly hope which was revealed to John on this very lonely island of banishment. Here God brushed aside an emperor’s edict of exile and showed John he was not alone. Here God spoke to John and revealed to him, and to us, the future of the world. Here we are shown centuries which will be filled with plague, pestilence, and persecution; centuries of sadness, sorrow, and suffering. But we also see that any heart which is held in the nail-pierced hands of the Savior will finally, ultimately be victorious. John saw that believers would never, could never be alone again. This is God’s good news of great joy. A Savior has been born for us, a Savior has lived for us, died for us, risen for us, and even now, whatever our situation, is with us. This is God’s gift this Christmas Day. The Savior has come.
One of my fondest memories from the time I spent in a farming community is that of an elderly lady of 80, and her elder sister who tried to keep the family homestead going without outside assistance. The farm had seen better days, so had the ladies. They were always chasing after, and falling over, the chickens and pigs who considered the broken, faded slats of their fences and pens to be challenges rather than any true form of confinement. It was right around Christmas, right after one of the backyard roundups, that I was asked to call upon one of the girls who had fallen and was badly bruised. During the course of my visit, I commented that it was a shame that she wouldn’t make it to church on Christmas. Peering through an eye that was swollen shut and smiling through a split lip, the lady waved her hand at the cluttered room, looked out the window at a chicken which had fluttered by and said, “Pastor, don’t worry, the Savior Lord comes to us, even in the midst of our mess.”
She was right. She knew what Christmas is. Christmas is the Savior coming to us in our loneliness, in the midst of our messes. Jesus comes to us in the midst of our messes of sin and washes them away with His blood. Jesus comes to us in the midst of our messes; Jesus comes to us in our loneliness. Now I imagine that some of you might think my words nothing more than the seasonal sermonic ramblings of a preacher, and what that farm woman said is the deluded thinking of an old lady. Some of you may feel God’s message of an ever-present Savior is for others, but not for you. Some of you may believe that your loneliness is simply too great to be conquered by the Babe of Bethlehem, the Christ of the cross. You are wrong.
At the beginning of this message I told you that some Christian friends were with me on the Island of Patmos. They are sitting around me, right now, as this message is being recorded. For almost a week we have traveled together, eaten together, taken tours together, and gotten to know each other. I have asked for, and received, permission to tell you about them. Two of the couples of our group, right now, because of a natural calamity back home, literally do not know if they will have a home when they return. At least eight of the people with me have had to bury a husband or a wife. Some of them have remarried, others have not. One couple has had to say an earthly farewell to a child. One of the folks by my side has undergone medical tests and the doctors cannot say what is the difficulty. In the last month, two have undergone surgeries which have not been entirely successful; one remains in constant pain. One of my friends is scheduled to go under the knife when this trip concludes. One couple has a son back home who four years ago received a head injury and has been institutionalized and almost unresponsive since that day.
Now I want you to know two other things about these people. First, you should know that these folks, even with personal pains that could easily send them into a personal exile, are smiling. They have their pains and problems, but they still smile and they still laugh. They remain genuinely happy. How? These people with me are not alone. They are not carrying their crosses alone; they are not bearing their pains alone. They, like the shepherds, have seen the Savior and they recognize Him for who He is: good news of great joy. They, like John, have had the Lord come to them in their personal exiles and know that in Jesus, with Jesus, they will be given the ability to be conquerors, and more than conquerors.
The second thing I want you to know about these people is that their stories are your stories. Their pains, their problems, their loneliness is yours. They are not, by themselves, super men and women; but they are, by God’s grace, saved men and women whose lives are being lived in the presence and with the power of the Savior. They know that Jesus was born into this world so He might save them, so He might come to them in their loneliness, and in the midst of their messes. They know what Christmas is, do you? This Christmas Day, Jesus wishes to be born in your heart; to stand by your side on whatever island of exile on which life has put you. Know what Christmas is: it is good news of great joy – a Savior has been born to you, a friend has been given to you. The Christ is born. If you would like to know more about this Savior, call us at The Lutheran Hour. Amen.
LUTHERAN HOUR MAILBOX (Questions & Answers) for December 24, 2006
TOPIC: Was Jesus born on December 25?ANNOUNCER: Now, Pastor Ken Klaus answers questions from listeners. I’m Mark Eischer.
KLAUS: And it’s Christmas Eve Day, Mark. Do we have a seasonably appropriate question?
ANNOUNCER: Actually we do. This comes to us via e-mail. A listener writes, “I’ve been told that Jesus was not born on December 25th. Well, if I can’t believe that Jesus was born on Christmas Day, what other things about Christianity should I doubt?”
KLAUS: And a “ho-ho-ho” to you, as well. Seriously, our listener is asking a fair question, and I think it’s probably one that we can tackle without too much difficulty.
ANNOUNCER: So, was Jesus born on December 25th?
KLAUS: It is possible that Jesus was born on December 25th.
ANNOUNCER: And what would you say the probability was?
KLAUS: Well, I’m ready to go out on a limb and say the odds are better than 365 to one.
ANNOUNCER: So you can understand how a person might feel perplexed and worried; and wonder, is there anything else we don’t know for sure about Christmas?
KLAUS: Well, we don’t know if Mary was young or old. We don’t know if Joseph was young or old. We don’t know if Mary rode a donkey or walked to Bethlehem. We don’t know how many shepherds were watching their sheep. We don’t know the day, or the month, or the season Jesus was born. We’re pretty sure about the year. We believe Jesus was born somewhere in the year we call 4 BC, so that would be about 2010 years ago.
ANNOUNCER: Wow! That’s a lot of things we don’t know.
KLAUS: Oh, and there’s more! For example, we don’t know how many people turned Mary and Joseph away before they found lodging in the stable. We don’t know…
ANNOUNCER: Now, I hate to interrupt when you’re on a roll, but-won’t people become upset hearing this long list of things we don’t know about Christmas?
KLAUS: Well, they shouldn’t be upset, really. You see, the Bible doesn’t speak to any of those things. It doesn’t say yes or no. Since the Bible doesn’t give the day that Jesus was born, remembering it on December 25th is as good as any other day. In fact, if you don’t want to celebrate Jesus’ birthday, that’s OK, too. The Bible doesn’t give any command about what to do or not do.
ANNOUNCER: Now you said December 25th was maybe a better day than some others.
KLAUS: Well, there is a tradition that says Jesus was born on December 25th. It’s just not a very good one.
ANNOUNCER: So there are other traditions that honor other days?
KLAUS: A great many other such traditions.
ANNOUNCER: Then, why do we here in the western world celebrate December 25th as Christmas Day?
KLAUS: Mark, it’s this way. Back in the early days of the church, there was some pretty strong persecution against Jesus’ people. Nobody knew if they were going to make it through the day. That was the bad news. The good news was they had a living and risen Lord Jesus as their Savior. They had God’s good news of great joy. They wanted to celebrate. Unfortunately, celebrating Jesus’ birth in a public way could end your life.
ANNOUNCER: And so?
KLAUS: And so, they tried to find a day when they could camouflage their celebration. They went with December 25th.
ANNOUNCER: Why December 25th?
KLAUS: On December 25th the Romans had a big festival celebrating the return of the sun after the winter solstice. The Romans were celebrating anyway. They were out there putting up evergreens and putting out lights, and giving gifts. They had a big, old party saying, “The sun is coming back… The sun is coming back… The darkness is over… Life is going to return… It’s a new birth.”
The early Christians said, “Hey, great idea. We can use some of that. But we’ll celebrate the coming of God’s Son instead of the celestial sun. We’ll celebrate Jesus as the real light of the world. After all, He is the one who has gotten rid of darkness. He’s the one who brings life. He’s the one who has given a new birth.
So they celebrated… and, most of the time, their next-door neighbors didn’t notice that there was a different kind of party going on in the homes of their Christian friends.
ANNOUNCER: And, that’s why we today celebrate Christmas on December 25th?
KLAUS: Mostly. Pretty clever, I think. I mean, the same sort of thing is being done today in countries that are opposed to the Savior. It was a good idea back then. It’s a good idea, today.
ANNOUNCER: Well, in closing, on behalf of all of us here at Lutheran Hour Ministries, we wish our listeners a most blessed Christmas.
KLAUS: Whether that’s today, tomorrow, or on the Fourth of July.
ANNOUNCER: This has been a presentation of Lutheran Hour Ministries.
Music selections for this program:
“Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus” arranged by John Leavitt. From Shall We Gather at the River by the Mid-America Symphonic Ensemble (© 2005 John Leavitt/ASCAP) Concordia Publishing House
“Of the Father’s Love Begotten” arranged by Henry Gerike. From Gentle Stranger by the Concordia Seminary Chorus (© 2004 Concordia Seminary Chorus)
“Of the Father’s Love Begotten” arranged by Carl Honore. From Richly Blessed by Carl Honore. Used by permission
“Joy to the World” arranged by Arthur Harris. From What Child Is This? by the Concordia University Wind Symphony (© 1999 Concordia University – Chicago) Masters Music Publications, Inc.
“This Little Babe So Few Days Old” by Paul G. Bunjes, performed by Steven Wente. From My Heart Rejoices! by the Association of Lutheran Church Musicians (© 2002 ALCM) Concordia Publishing House/SESAC