I wonder when was the last time you were interrupted? It might have been someone cutting across you as you were speaking. It might have been a happening that interrupted the way you thought your day was going to go. It was almost definitely the way you thought your Christmas was going to go. The emergence of the virus has interrupted nearly the whole of this year.
The Christmas story is a story of interruptions. We begin with Mary. Mary’s busy at home, and is interrupted by an angel, to tell her that her life is going to be interrupted by God and a pregnancy. We turn to Joseph. He’s excited to be getting married, then everything gets interrupted by news that Mary is pregnant, but before he can end things, his dreams get interrupted by an angel again, telling him to hold fast to the marriage. Having barely got to grips with the pregnancy and the marriage, both Mary and Joseph lives get interrupted by Caesar and his census, and a journey they now have to make to Bethlehem. Once at Bethlehem, the baby is born, and then as they are dealing with these first few hours, they get interrupted by uninvited visitors in the shape of some shepherds — these shepherds have themselves been interrupted on their cold night by angels (again!) who have turned up to tell them the news of this birth. Some time later another interruption comes in the form of a visit of magi, whose lives had been interrupted by a star, and then by Herod. Following the visit of these eastern travellers, Mary and Joseph and the baby find their stay in Bethlehem comes to an abrupt end through the violent intentions of Herod, and they have to flee all the way to Egypt to kept the child safe.
God is one who likes to interrupt, to interrupt the world, to interrupt our lives, with his grace, with his unrelenting love. And at the same time the world — in the nativity story represented by Casear and Herod — like to make their own interruptions, interruptions of power and violence, interruptions of demand and dominance. In the middle of all of this are Mary and Joseph, and a baby. In the middle of this are you and me.
And this baby is the greatest interrupter of them all, not just because that is what the arrival of children does to adults lives (!), but in this baby is the arrival of God himself. God chooses to interrupt our time, our history, our humanity, out of a desire, a love, a commitment to be with us for ever. This baby is the definitive interruption and revelation of God ever to be seen.
And Mary and Joseph, and you and me, are confronted by the question of whether we welcome the interruption of this baby in our lives, to allow who we are to be re-directed, re-ordered, re-newed in ways that mirror the God-child. This interruption of Jesus can be sudden and dramatic, but it can also be slow, hidden, giving way to a surprise. Christmas says be ready to have your lives interrupted, God is coming to unsettle the powers, to disturb our stories with the glory of heaven, with his wondrous mercy. This Christmas, the hardest perhaps we’ve ever had to face, will we be like Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and magi, and become part of Christ’s interrupting people? Announcing in word and song and action the justice and joy, the peace and presence, the love and life that is Jesus and the kingdom.
This Christmas as we continue to live within the interruption of this virus, with the interruption of growing poverty, on-going racism, and an inert response to the climate emergency, Jesus comes to us, the ever new hope for a world that turns every interruption whether from God or not, into an opportunity for truth and grace to be sown into the fabric of the world, and the beating of hearts. May our interrupted Christmas give way to the newness of God.
Glory to the God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests.
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