Sermon Tone Analysis

*The Joy and Meaning of Christmas *

*/December 12, 2010/*

 

 

* *

*Prep: *

·         135 (Homesickness), Christmas packet

 

*Scripture reading: Luke 2:1-20 Sarah Dunn*

 

 

Intro

 

·         That’s got to be the *classic* *Christmas* *passage* – how many people thing of “*Charlie* *Brown* Christmas” when they hear it?

Prayer

 

·         *Traditions* and *holidays* are great, to come back to important part of our story, but there is the *danger* of *routine*.

!

More than a feeling

 

*Christmas* *sermons* are pretty *tricky* – I know many of you have heard the Christmas story many, many times, from Sunday School to church to Charlie Brown.

So this *isn’t* *exactly* a Christmas sermon, at least I am not going to retell the story and purpose of Christmas – the Incarnation, God becoming and dwelling among us.

Next week our *kids* are going *do* *that* with their Christmas production, with our kids dressed up in cute costumes.

Q   How can I *compete* with that?

If I come dressed up in a bath *robe*, it would be disturbing, not funny.

·         In a way, I want to *restore* the *wonder* of Christmas – so we are just going to watch “It’s a *Wonderful* *Life*,” all 130 min.

This sermon is different than any I’ve done – my goal isn’t so much to *teach* something, but to make you *feel* something.

Even that isn’t right – I want to *remind* you something you *have* *felt*.

!

The thrill of joy

 

Last week we sang “O *Holy* *Night*” and one line goes “A *thrill* of *hope*.”

That line kept rattling in my head.

It’s a strange expression, yet it is strangely *familiar*.

·         It’s *buried* *deep* in our memory, I want to pull it out.

Like all *deeply* *meaningful* things, this feeling is *hard* to *describe*.

I think we have all experienced it at different *times* and different *ways*, and call it by many *different* *names*.

·         I will call it a “*thrill* of joy” for lack of a better term, knowing that is not quite right.

Rather than trying to describe it, I will *share* *earliest* *memory* of this feeling (there’ve been many *other* *times*), in hopes of helping you identify it.

I have *never* *shared* it before, partially because it feels so *personal*, and partly because I thought no one would *understand*, but I have good reason to believe I was wrong.

·         If my experience is entirely *foreign* to you, I *apologize* – it is *not* the *main* *point* of the sermon, so hang on.

·         *Understanding* *this* part will make it easier to understand the *rest* of the *sermon*.

But, if you *hate* C. S. *Lewis*, you will be out of luck, because he has been my mentor in understanding and applying it.

!

My ice palace

 

I was very *young*, perhaps 7-8, it was winter, and the frost had created *crystals* in the mud like this.

These are called “ice needles” and occur when the *soil* is *above* *freezing* and the *air* is *below*, causing the moisture to leach out of the soil.

·         But *didn’t* *know* *that* then, and didn’t care – all I cared about was that it was the *most* *beautiful* thing I had ever seen.

I felt this *thrill* of joy, an excitement, which the ice itself couldn’t account for.

I was *transported* beyond ice and mud and saw in them an *ice* *palace*, *beautiful* and *wonderful*.

How do I *describe* that feeling?

*Wonder*?

*Awe*?

*Beauty*?

*Happiness*?

*Joy*?

*Euphoria*?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

It was all those things, yet something even *more*.

·         It was a feeling of *something* so much *bigger* than myself.

In a way, I have *never* *stopped* *looking* for that ice palace.

I went out the *next* *day* hoping it had reformed.

It had, but it wasn’t the same.

·         I’ve learned you *can’t* force it to come; it’s always *unpredictable*, always *uncontrollable*, and always *unmistakable*.

To this day I *stop* to look at *crystals* in the mud.

I continue to be *amazed* by things that *remind* me of that crystal palace:

 

·         The Ice Hotel in Sweden.

·         The Giant Crystals in Mexico.

I enjoy these things because they *stir* in me a *memory* of that ice palace.

Q   So *why* did they have that affect?

Because of the beauty *crystals* *themselves*?

No – in all likelihood, the crystals in that *picture* are *more* *beautiful* than the ones I saw, yet it is *not* the *same* at all.

 

*Listen* to this *carefully* – In the *same* *way* I am draw to ice *hotels* and *massive* *crystals* is because they *remind* me of the ice palace, I was affected by that because it *reminded* of *something* *else*, but a memory of something I have *never* *seen*.

·         *Hang* *on* to that thought for a second.

!

Surprised by joy

 

It wasn’t until reading *Lewis’* *autobiography* many, many years later that I finally began to understand.

He titled it “*Surprised* by *Joy*” because the *thread* that runs through the story was this same “thrill of joy.”

 

·         He first felt it when he was about the *same* *age*, when he remembered a little *toy* *garden* his brother made in a tin.

He tried to describe it as “the *enormous* *bliss* of *Eden*.”

“As long as I live,” he said, “my *imagination* of *Paradise* will retain something of my brother’s toy garden.”

Lewis said that it was not the *garden* *itself* that drove the feeling, in reality it had been a simple, plain thing.

Rather it was a *longing* for a *Something* that *surpassed* the toy garden, or even the most beautify real garden.

“For they are not the thing [the joy] itself; they are only the *scent* of a flower we have not found, the *echo* of a tune we have not heard, *news* from a country we have never yet visited.”

C. S. Lewis, /The Weight of Glory/

 

·         If you have ever experienced it, you know this feeling of something *bigger* than you, and *beyond* anything you’ve known.

In other words, I believe with all of my heart that *thrill* of *joy* was a fleeting of *glimpses* into *Heaven* itself.

It wasn’t *merely* *joy*; it was a brief *experience* of *Joy* *Himself*.

·         As long as I live, my imagination of *Heaven* and God’s *presence* will *retain* something of my *ice* *palace*.

Q   Are you *tracking* *with* *me*?

Do you have stories like this?

 

*Think* *back* for a few *moments* – it may be a ways back.

It may be *buried* by a lot of *busyness* and being “*practical*.”

Perhaps it was a *sunset* that turned the world to gold, a *song* that transported you, or *birth* of your child.

For many people it occurs during *worship*.

Perhaps it was during *Christmas*.

!

The other side of the coin

 

Let me explain it *another* *way*: Last *month*, when I preached about fasting, I talked about a sense of *longing*, *homesickness*, *loneliness*, a feeling that we are not quite whole.

I was a little *nervous* to talk about that topic, for fear that I was the only one who felt that way, but many people said it was the most important part of the sermon.

See, we’ve been made to believe that when we’re *lonely*, there is *something* *wrong* with us, and if we got *married*, had *kids*, *prayed* more, accomplished this or that, the loneliness would go away.

·         But the *longing* *won’t* *go* *away* – the problem is that this *world* is not our *final* *destiny*, so we won’t ever truly fit in.

This *loneliness* and this *thrill* of joy are opposite side of the same *coin* – one is feeling of *incompleteness*, the other is the merest *glimpse* of what that *completeness* looks like.

·         The key point is that the both the *Joy* and the *Homesickness* is a *longing* for something *beyond* this *life*.

!

Signposts to God

 

And it was precisely this “Joy” or “Longing” that lead C. S. Lewis through a pain-filled childhood and through *atheism* to *God*, because it was a longing for something beyond.

Lewis’ life was a *quest* to find it, as portrayed in “*Pilgrim’s* *Regress*.”

He tried many things – *music*, *fantasy* stories, *Wagner* operas, each having a *glimpse*, but not the *object* itself.

·         He came to see the joy as a *signpost*, pointing continually to God, even as he *fought* to *ignore* him.

/Almost our whole education has been directed to silencing this shy, persistent, inner voice; almost all our modern philosophies have been devised to convince us that the good of man is to be found on this earth.

And yet it is a remarkable thing that such philosophies of Progress or Creative Evolution themselves bear reluctant witness to the truth that our real goal is elsewhere.

/

/ /

/When they want to convince you that earth is your home, notice how they set about it.

They begin by trying to persuade you that earth can be made into heaven, thus [appeasing] your sense of exile in earth as it is.

/

/ /

/Next, they tell you that this fortunate event is still a good way off in the future, thus [appeasing] your knowledge that the fatherland is not here and now.

/C. S. Lewis/, The Weight of Glory/