Sermon for Christmas Eve, 2024

The Birth of the Lord: Christmas Day, Dec 24th 2024
ISAIAH 9:2-7; PSALM 96; TITUS 2:11-14; LUKE 2:1-20

He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity
and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds

In late April this year, comedian Russel Brand descended into the River Thames to be baptized by none other than former Special Forces operator and TV presenter Bear Grylls. Because Brand was embroiled in some rather unsavoury allegations, it led at least one Guardian columnist to say “So Russell Brand was baptised in the Thames, and all his sins were washed away. Cheaper than a lawyer, I suppose”.

That’s a bit more cynical than I’d like to be! I can’t confess to see that far into the heart of Russel Brand; I’d rather hope that no matter the reasons, that this might be a beginning, with greater grace yet to come for him.

I mention it today though because his was one of a number of recent high profile conversions of different sorts. Jordan Peterson, the psychologist and cultural provocateur, wrote a book this year called We Who Wrestle with God and has begun to wear three-piece suits covered in icons. Elon Musk calls himself a cultural Christian, as has, perhaps most surprisingly, Richard Dawkins, the evolutionary biologist and firebrand atheist.

What are we to make of such conversions?

Critics are easy to find. On the one hand, there is a professed unbelief in Christian doctrine among the cultural converts, leading some to exclaim with alarm, “but they don’t even believe in the virgin birth!” And on the other hand, many are keen to point out The convenient timing of Brand’s conversion in the middle of legal trouble, and the way that many of these “conversions” align with the political concerns of the converted: Musk seeing Christianity as a way to bolster birthrates, and Dawkins seeing Christianity as a way to resist the rise of Islam.

So what are we to make of such conversions, conversions without depth of belief, what are we to make of conversions that appear to be largely about scoring points against “wokeism”? Can we even call them conversions to the sort of Christianity that takes shape at times like Christmas, when we are reminded that Jesus wasn’t born amongst the power-brokers or cultural influencers, but in the back room with the animals, among the poor and the labourers?

The first thing I’d suggest is that these “conversions” are nothing new, even though they are taking a particular sort of shape in our political landscape. As for such a thing as belief in the Virgin Birth, I’m not particularly worked up about that; whether anyone out there or in here would feel uncomfortable with such a teaching doesn’t change that the Church through time and history is largely decided on such questions. It’s why we say the creed together, by the way; “We believe.

So I’m not wringing my hands about that; we are each on the road of faith, a road that takes us to some very strange yet beautiful intellectual and spiritual places—Incarnation, Virgin Birth, and Resurrection as teachings we inhabit, doctrines we live in, first of all.

And what of the benefits gained, whether that be an attempt to shirk responsibility for some bad behaviour, or in the hope that Christianity will help win some grandiose cultural battle? Well, I would suggest that most of us aren’t so different from the Brands, Musks, Petersons, and Dawkins’ of the world, at least in some ways. We might not be so grandiose as to imagine we could leverage Christianity for the sake of some overly-ambitious societal scheme.

But I do think most of us have prayed for a parking spot, right? “Almighty God I will most certainly come to church more often if downtown Kitchener had better parking!” Many of us imagine that if we were to be good Christians then we will be guaranteed some heavenly reward. (I’ll give you a hint on that one: any heavenly reward has far more to do with what is already accomplished for you by God; this is the great gift of Christmas,

that God comes to us as a human person in order to make clear for us the path to God.)

There are as many variations on this as there are people here today: we are so often tempted to make faith into something that serves ourselves or our interests. But to grow in faith is to grow in love of a God who gives of himself in such a way that we can’t help but be drawn in—we are drawn towards God in the church and in faith because God is good, because God gives of himself for our sake, beginning in a new way today as a poor, needy, and vulnerable child.

I’d like to finish up tonight by saying just one more thing. Our time is far from the first time that Christianity has been used for the sake of a less-than compassionate cause. Anglican theologian Luke Bretherton, in an essay on the development of cultural Christianity in our time, especially the way Christianity is being leveraged for political outcomes that appear to be far from compassionate or neighbourly, points out that early in the 20th century the french philosopher Jacques Maritain converted to Christianity in much the same way as the high profile cultural Christians of our time—melding his newfound Christianity with deeply unsavoury politics, finding common cause with people that would later become fascists and Nazi-collaborators. Bretherton says it was a “Make France Great Again project.” Maritain oriented himself to Christianity as a potential political force, rather than an orientation to Christ.

The good news, though, is that this wasn’t the end of Maritain’s conversion. Sure, he converted to Christianity in order to do battle against the cultural threats he percieved in his time. But God wasn’t done with Maritain, and the philosopher had a second conversion, one that oriented him not to the preserve of some apparently long-lost Christian culture; Maritain was converted to Christ, growing later in life in a love for his neighbour that changed his politics, leading him to a commitment to democracy, human rights, and antiracist politics. What happened over time was that after converting to Christianity, Maritain then converted to Christ, a Christ of compassion.

But this isn’t really about figures at such a great distance from us—French philosophers, celebrities, and the wealthy. This is about us too. I think it would be fair to hope, and to pray, for the ongoing conversion of us all, each of us growing in faith, taking time to cast our glance away from ourselves, and looking more deeply at Jesus. To be reminded that we rarely end up where we started, and that we grow in faith not so that we can get what we want, but because the God of compassion, the God who comes to us in Jesus as the vulnerable child in Bethlehem, draws us ever onward, into his own life of love and Spirit—into the shared love and life of the Holy Trinity, three-in-one, and the life of love of friends, of families, and above all, love of our neighbour.

The Revd Canon Preston DS Parsons, PhD
Rector, St John the Evangelist, Kitchener