The weird Christmas story we forget about
no wise men or angels in this one
A Short Christmas Message I’m Offering Today Inside The Denver Women’s Prison
Years ago I was part of a church that had what was called a “Living Nativity”. A manger was set up in the parking lot, complete with straw and some live animals from a local farm. Members of the church would take 30 minute shifts standing there dressed as Mary, Joseph, shepherds or wise men, and folks from town would drive by for a look.
One year I was inside helping with costumes when a 6 year little boy came in from his shift. I said “Hey Tommy, how’d you like being a shepherd in the living nativity?” “It was ok, I guess” he replied, “but next year, I think I want to be a pirate”
You know, the pirate who was at the birth of our Lord.
Since the Christmas stories from Luke and Matthew that we just heard are so different from each other, it can be hard to keep track, but I’m pretty sure there was not a pirate mentioned.
I actually love that we have two different accounts of what happened that first Christmas. They both have their charm and their own power. But this year for some reason, I’ve not spent much time in those stories, they don’t have the same draw as they have before. I’ve mostly been drawn to the Christmas story in John. There’s no manger or angels in that one just these mystical verses:
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 darkness, and the darkness has not overpowered it…
And the Word became flesh and lived among us and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
It is this story about the birth of Christ that I couldn’t stop thinking about on Saturday – because Saturday was the Winter Solstice, the very longest night of the year. And man did I feel it. These short days and long night are brutal. And I know being in prison is brutal and being in prison on Christmas is brutal. Raise your hand if this is the first Christmas you’ve been down. Please know that there are women here who know how to get through Christmas in prison and do it sober and without hurting yourself or anyone else. Raise your hand if you have done this before and can support women who are struggling. Look around.
I know today can be rough and that you miss your parent and children and grandchildren. And nothing I can say from this pulpit can change that.
But last Saturday night in the darkness of the longest night, these words from John were on repeat in my head: A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overpowered it.
This is the thing about light my friends, even the tiniest bit of light scatters the deepest darkness. It never happens the other way around. Never. Darkness has no effect on light. Darkness cannot touch it, cannot extinguish it, cannot do a thing to it.
This is all I have to say to you this Christmas. What happened the night Christ was born over 2,000 years ago and 6,877 miles away is still visible. Like a star.
If you remember how the story goes, they tried to kill him and it didn't work. They arrested him, put him on trial (didn't even have an overworked PD to defend him), they beat him, stripped him, mocked him, killed him and put him in a grave and even then the light still shone. He rose from the tomb shining bright as ever.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
Darkness thinks it’s so clever, doesn’t it…thinks it’s so powerful. But compared to the light of Christ, It ain’t shit. Not really.
If there is anything I want you to hear this Christmas it’s that.
A light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overpower it.
A light shines in this world and this world cannot overpower it.
A light shines in you and you cannot overpower it.
A light shines in your depression and your depression cannot overpower it.
A light shines in 1ad seg and ad seg cannot overpower it.
A light shines in the Colorado Department of Corrections and the Colorado Department of Corrections cannot overpower it.
Merry Christmas, beautiful children of God. May the light of Christ scatter the darkness in your hearts and minds. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, may you remember that the days are getting longer now. And as always, may your soul feel its worth.
Amen.
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Here’s Scott’s Substack:
administrative segregation, SHU, solitary confinement, “the hole” etc.
Once again, Nadia, I'm crying.... Cleansing tears as I read your gorgeous words and listen to gorgeous music (the Festival of Lessons and Carols from King's College, live as I type this.).
I was in prison for eight Christmases. I stopped going to chapel because even on Christmas the service was all about Substitutionary Atonement - a message telling all those wounded little children in grown-up bodies that they were so disgusting in the eyes of God, that God was so unforgiving, that it took a human sacrifice to appease God's righteous wrath. It was spiritual abuse.
Then I found a tiny, progressive congregation and heard the authentic, glorious Good News of the Light shining in the darkness. The chaplain, who presided over the "main" service, barely tolerated us. But in 2019 he allowed us to publicize a "Blue Christmas" service - inviting people for whom Christmas is not a happy time. Dozens of people came. The message - brought by a volunteer from the "free world," like you do so faithfully - was "the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
We hoped to make this an annual event, but COVID shut everything down for 2020 and we were confined to our cells. On Christmas Eve that year my spirits were lifted by the sound of two men in an adjacent cell, saying the Rosary together. "Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
I was released in May, 2021, before any services had resumed. I was mourning the death of friends who had been killed by the disease as it swept through the prison. I had left a letter and a book behind, hoping they would be found by the volunteers who led our little fellowship. The book was by a dear friend of mine, Kathy Escobar, a pastor whose son had died by suicide the year before. Its title is "A Weary World." That phrase is from "O Holy Night." The line is, "A weary world rejoices." To which Kathy adds, "Maybe our weary hearts can, too." And she writes, "Let the tears fall."
Nadia, you are saving lives. Jesus said of you, "You are the light of the world." And you are. I want to be, too.
This is what I’m holding:
“This is the thing about light my friends, even the tiniest bit of light scatters the deepest darkness. It never happens the other way around. Never. Darkness has no effect on light. Darkness cannot touch it, cannot extinguish it, cannot do a thing to it.”
Thank you ~