Unless you live under a rock, you know that unto us a child is born, a powerful and mysterious child that disrupts everything. Not in Bethlehem, you silly goose, but in a galaxy far, far away. Even if you don’t watch The Mandalorian, a Star Wars universe television series streaming on Disney+, you’ve probably seen the memes, so I’m not giving away a whole lot when I say “the Child,” and that is the only name we have at this point, is wrinkly, green, and has big ears.
For a certain group of Star Wars fans, those who fell in love with the series during the first trilogy, from 1977 to 1983, this is probably yet one more disappointment, for nothing can compare to that first feverish encounter. We humans do this all too often, holding things up against some idealized whirlwind affair, when true love actually grows and morphs until it is no longer dependent on time and place, produces something more powerful than endorphins. Or maybe we aren’t as good at the hard work of love anymore, for it takes too long for Instagram or Snapchat in a world of outraged tweets about paper straws.
I am fortunate that I did not fall in love with Star Wars as a 14 year-old, when the first film came out. I was a geek, but a nerd of a different color. A whole rainbow of nerdy colors. I only came to appreciate the series in the run up to the second trilogy, for I was consulting with Hasbro, the company making all of the tie-in toys, and wanted to know more about the incredible secrets to which I was privy. These days, I’m still well short of a Jedi Master, though I’ve most certainly joined the Resistance, and yes, I’ve seen the new film, and no, there won’t be any spoilers in this sermon.
But stars and a baby. Seems like the right night.
So here’s the thing. The Baby Yoda memes are not the story. The story, at least on The Mandalorian, is more complex, people from a variety of species and planets with competing interests, unique and amazing in their own ways, no small amount of conflict and violence. In other words, exactly like the Nativity story.
For the most part, our engagement with the Nativity story, actually stories, for there are two and they contradict one another on several important points like the stable, our engagement with the Nativity is often superficial. We harmonize the two versions, gloss over the rough parts or cut them out altogether. Conservative Christians still understand incarnation as connected to crucifixion, resurrection, and redemption, but the church that is secularized and social has mostly lost that thread, cannot see Golgotha for the immensity of the manger, never mind the big jolly guy, elves and reindeer.
This baby, this messiah, is disruptive. You can’t have the healing and miracles and not have turning over tables and whipping the merchants on the Temple. You can’t have the words of forgiveness and comfort and not have the demanding and challenging words about sin. You can’t cut away half of everything and expect what is left to be alive, to be a living faith. This sweet baby was going to make people so mad that they would ask their enemies, the occupying army, to kill him.
Because that is real. Bad stuff happens in this world. The stories we love, from Star Wars and Harry Potter to this baby we celebrate tonight, all of these stories involve struggle, just like most real lives. The stories have the power to inspire and shape our lives precisely because there are Sadducees in our lives that are willing to compromise their values in exchange for comfort. Because most of us contain the Force, but we also contain a little of the Dark Side. Because “He who shall not be named” is filled with hatred and rage.
The victory of love is not passive. Go to Bethlehem, for unto you a child is born. Follow a star, for a great king has been born. Flee to Egypt, for you must protect the child.
The little green child re-orders the priorities of the Mandalorian and all who surround him. The little child of Bethlehem re-ordered the priorities for all of those who surrounded him. Sing the carols, enjoy the bright eyes of the children, the family feast, the afternoon nap. Then, with that first cup of Thursday coffee, rejoice also in the disruptive child. Rejoice that it isn’t all quaint talking animals and cooing, because your life is not all quaint talking animals and cooing. But for tonight…
For tonight, tidings of comfort and joy. For tonight, angels singing, in the sky and right here in this room. For tonight, peace on earth, goodwill… for tomorrow, laughter and love. Then, then, after a winter’s sleep, the real work begins. May the Force be with you.