Canterbury Cathedral
Monday 25 December 2000
In a recent book called Jesus and the Adman the central character, Johnny Yells, is a young adman working for the firm of WWW advertising. But Johnny suffers from a particular problem: although extremely ambitious, he is driven by fear. Despite his success, he worries and worries. Johnny's big moment comes when his firm wins a major contract from an insurance company and he is inspired by an image of Christ which he sees at his father's funeral. The campaign is launched and with its success Johnny's future seems assured. But in his ruthless ambition, Johnny treats other people with such disrespect that he becomes more and more alienated from them - and indeed from his true self. Johnny's underlying fear of failure and his fear of life itself finally drive him to a breakdown.
I shall come back to Johnny Yells later, but for now I wanted simply to mention this typical modern figure: successful, thrusting, and yet finally undermined by the fears that consume him.
But fear is something we can all identify with, whether it is fear of death and failure - as in Johnny's case - or worries about one's health, future, family or simply surviving another year!
If fear is so common it is hardly surprising that it is a familiar theme in the Bible. It's there in the story of Adam, who confesses to God that he was afraid and hid himself. It's there in the Transfiguration story and the fear of the disciples as Christ is transfigured before them. It's there also in the stories of the first Christmas, not only in Herod's fear of a rival to his throne, but also in the story of the shepherds on the hills, terrified by their sudden visitation by the heavenly host.
It is when we dig deeper into the story that we begin to discover that the shepherds were not the only people afraid at that time. Luke indicates at the beginning of the chapter that we should view the birth of Jesus against the background of turbulent migrations of peoples returning to their ancestral homes to have their names registered. Some scholars suggest that the reason for the registration was taxation - a persuasive reason perhaps for some with riches to move hurriedly away - but very few poor people had that kind of luxury of choice. The Emperor had to pay for the upkeep of his armies and the security of his empire carried a price tag for all people, free or otherwise.
So we can easily imagine Bethlehem seething with people; some staying with relatives, others seeking shelter wherever they could find it - and latecomers, however old and however young, simply had to take their chances.
They weren't crowds out doing their Christmas shopping. They were desperate people in a world where they felt powerless. The locals were worried and resentful at having so many strangers thrust on them. As for the visitors; well, they were there for a reason and the sooner they could escape the better.
It is a familiar story repeated over and over again in history. When people are afraid generosity is often in short supply. And in this case it was very understandable. There was precious little space for welcoming the stranger or for hospitality in that straitened time.
Perhaps that is why Luke makes a point of saying that 'there was no room' for the family of Jesus except in the animal enclosure adjoining the local hostelry . Is it not astonishing - and yet all too believable - that even the sight of a young woman going into labour could not unlock a response of generous hospitality? Fear with its sister insecurity shuts doors and refuses to allow the stranger in.
Just a week ago I visited a temporary shelter run by St.Mungo's, the largest agency in London for homeless people. A senior member of staff repeated the all too familiar story that while everyone wants the homeless to have a roof over their heads they always want it in someone else's street or another neighbourhood. Our instinct to do what is right clashes with another instinct - NIMBY - 'not in my back yard'. Several years ago the Roman Catholic church in New York wanted to give over an unused church building to house sufferers from AIDS. The neighbourhood rose up in horror against the proposal and the idea died overnight.
Of course, such things are rarely simple They only seem so to those who are not involved in the local issues. We know that from our situation in East Kent. As hundreds of asylum seekers pour through Dover weekly local people find it difficult to reconcile the duty of hospitality which has been so characteristic of our nation for many years,with the prospect of finite resources being over-burdened by the sheer numbers of new arrivals. It is to the credit of the people of the ports of East Kent that resentment has not totally blocked the spirit of human kindness and hospitality.
I was speaking earlier of the fear that filled the world into which Jesus was born - a fear that can so easily fill our hearts and pushes us towards rigid postures of self preservation. But the heart of my message this morning is that Christmas, the festival of the Incarnation, tells of how God in his great love meets us in our fear and sets us free. It was from this pervasive, fearful human instinct for self-preservation that Christ came to redeem us, that instinct which Martin Luther defined brilliantly when he describes us as 'incurvatus in se'- human nature curved in upon itself. It is that tendency to put self before others and self before God. Its social manifestations take the form of shutting doors when our security is threatened or when we are called to share territory, resources or even freedom. Even God himself is excluded when he invades our private space.
It is good, then, to salute in this Millennium year a splendid initiative which is the opposite of what I have been describing. The Churches around the world have been enthusiastically participating in an initiative known as Jubilee 2000 which has campaigned effectively for the cancellation of unpayable debt owed to the rich countries by the very poor. The recent announcement by our government that it will stop demanding interest repayments on a large number of debts is an occasion for great joy - and we hope this example will be followed by other nations who are shutting doors on opportunities to help the very poor. The Jubilee 2000 Campaign shows that when people of goodwill- and central to it have been Christian people - are inspired by principles of compassion and generosity and justice, then the possibility of sharing in the wealth of the nations comes within reach of all.
But let me return to Jesus and the Adman and its hero Johnny Yells. Johnny's fears drive him to a breakdown, and it is most striking that his recovery begins when, and only when, Johnny confronts his fears and allows the reality of Jesus Christ, as symbolized in a particularly powerful icon, to work in his life.
The nativity of Jesus Christ shows this even more splendidly as the outcasts, the first witnesses of his birth, are allowed a peep into divine splendour as God stoops to show his love for the migrants which we all are essentially, for we are all travellers through this world to another. As the humble shepherds gather in fear and trembling so the majesty of God is revealed and the heavens are filled yet again with the celestial chorus: 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.' I don't know about your fears or your own longings for your life. But I guess they are pretty much like mine and like everyone else's here. We long for fulfillment in our lives, for peace in our world, for enough prosperity to keep anxiety at bay and sufficient health to enjoy the present moment.
But deep, deep down in each one of us there is a longing for God that this life cannot satisfy. Of this longing St Augustine said long ago: 'thou hast made us for thyself and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in thee'. And as we expose ourselves to the God who stoops to enter our lives we shall make that discovery which we can never be satisfied in keeping to ourselves. A discovery which erupts in an explosion of joy and of glory which drives out fears, opens doors and allows the stranger in - the stranger who shares an uncanny resemblance to our Lord.