Expanding Circles of Joy (Advent 3), Dec 15

Readings, Zephaniah 3:14-20 and Luke 3:7-18
Image, Pierre Bonnard, The Lamp (1899)
 
The joy of Advent is a social vision. Which is interesting as the general movement of this season seems to be one of retraction. In that we move from a large, fluctuating and even malleable circles of contact to one which is increasingly small and closed. Early December is filled with the large social events: Christmas parties with colleagues, end of year celebrations with community groups and schools, festivals and frivolities with neighbours and strangers. But as December moves along, and Advent gives ground to Christmas, these larger events make way for the family. And while the family may grow, the others diminish, until we reach the point of Christmas Day, which is so often a day reserved for the family.
 
Now this is not everyone’s story. Indeed, if you come here on Christmas morning, you’re guaranteed to see at least a few people who aren’t your family. And many have rich household traditions of opening their home to those who don’t have a place set elsewhere. But this is by and large the image of Christmas we are presented in the broader culture. The joyful picture of the big family around the bountiful table is the prominent motif in advertising and entertainment. Such is its prominence, that one of the primary icebreaker questions of the season is, are you going to see family over the holidays?
 
However, what ought provoke our consideration as Christians, is that Advent and Christmas concern the arrival of Christ, and the arrival of Christ (whether in humility as an infant, in glory on the Day of the Lord, or today in the least of these) is surrounded by strangers.
 
The Nativity scene may centre baby, mother and father, and they would have likely been surrounded by and tended to by extended family who offered them welcome and care. And yet, the narrative pays this no mention. Instead, shepherds, wise ones, and angels flood the scenes. Even as the gospel of Luke progresses the stories concerning Jesus’ infancy and childhood all revolve around strangers offering blessings, prophecies, or wisdom. In Matthew, the Holy Family quickly become refugees and must sojourn in a strange land.
 
Zooming out further, the words of prophecy that capture our Advent hope – whether they be from Zephaniah or John – direct our attention to those outside the nucleus of society. On the Day of the Lord, God promises to save the lame and gather the outcast, and to prepare for such a day John teaches the people to share coats with the cold and food with the hungry. The importance of such outward looking care of the least is amplified by Jesus’ reminder that our reception of his approach between his resurrection and return mirrors our reception of stranger, the hungry, the lonely, and imprisoned.
 
All this to say, Advent readings and Christmas stories pay little attention to the family lunch, but have much to say about the strangers and outsiders. Indeed, the imperative placed before the people of God to prepare for the coming of the Messiah is to open and expand our circles of care, concern, and connection, such that old boundaries are broken down and new relations formed. As Jesus himself instructs, When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbours, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. The resurrection, mind you, will only ratify such subversive guest lists. For how often does Jesus describe the banquet of the kingdom filled with surprising table guests, gathered from the alleyways and highways.  
 
The question this leads us to then is, how much does our Christmas season reflect this outward, expanding, and shifting circle of connection, care, and concern? Are we moving through this season in such a way as to be drawn into a stranger’s orbit, or welcome new bodies into our own? How closed are the edges of our circles? How set is the guest list of our hospitality? I’m not decrying the enjoyment and prioritising of time with one’s immediate and extended family at or around Christmas. There is no betrayal in this being part of what comprises the joy of the season. Again, implicit in the story is the family and community gathered around Mary and Joseph, welcoming the birth of Jesus with great joy. And yet, with the details we have, these readings question of the ever-increasing mythos of this season as one of “family and food.” In doing so perhaps they help us guard against the cultural captivity of Christmas which wants to close the circle of our focus on family ties. Instead, John, Zephaniah, and those robust Nativity scenes allow us to see the wider and expanding story of strangers not only in the story, but in our own lives this season.
 
For having seen we become better prepared for the coming of Christ, better prepared for the arrival of the Messiah; ready to offer cloak and food, welcome and care, dignity and love to those who may not bear our name, but bear the image of the Lord. And in doing so we increase the joy of the season. Because without diminishing the joy found at the family lunch, the circle is widened, opened toward the surprising joy of the other. For these acts of mercy, hospitality, solidarity, and friendship not only provide a different story and greater joy for those cast outside the monopolising image of “family and food,” but – significantly - it grants us foretastes of the kingdom to come and leads us into the presence of Christ, and what greater tidings of comfort and joy could we hope to find in this season than that.

This third week of Advent fills us with joy, as we draw ever closer to the celebration of Christmas and take to heart the good news of great joy that broke into the world with the Son of Man. May this joy permeate our hearts and shape our actions, as we seek to follow in the stead of the one whose circle of concern spans out across the world, securing for us not only a seat at the banquet table, but a room in the household of God.