"Sacred Space"

First Presbyterian Church
Christmas Eve, 2006
Peter S. Buehler

And she gave birth to her firstborn son
and wrapped him in bands of cloth,
and laid him in a manger,
because there was no place for them in the inn.

Of the places you have traveled to -- the sites you have visited, the spaces you have spent time in -- which would you consider to be sacred? Which would you describe as sacred spaces?

Great churches and cathedrals probably come to mind, with their vaulted ceilings, their stained glass windows, their sense of mystery. They are places where generations of people have worshipped, where people have prayed every conceivable prayer. We can feel the humanity of these places as well as the silence. We sense God in the silence.

We think as well of outdoor cathedrals -- sites in our national parks, places we've hiked to in this country and elsewhere in the world -- places where mountains reach the sky, where water cascades over high cliffs, where formations of red rock rise above the desert. The vastness of these places, their sheer beauty, the privilege we feel being there -- just being alive there -- moves us and reminds us of the goodness of God's creation.

Other sacred spaces come to mind. National monuments. Cemeteries. Gardens.
Rooms in our homes, perhaps, or the homes of our childhood, places we associate with our parents, with our extended family and our children, with hours of conversation, with wonderful meals, with warmth and love and comfort.

On reflection, these spaces are sacred not because someone else has designated them as such but because in them we have sensed the power and presence and power of God. It is real. Oftentimes we keep the experience of these places to ourselves and hesitate to share them, they are so deeply meaningful and precious to us.

Yet in a quiet way the story of Christmas, the account of Jesus' birth, takes our definition of sacred space and transforms it. In truth, what the story does is invite us into its space, into this stable in Bethlehem, into the place where the Savior is born, that we may be changed.

In itself, the space is utterly plain. It is not a monument; it is certainly no cathedral. It is a back room at a cheap motel with no heat or hot water. It's a stall in a rest stop on an interstate highway. It is an old RV parked overnight at a strip mall. It looks bad, it smells bad -- it is the opposite of a sacred space. It is not a place God would be present -- not a God with any reasonable definition of beauty and holiness, that is.

Yet this, according to scripture, is where the Lord Christ is born. It is an astounding thing! What does it mean?

"What child is this?" asks the Christmas carol. "What child is this who, laid to rest, On Mary's lap is sleeping? Whom angels greet with anthems sweet While shepherds watch are keeping?" The questions continue: "Why lies he in such mean estate Where ox and ass are feeding? Good Christian, fear; for sinners here The silent Word is pleading." What is God doing here in this place, this space that would seem so unsuitable for the Savior's birth?

If we take the scripture at its word, not just as a scene from a picture-book, does it not mean that we are called to re-examine some assumptions of ours about which places and spaces are sacred and which are not? Are we not invited to ask whether there is any place at all that is off-limits to God? Any place that is too small, or too cheap, or too worldly, or too hostile? A soldier's barracks in Baghdad? A casino in Vegas? An emergency room in Los Angeles? A homeless shelter in Santa Barbara?

If God chooses to be born in a stable, because there is no room in the inn, does that not suggest to us that there is no room anywhere that God cannot be in?
That Christ's birth is not off-limits to any person? That Christ himself is not off-limits to any person? That He is born to every person -- to shepherds and wise men, to humanity's highest and lowest, to people others turn to and those they turn away from?

That Christ is born -- that he enters this world with all the messiness of human birth, that he enters into all the messiness of human life, its pain and discouragement, as well as its joys and rewards -- this itself is an argument against any attempt to keep Jesus at arm's length. That we're not good enough, or spiritual enough, or religious enough for him.

All he asks for is space. Room in our minds, room in our hearts, room in our lives. It does not have to be a space that is all fixed up, decorated, and perfect.
Jesus is a come-as-you-are Savior. The late William Sloan Coffin puts it well: God's love does not seek value; it creates it. Our value is a gift, not an achievement. It is not because we have value that we are loved, it is because we are loved that we have value.

It is great good news. God does not wait for us to come to him, God comes to us.
God does not wait until we are deserving, God is born to us as we are. God does not wait until we have repented of tired sinful ways, God gives us the hope and desire we need to receive new life, new birth.

Which is the beginning, the beginning again, of our life for others. So we ask, Are there places where we can bring light where there is darkness; places we can bring hope where there is fear? We ask, is there any person who is off-limits to the Savior, and therefore off-limits to us, or are we called to love those who are unlovable?

There are places we know that are awesome, grand, and beautiful -- places that impress and delight us. There are spaces we know that are quiet, serene, and lovely -- spaces that calm us and restore us. Yet the Christmas story takes us further on our pilgrimage of faith and understanding. It challenges some assumptions we have, it broadens some definitions we've learned.

Above all, the gospel proclaimed from the stable in Bethlehem is that wherever kindness, love, and justice are shown, wherever God's grace is demonstrated, wherever hope is given, that is a holy place.

Spaces become sacred by the humanity that is shown there. The Savior is present in all the places where he is worshipped and served -- be it in a church, or an office, or on a sidewalk, or in a store, or a cell, or a waiting room, or a classroom, or a dining room, or a delivery room. Really any place that is ordinary and unremarkable -- any place where the love of Christ is remembered and offered -- there the Holy Child is born. He is born to us. He is born to our waiting world.

Amen.