Midnight Mass, it calls us from our cosy homes out into the dark of the night in order to hear a story of light, it is Reminiscent of the Dawn Vigil at Easter, both the beginning and the end of Jesus’ earthly life are marked by these ceremonies of light in the darkness.

Part of the mystery of all human existence is the play between light and dark, between the Via Positiva and the Via Negativa, between joy and suffering in life.

The paradox is reflected at this time in many traditions at this time of year – Advent-Solstice – Christmas-Hanukkah.

Tonight they come together in a brutal way as we commemorate the events of Christ’s birth which brought joy to the world and birthed a baby known as the Prince of Peace in a region we now call Palestine where babies lie beneath the rubble and the oldest Christian community of are suffering unimaginable pain and grief, except we don’t need to imagine it, it is on our screens if we care to look.

At Christmas we are compelled to look towards Bethlehem, and when we look we see a massive apartheid wall, we see a community unable to travel, we see a little town with no Christmas lights, no shops, no tree in manger square, no pilgrims and a few miles away we see a genocide unfolding before our eyes.

– But Palestinian Christians will gather,
– will tell the story,
– will break bread and
– will stand alongside their Muslim and Jewish friends.
– In the midst of suffering people still gather, still love, how is this …

Here I call on our ancestor in the faith, Mechtild of Magdeberg, a member of the Beguine Movement which was the women’s movement of the 13th century who experienced a deeply personal dark night (and of course takes her name from a place that this Christmas is experiencing its own terrible tragedy) which she speaks of in these words:

There comes a time when both body and soul enter such vast darkness that one loses light and consciousness and knows nothing more of God’s intimacy. At such a time when the light in the Lantern burns out the beauty of the lantern can no longer be seen. At such a time I pray to God: ‘Lord, this burden is too heavy for me’ and God replies: ‘I will take this burned first and clasp it close to myself that you may more easily bear it ‘But still I feel that I can bear no longer the wounds; I am hunted, captured, bound, wounded so terribly that I can never be healed.

Lord I will tear the heart of my soul in two and you must lay therein. You must lay yourself in the wounds of my soul.

In a hovel in a back street of an occupied town 2000 years ago God lay himself in the heart of the soul of a wounded world.

Night after night in the rubble God comes searching for those buried by grief, buried by bombs, buried by addiction, buried by poverty God incarnates again and again through the care and concern of those who will witness and act in response to harm.

Through them the Christ light named by John shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it.

Mechtild of Magdeburg went on from her dark night of the soul to befriend the nothingness and link it directly to the service of loving her neighbour, to selfless acts of solidarity that came at a cost.

Just as Jesus love in action led him to the cross, our love, borne out of the light in the manger, shown to us in the incarnation shows us the way…
– The way that led the innkeeper to finally offer shelter,
– the shepherds to seek out the miracle,
– the magi to follow the star,
– the young woman Mary to say yes to God
– and Joseph to support her.

So, our gathering here together tonight when so much is bleak is an affirmation is our ‘yes to God’ is a carrying on of that light in the darkness, and every time this is shared I for one am eternally grateful that I am not alone.

On Sunday evening I stood in Parliament Square an interfaith choir of Jews, Christians and Muslims to sing carols that spoke of the truth of the towns and cities we sing of at Christmas.

We could have sung songs for Sudan, for the homeless, for Ukraine for Magdeburg in all these places and many more the light must be carried and sustained by the remarkable spirit of humans who hold on to hope, who hold tight to love. Who open their souls to the pain of the world.

Some have found that truth and love through the Christmas story, some find the hope in other stories, other traditions but tonight we remember especially the descendants of the first Christian community who followed in the footsteps of a Palestinian Jew who know the ancient stories of exile and oppression.

If we are to honour the incarnation, an incarnation that continues to bring light to the wounded that shows the way of love and hope in our broken world, then we must not look away from the horrors of the world. We must tell the truth about the little town of Bethlehem divided by an apartheid wall and of the first Christian community that grew in that place, whose descendants continue to live, work and worship in the land of Jesus birth, a tiny Christian minority that lives in love and peace with their Jewish and Muslim siblings.

If anything is a light in the darkness then the story of their steadfastness, their non-violent resistance, their shared solidarity reflects of the words of the Prophet Isaiah who spoke into desolation of exile.

May you inherit the joy of the messenger of good tidings this Christmas, may you tell the story of the light shining in darkness, of the dependency of Mary and Joseph on the kindness of strangers and take that into your heart, wounded or not, as God’s healing grace.

Lord, I will tear the heart of my soul in two and you must lay therein. You must lay yourself in the wounds of my soul.

And so the Christ child is laid in the manger here in Chaldon a constant reminder that we are all children of God.