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SERMON
To me, part of the enduring charm of Christmastide is the telling of stories. Some of them are true, some are apocryphal, some are parables or fantasies. But each one can capture the imagination and spark new insight and renewed wonder. So it is in that spirit today that I offer you this modest parable - an Advent fantasy.
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It was a snowy late afternoon, only a few days before Christmas in late nineteenth century England. All sorts of people, bundled against the cold, jostled their way through the station turnstiles toward the train that waited, puffing its steam, to take them north out of London through the white countryside to Manchester. There was a woman with a small boy at her side and a baby in her arms, a soldier home on leave, a middle-aged businessman forever in a hurry, an old woman in a worn shawl, and a couple off on their honeymoon. All made their way among the cold crowds toward the warmly lit coach near the end of the train.
This all happened at a time many years ago when trains with the big black steam engines were a common part of public transportation in England. At precisely the same time, many miles to the northwest, in Manchester, a similar scene was being enacted. An old man, a raucous crew of college students, a traveling salesman and other all worked their way, single-file, past the brakeman who stood at the door of the London-bound coach out of Manchester.
At last the brakeman on each train waved his lantern. The conductors' voices could be heard echoing down the long loading platforms and beyond to the engineers: "Boooooard! All aboard!" And with great effort, each massive engine began to belch smoke and jerk and tug at its reluctant load; rather like a cigar-smoking old man trying to free his coattail caught in a door.
Gradually the trains began to build up speed, and soon they went clicking off through the now heavily falling snow, each towards its destination (which, of course you know by now, was the other's starting point). Only the engineers, it would seem, were in a position to be aware of the coming together of these two trains. And what with the heavy snowfall and the gathering darkness, visibility was reduced to practically zero.
Inside the northbound coach the people busied themselves with getting settled. The nervous businessman took a flask from his coat pocket, and when he thought no one was looking, he swallowed some quickly. The honeymooners were hardly aware of anything but each other. The soldier sat next to the woman with the two children and began to read to the little boy (who had promptly decided that his was a friendly lap). The old woman sat quite still, and soon she began to snore rather noisily.
Meanwhile, on the southbound train, the old man tried to strike up a conversation with the salesman across the aisle, but to no avail. What with the college students headed for their holidays, and with little desire to settle anywhere, the car was filled with a constant banter of jokes and comments about the weather.
At one point someone commented about the heavy snowfall and the poor visibility. Another mentioned that this was no night to be out traveling the roads. And on both trains the passengers recognized that the storm was becoming quite severe.
Now by this time, the businessman on the northbound train had reached for his flask once too often. With his inhibitions anesthetized he founds himself, somewhat to his surprise, saying rather loudly, "What with the storm and all, I shouldn't wonder if we were engaged in a train wreck!" It was a startling thought, and for a moment no one spoke. But soon the uneasy silence was replaced by quiet but intense conversations throughout the coach.
Meanwhile, on the London bound train one of the students called another's attention to a bit of graffiti which he had scrawled on the wall of that same coach some months earlier, when he had been traveling north to Manchester. It was a simple observation, and of no apparent consequence. But the old man, sitting nearby, began to wonder out loud: "This very car, now headed south, was northbound recently. What if there were another such train as this one, only northbound, at this very moment, on the same track!"
It was a chilling idea. And being a rather compulsive worrier, the old man called several of the students together and inquired about the train schedules in both directions, the precise times of departure, and the routes taken. No one was quite certain, but the consensus was that a collision was, of course, a possibility - especially in such a blizzard as this.
By this time both trains were buzzing with uneasy excitement. One of the students on the southbound train recalled a newspaper account of a recent train wreck in which the signals were crossed. He them proceeded, with morbid fascination, to recreate the scene with graphic descriptions of the dead and wounded. While on the northbound train the businessman, his face becoming redder and redder, sputtered to anyone who would listen about how he would be ruined financially if he did not get through to Manchester. Meanwhile, the old woman in the tattered shawl continued to snore.
As the northbound train approached Coventry, the engineer sounded his steam whistle. Simultaneously, a few miles to the north and west, as the southbound train sped through the night toward Coventry, that train's whistle blew. But the heavily falling snow all but muffled the sounds. The engineers shifted uneasily in their seats, as they strained to see what was ahead in the white darkness.
Meanwhile inside the coaches, some of the passengers uncannily sensed that they were approaching danger. Yet no one dared to move. Some were too frightened or bewildered. Some, like the old lady, continued to sleep. Others, like the traveling salesman, flatly refused to be bothered. Still others, like the honeymooners, were too preoccupied with themselves to even be aware of what was going on around them. The small child in the mother's arms began to fuss.
At that very moment, in the tower of the Coventry station, the stationmaster looked both ways. Through breaks in the snowfall he caught sight of the light of the northbound engine. He carefully calculated the distance and then turned to the northwest. When he located the dim, flickering headlight of the London bound train; he spoke quietly, as if to himself. "Hmm. Right on time. Good." Then he turned to the switchman and said, "It's time, now."
Calmly the switchman opened the door of the warm stationhouse and stepped out into the cold darkness. The light from the open door illuminated the tall switch lever. The switchman strode toward it, and then he leaned his full weight into the frozen steel arm.
As the two trains closed in on each other near the Coventry station, each engineer caught sight of the other's looming headlight. The screeching, skidding of the wheels on the frozen tracks at the first application of the brakes caused the passengers to lurch forward unexpectedly. Everyone's attention was immediately riveted as they braced themselves for what some were sure would be a disaster.
No one, not even the engineers, noticed the switchman who had moved quietly and deliberately to the tracks. No one was aware of him digging in his heels as he leaned the full weight of his body on the lever that shuttled the London bound train onto a parallel track. Everyone was so caught up in their own concerns that they probably wouldn't have seen him, even if they could. And as they watched the staccato lights of the coaches speeding past them in the opposite direction, they could have only known what he had already done after it was over.
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Once there was a critical pointing human history, when the highest hopes and dreams of eastern culture awaited the coming of Messiah, one who would set people free from social disorder and slavery.
Once, at that same critical point in human history, the cradle of western thought (the best philosophy of ancient Greece) was looking for one whom they called "Kristos" - the Christ - who could make sense of contradictory human theories, who would bring the truth that could set people free.
Once, at that same critical point in human history, the greatest political empire ever established was centered in Rome and ruled from Asia to the British Isles and from Africa to Scandinavia.
Just once there was a critical time, when the hopes and fears of all human history, when all the possibilities for humankind's future, western and eastern, were centered in one place. And at just the right time God sent One who, quietly and deliberately, took hold of our life and threw his whole weight, his whole life, into it.
Few recognized him at the time. Almost no one was aware of his coming. Only after his work was done did people begin to recognize what he had done. Some were never aware of what he had done, much less of who he was. But others gradually found in him, in retrospect, the One who had saved their lives; One who had brought order out of chaos; One who offered the promise of peace where there was no human reason to believe in peace; One who brought life where the only certainty, apart from taxes, was death.
There was once a critical point in human history that the Bible calls "the fullness of time," and it marks the coming of the One named Jesus. And part of the mystery of the incarnation is that because he invaded time once for all, any time can be "the fullness of time."
And so, by the grace of God, there may come points in your life and in mine that bear striking resemblance to that time. It may appear that we, too, are on a collision course; that there's no hope, and little if anything that can be done about it.
But the gospel says, "Look out! At those desolate and hopeless moments of your life, God is never more likely to intervene and set things right than right then and there. So watch out! And look up! Your salvation is drawing near."
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