The Heavenly Vision

Gloucester December 21, 1952
Bridgeport Adapted December 25, 1955

We are constantly reminded during the Christmas season of the legend of the shepherds. Carol and cartoon, anthems and art tell us the shepherds saw a heavenly vision -- heard an angel assure them: "Fear not, there are tidings of great joy."

Then the vision enlarged and the shepherds saw "a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill to men."

Most of us believe that those beautiful legends surrounding the birth of Jesus are not historical events. Rather the stories and poems are superb efforts to express the inexpressible -- to attempt the impossible -- which is to put into words the wonder, beauty, mystery and pain that the presence of new-born life brings to a world that overlooks habitually beauty, wonder, and mystery.

Christmas is a window that lets us look at a world that ....

For the years of the lives of most of us, the words "peace on earth, good-will to men" have a hollow sound. We have seen a world that has spoken most clearly in blitz, bloody battle, brutal Buchenwalds, and barbarism made fantastically precise by man's mind and man's tools. Rather our world has taken on in part the kind of personality of the convicted murderer of not long ago whose last words were, "I hate everybody and everybody hates me."

The fact seems to be that most people do not permit a motto, even one surrounded by sacredness like "peace on earth, good-will to men" make much of a dent on the surface of their practical living.

The National Geographic tells about a river in Cambodia in French Indo-China that reverses itself. During the dry season this river flows toward and into the great Mekong river. But when heavy rains swell the Toule-Sap to flood stage, the river reverses itself and flows into the great lake it ordinarily drains.

Christmas is something like that. On the flood tide of feeling, a general warmth and friendliness permeates our lives, but soon the current reverses itself and we are back to normal. Or as Franklin P. Adams once wrote,

"Christmas is over, uncork your ambition!

Back to the battle! Come on competition!

Down with all sentiment, on scrupulosity!

Commerce has nothing to gain by jocosity;

Money is all that is worth your labors;

greed from your competitors, nix on your neighbors!

Push 'em aside in a passionate hurry,

Argue and bustle and bargain and worry!

Frenzy yourself into sickness and dizziness

Christmas is over and business is business."

In the eleventh century there was an attempted practice called the Truce of God. It was part of a monastic movement and declared closed season on the wars between the feudal nobles from Wednesday evening until Friday morning in memory of the passion of Christ. As the historian remarked, "the purpose was excellent, the success only partial."

Night-club comedian and cynic, Joe E. Lewis, phrased the distorted sense of values that seems to prevail in many aspects of our lives when he wise-cracked, "what good is happiness, it won't buy money."

But for a brief time, the current reverses, the truce of God prevails, we think of other people's happiness. For a few exalted moments, among the more reverent hours of the Saturnalia we do sense the possibility, with almost an inner sob we cry inwardly, "what if we could really catch a vision of heaven with angels singing about a reality of peace on earth, good-will toward men?

Is it possible for us to acquire the new dimension of vision that suddenly transformed the world of these shepherds? Why was their thoughtful loneliness suddenly transformed into an image of heaven that not only related to praising God, but to peace among men of goodwill?

Out of the hopes and dreams of persons in all times there has grown a store of poems, songs, folk-stories, legends -- all of which consciously and unconsciously express a yearning for the Holy -- and awareness of the intensity of the relationship between our conscious selves and the mysterious, but wonderful, force which runs through the lives of all persons and all things.

You remember last week's Swedish folk story from the pen of Selma Lagerlaf, the Holy Night? When the surly shepherd discovered that live coals did not burn a man, nor fierce dogs bite him, he asked, "what kind of a night is this?" He was answered, "I cannot tell you if you do not see it yourself." When he followed to the grotto and gave the soft white sheepskin to keep the baby warm, his eyes were opened. So it is with eyes that recognize a baby's need, and hands that are willing to give what we hold dear that we catch sight of "God's Glory."

But babies grow up -- even as baby Jesus did. Then it is more difficult to get shepherd's vision when we encounter human life and human beings. The baby Jesus grew up to be an unpopular adult. He was blunt -- after telling the parable of the Good Samaritan, he said, "go thou and do likewise." His associations were not of the best. His company included the patrons of rough drinking places and prostitutes. He was fearless -- the only religious authority for him was the inner light which was to him God and father.

Could persons still catch a heavenly vision through association with this strange Galilean who had been the little baby? A few did; most people did not -- "Crucify him!" Let's consider another of the great folk stories of mankind.

Around the search for the Holy Grail, troubadours of long ages ago wove song and story. Malory, Wagner, and Tennyson all took the old threads and rewove them into epics. According to many an ancient legend, the Holy Grail was the chalice fashioned out of one great sapphire which was uses by Jesus at the Last Supper. 'Twas believed that Joseph of Arimathea brought it to England where it was preserved as a relic and adored by pilgrims. But a descendant of Joseph broke his vows of purity and the Holy Grail disappeared. Usually the legend has the pure and stainless Galahad re-discovering the Holy Grail.

James Russell Lowell in his poetic version has enlarged the moral meaning of the tale. Sir Launfal begins his quest on that gorgeous summer day so well described,

"What is so rare as a day in June,

Then if ever, come perfect days."

Then Lowell reminds us of the lesson that Launfal must learn, about heavenly visions:

"Not only around our infancy

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;

Daily with souls that cringe and plot

We Sinai climb and know it not."

The young Launfal casually flings gold to the leprous beggar at the gate and begins his quest. The years pass and he finds no grail. As suffering registers its meaning with him, he begins to have the cross in his heart as well as on his surcoat. Launfal, now an old man, returns in failure to the castle. Launful is poor. He has one crust of bread left out of the wealth he took with him in his crusading youth. There at the gate is the loathsome leprous man, still with his begging bowl. The aged, weary, defeated Launfal dismounts and shares his last crust with the sick beggar. Then the poet tells us of another vision. The wooden bowl becomes the precious Holy Grail, the leprous beggar becomes the glorious Christ, and Launfal ascends with him to heaven.

Launful found the grail at his own palace-gate because it was there he shared not of his surplus, of his excess, but of his necessities.

"Not what we give, but

what we share

For the gift without the giver is bare."

The shepherds saw the heavenly vision while at their accustomed duties. If we all at one table, no one would be hungry. Peace on earth, good will to me -- it's a grand and beautiful dream -- but neither Palestinian shepherds of two millennia ago nor heroic figures of English legend can make the dream come true. Only ourselves.

I yearn that I and every one of you will not only accept and rejoice in the second-hand experience of shepherds and crusaders, but that through our acceptance of the wonder and mystery of life -- and through accepting our responsibility -- for each of us there will be a heavenly vision created by peace and good-will among men.