 Excuse me. As on most of our airplane flights these days, we are going to have a full house. So if there are seats in the middle, in between, you know, single seats or whatever, people could kind of move in so that there will be some seats on the outside for people who are still coming in. I appreciate it. Thank you. We claim Christmas for those for whom the season brings only another series of dreary days. We claim Christmas for those who live beyond the bounds of our love, for those of our own who are no longer here and those who have chosen not to be with us. We claim Christmas for those who try, for all those who have awakened in the morning with the cry, bother and then did. We claim Christmas for those who have wanted to wish Christmas away and then didn't. We claim Christmas for the time that is to come, for the future which we fear and for that for which we hope. We claim Christmas for the child who lives in each of us. We claim Christmas for all here on this mild December evening, whether we come here in health or in illness, in happiness or in sorrow, we claim Christmas for all and for this our community. I invite you to rise in body or in spirit for the lighting of our chalice. And the words that accompany the kindling of the flame are responsive, so if you would join your voices in reading the bolded sections. In this season of colored lights and bright garlands, we come together to celebrate life's gifts amidst the holiday pandemonium, the tumult of getting and spending, coming and going. We pause this hour to refresh our spirits and bring greater balance to the restless and the ragdollars. And now I invite you to turn to our opening carol number 225. The situation, as you know, was pretty darn grim in 1st century Palestine. People were growing restless with the Roman occupation. They were dissatisfied with the policies of King Herod, the puppet ruler of that country. Economic inequality was pronounced, a small elite class basped in luxury, while the vast majority of Jews eked out a subsistence living. Furthermore, Jewish spiritual life had become fragmented, argumentative. Various sects, the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, and the zealots vied for supremacy. Each offered its own version of Jewish identity and each sought in its own way to fulfill Jewish aspirations. In short, Palestine was not a particularly pleasant place to be in the 1st century. And it was into this climate of growing frustration and mounting oppression that new hope in the person of Jesus of Nazareth emerged. The sentiment of hope is central to Christmas. Many of the traditional carols mention it and it figures in more than a few of our favorite holiday stories. But what makes the story of Jesus' birth so memorable is its vivid description of hopes realized in an unlikely and unexpected fashion. People back then yearned for a powerful figure, a dynamic presence before whom the corrupt powers that ruled the country would be forced to flee. A new Moses, military genius like King David, fiery prophet like Elijah. It would take a hero of such stature to midwife the birth of a new Israel. And that's what the people of Palestine were hoping for some 20 centuries ago. But of course, Jesus resembled none of these. And so he did not fulfill the social and political expectations of his countrymen and his countrywomen. And indeed, not long after Jesus' death, the Romans destroyed the city of Jerusalem, forcing hundreds of thousands of Jews into exile and thus puncturing any and all dreams of national restoration. What does that say about Jesus as a symbol of hope? It says that it's probably a mistake to pin our hopes on a particular preconceived outcome because that's probably going to be the recipe for disappointment, if not downright despair. Jesus was born in a stable, not a mansion. He lived off of other people's charity, urged his followers to do the same. He admonished his listeners to have faith in the invisible and the intangible, to set aside their material hopes and invest in the spiritual. Those who had ears to hear, those few, they grasped what he was trying to say. And he did teach people to hope in a new way. And over the centuries that has helped lift the spirits of untold millions of believers. Our own situation today in 21st century America is by no means as dire as it was those 20 centuries ago. And yet ours is also in many ways an anxious age. Despite low unemployment and a record-breaking stock market, economic distress in this country is widespread. Half of Americans live paycheck to paycheck with not enough savings to carry them through a month or two without a steady income. And moreover, to me at least, our society feels divided, as divided as society was in ancient Palestine, divided today on racial and religious lines, perhaps more so than it has been in my lifetime. Entire categories of persons are being classified as undesirables, much as the Samaritans were in ancient Palestine. And with a new untested administration taking the reins of government a month from now, expressions of uneasiness, if not dread, can be heard in many quarters. As First Lady Michelle Obama recently told Oprah Winfrey, she now we are feeling what not having hope feels like, you know? That hope is necessary. It's a necessary concept, she said. What do you give your kids if you can't give them hope? My predecessor Max Gabler shared sentiments similar to these in a Christmas message that he delivered some 40 years ago now. And then he carried that message of hope a step further, an important step. Let me quote from Max. At Christmas, we give voice to extravagant hopes that are beyond the range of any possible fulfillment. But the real question is whether this is so bad. Perhaps the better part of wisdom is to accept this reminder of the gap between the real and the ideal for what it is. A spur, not only to our hopes, but to our energies. It would be foolish to ignore the element of wishful thinking in our Christmas hopes, but how unspeakably more foolish it would be if we were to accept present reality as the last word and to stop dreaming altogether. So there are two counts on which I agree wholeheartedly with my predecessor. First, it would be a crime to accept present reality as the last word. The sentiment of hope helps to free up the imagination and to awaken our visionary capacity. Without hope, the features of a different and better future will never become apparent to us. And in the second place, Max makes the important connection between our hopes and our energies. No attitude is more innervating than despair. No outlook is less action-oriented than cynicism. Hope motivates and it sustains our cells as activists, as change agents. And that being the case, I will continue in the years to come to do my part to help mitigate climate change, to protect endangered species, to close the equity gap, to reform our broken criminal justice system, to promote peaceful coexistence, to advance the cause of mutual understanding. I will do these things. And despite the unprecedented irregularities of the last election, I will continue to cast my ballot in the hope that enough Americans still believe in the need to maintain the integrity of our democratic processes and believe that this too shall pass. So let me conclude these opening comments with a commentary from a woman named Kimberly Hughes, whose story conveys the true possibilities of hope. She says, My Siamese cat died in May. A month later, my friend and mentor passed away. Then my house was struck by lightning, frying both my answering machine and my internet connection. I needed those to keep my job. Didn't matter anyway because I soon lost my job, having unwittingly trained my replacement in Bangalore, India. To cheer myself up, I bought a big orange chrysanthemum, carrying it home. I fell and twisted my ankle. After my ankle healed, I went to the gym where my MP3 player caulked out. I ended up throwing it in the trash. In the parking lot, I discovered that one of my car's tires was flat. When my computer's hard drive crashed, I decided it's a sign. Everything ends. But some doors have to close so that others can open. It's hard all right, this life we lead. But I'm not beaten yet. Today, I bought a new iPod and an ace bandage for my ankle. I potted what was left of the chrysanthemum, made plans for New Year's, restored my hard drive, and then I wrote this essay. And now I'd like to invite our ministerial intern, Eric Severson, to share the first lesson. Good evening. The Gospel, according to Matthew, contains one of two biblical accounts of the Nativity. The other version is found in Luke. However, Matthew's doesn't begin by recounting the events surrounding the Saviour's birth. Most of the first chapter is devoted to a long and rather tedious list of Jesus' forebears. Let me share with you just a few of the opening verses. The Book of the Genealogy of Jesus Christ, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Peres, and Zarah by Tamar. And Peres, the father of Hezren, and Hezren the father of Ram, and Ram the father of Aminidob, and Aminidob the father of Nation, and Nation the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of David the king. Good stuff. And David the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, and Solomon the father of Rehoboan. And Jehoshaphat was the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah. After the deportation to Babylon, Zerubbabel was the father of Abiyud, and Abiyud the father of Eliakum, and Eliakum the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Akim, and Akim the father of Eliezar, and Eliezar the father of Mathan, and Mathan the father of Jacob, who was the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who was called the Christ. Burton Carly has served the Unitarian Church of Memphis, Tennessee, since 1983. His commentary on these first few verses of Matthew's Gospel are worth considering. Can there be anything in a list of begats? Anything interesting in a list of begats? Matthew seems to think so, especially if one is crafting a theological, rather than a historical genealogy. Think about that for a moment. If you could pick a family tree the way you pick a Christmas tree, who would you include in your lineage? Would you have a prodigal relative or some unsavory character by liberal religious standards, perhaps a founding member of the Ku Klux Klan? Thomas Fuller, a 17th century English cleric, told the truth when he said, he that has no fools, naves, or beggars in his family was begot by a flash of lightning. But what if we could choose our ancestry? This is what Matthew did for Jesus. Among those names in the first chapter of the Gospel are noble and famous folks like Isaac, David, and Solomon. This is what one would expect. But wait a minute, there's a surprise or two. How about those infamous kings, like Ahaz and Amon? Ahaz was the king of Judah in the late 8th century BCE. His leadership was marked by the rapid decline of the kingdom, and he was also known for reviving the primitive custom of child sacrifices. Amon ruled Judah for only two years, indulged in idolatrous practices and was assassinated by officials from his own court. There are even greater surprises to be discovered. Consider the inclusion of five women in that patriarchal genealogy. Mary is mentioned, that we understand. We can also appreciate why Ruth is added to the list. She was a model of virtue and high character. The other three women are not exactly your everyday biblical role models. One is so infamous that Matthew can't even muster the courage to mention her name. She is referred to this way. And David, the father of Solomon, by the wife of Uriah. Do you know her name? Yes, Bathsheba is a distant grandmother of Jesus. And what of the other two? Rahab was a Gentile prostitute, the woman who protected the spies of Joshua at Jericho. Tamar was a Hebrew who played the role of a prostitute in order to trick her father-in-law into providing the social security to her according to biblical social custom. As you can see, Matthew's genealogy is anything but boring. I think that what the author is saying is that God's family includes all kinds of people and that there is a wideness in God's mercy. What counts most for Matthew is not the royal bloodline but the liberating mercy of Jesus. We are, like the Holy Child, to care for the least among us as if they are family. This is how we are judged, not by the law, but by the largeness of our love. Whatever our background, we are worthy and significant persons. Let me put it another way. We should not disown the fools, knaves and beggars in our own family for there is a fool, knave and beggar in each of us. Likewise, we can say that divinity lies hidden in every human life. Please remain seated for our next carol, number 241 in the Bleak Midwinter. Coming us from Kathleen for meditation on this. I am fascinated by the gospel depictions of King Herod, everything he does, he does out of fear. Fear can be a useful defense mechanism, but when a person is always on the defensive, like Herod, it becomes debilitating and self-defeating. To me, Herod symbolizes the terrible destruction that fearful people can leave in their wake if their fear remains unacknowledged, if they have power, but they can only use it in a furtive, pathetic feudal attempt at their own preservation. Herod's fear is like a mighty wind. It can't be seen, but its effects dominate the landscape. Herod, called a king, is a pawn of the imperial Roman authorities and he fears their power. But more significantly, he fears those who would appear to have very little power in the world, especially and most tragically, this infant Jesus. After sages from the east appear in Jerusalem inquiring after the king who had been born in Bethlehem, Herod tries to trick them into revealing the name of the child. Return to me, he says, so that I may go and pay homage to this child. But his plot fails. The wise men are warned in a dream not to return to Herod and they slip out of the country. And this makes Herod so fearful that he orders the massacre of all the male infants in Bethlehem. Herod's fear is the epitome of what Jung called the shadow. Herod demonstrates where such fear can lead when it does not come to light but remains in the dark depths of the unconscious. I once had the opportunity, Norris writes, to preach at a small mission church in one of the impoverished areas of Hawaii. It was epiphany. I decided to talk about light. What happens when we allow new light in? How it changes what we see? And I also talked to that congregation about Herod who, while he had worldly power, is so pitifully weak. Because of his fear, he can only pretend to see the light that the magi have offered him. Now the congregation I spoke to, they have a good deal to fear. They're mostly poor and powerless, scraping by in one of the few areas of Oahu in which the hotel maids and the tour bus drivers and the other service workers in the tourist industry can afford to live. It's an area where the rate of drug addiction and alcoholism and violent crime is relatively high. Tourists are admonished, don't go there. The land values in Hawaii are so high that the people of the church developers will force them out and that they will lose their place to live. They come to church for hope. The sages who traveled far to find Jesus, I told that small audience, they saw in him a sign of hope. And I said, the presence of this, your church, which has become important as a community center, this is another sign of hope. A lessening of fears, shadowy powers and increase in available light. I said that the martyred archbishop of El Salvador, Oscar Romero, he once said that only the truly poor can celebrate Christmas and maybe only the poor and the hopeful can celebrate epiphany. Seeing our lives, our families, our communities as the humble yet glorious blessings that they are, well then we can act as those ancient wise men did. We need not return to Herod. We can find another way. We can leave Herod in his place, surrounded by his flatterers, all alone with his fear. And the second selection, a somewhat similar vein, comes from Charlie Clements' book, Witness to War. Charlie Clements is the former director of the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. He's also a physician who worked as a physician in peasant communities during the Civil War in El Salvador. It was almost dark on Christmas Eve as I trudged back to Flora from Delisias. And since I had been shot at earlier in the year, I remained paranoid about walking on trails, preferring them only over the open areas where the air attacks made me feel even more vulnerable. Nearing Flora's house, I heard rustling ahead on either side of the trail. I froze. I screamed as they jumped me. It was an ambush. The ambushers, Flora's children, the other kids from the house, screeched with delight at the success of their surprise attack. And they all yelled, Feliz Navidad! In their high pitched voices. They had waded all afternoon by the trail, worried that I would not return until morning. One week earlier, I had sent a few colonis outside the front with a message to purchase a few gifts. It was going to be the family's first Christmas without their father. I wanted to make it as merry as possible, but it's not easy to keep secrets from 14 people who live in a single room. I had wrapped each present a little comb, a barrette, a pencil, a toothbrush, a few pieces of candy, and hidden them away as best I could. On the 24th, not Christmas itself, is the traditional day of celebration in El Salvador. And perhaps because they live in such sorrow all year, or perhaps because they really are genuinely warm people, this was a time of great joy and sharing. And when I got home, Flora had laid out a chicken dinner replete with beans and rice flavored with her small but precious store of spices. Later, the adults drank coffee and the Christmas carols from San Salvador on the FM radio station. The children opened their gifts as we listened. I looked at the little poinsettia plant that the kids had placed on the table, hung with little strips of tin foil from cigarette pack liners. I wondered what my parents in the States were doing at this very moment. But I have never seen the children so elated. The combs and the barrettes were a big hit with the girls and Pedrito, Salvador's 10-year-old son, he had been so withdrawn since his father's disappearance but he lit up with excitement as he opened his toothbrush. He jumped up and down for several minutes waving the brush and yelling, Mom, a toothbrush! Because he had never had one of his own before. Afterward, I said that I was going over to the civilian hospital to see the patients. And shyly, the children asked if they could tag along. It's a bit puzzled about this because the hospital, that's the place where the children go to get their injections. They don't go near it if they don't have to. But with Flora's consent, I let them come along. We reached the hospital and their reason for coming was quickly evident. Each one of them had divided his or her little store of Christmas candy and brought a portion with them for the six patients in the hospital, four elders and two children. And they formed themselves into a small semi-circle and began singing to the patients. Their repertory was quite broad, Christmas carols, religious songs, even some revolutionary songs. And the patients beamed at the chorus and the elderly couple began to cry. And I knew that that elderly couple had two grown children in San Salvador that they had not seen for over three years. I got a little misty-eyed myself. Had some trouble keeping my composure as we wished the patients a final merry Christmas and headed home. Mass was celebrated at midnight and certain that the enemy would not be fighting on a holiday. The Campesinos built an open bonfire that on any other occasion would have invited an air attack. Over a thousand people came to hear the priests to sing to applaud Alma who spoke of how special Christmas was for all the children. For all the fear they feel, she said, there is also hope in them. And this year, for the first time, these children all went to school. They all had something to eat. They have a doctor who looks after them. In a difficult year, they can all take pride in what they have accomplished. They can look forward eventually to a day of triumph. I slept very peacefully that night. The first I could recall in which not a single bomb or mortar or even a rifle shot was heard in Guasapá. Floor's old aunt snored blissfully on her palate. The children, they whimpered only once or twice in their sleep. A question comes from John Henry Falk who was born to Methodist parents in 1913. Attended the University of Texas later taught English at the same school. Served in the Marines during World War II, began working in radio in 1951. He was branded a communist and won a libel suit with the help of Edward R. Murrow. He died in 1990 in his hometown of Austin and today the downtown branch of that city's public library bears his name. He recorded the following Christmas story in 1974 and it has been rebroadcast on national public radio a number of times. The day after Christmas a number of years ago I was driving down a back country road in Texas. It was a bitter cold morning and walking ahead of me was a little barefooted boy with rather non-descript ragged overalls and a makeshift sleeved sweater tied around his little ears. I stopped to pick him up. Looked like he was about 12 years old and his little feet were blue with cold. He was holding an orange. As he got in I noticed he had the brightest blue eyes one ever saw. He turned a beaming face smile to my face and said I'm going down the road about two miles to my cousins. I want to show him my orange that Santa Claus brought me. Now I wasn't going to mention Christmas to him because I figured that he came from the kind of home that doesn't have Christmas but he brought the subject up himself he said did old Santa Claus come to see you mister? And I said yes. We had a real nice Christmas at our house I hope you had the same. He paused for a moment looked at me and then with clarity in the world he said mister we had the wonderfulest Christmas in the United States down at our place. Lordy it was the first one we ever had there. You see we don't have them much down here. Don't notice when Christmas time comes. And we heard about it but never did have one because well you know Papa he says that old Santa Claus is scared to bring his reindeer down in our section of the country because folks is so hard up that each one they're going to butcher him for meat. But then just a few days before Christmas this lady comes from in town and she tells all the families out here our family too that old Santa Claus has come to town is going to leave some stuff for us and if Papa go down to town we could get Christmas time for all of us. So Papa hooked up the mule and the wagon he went into town but he told us children now don't y'all get all worked up and excited there might be nothing to this yarn that the lady told us. But shucks we hadn't got out of sight he hadn't got out of sight up the lane till we was watching for him to come back. We couldn't get our minds on nothing else you know and mama she'd come to the door once in a while and say now y'all quit that looking up the land because Papa told you there might not be anything. But then along about the middle of the afternoon well we hear the team at Janglin it's harness and we ran out into the front yard and Ernie my little brother called out and said yonder comes Papa and here comes them mules just in a big trot you know and Papa stand upright in the bed of that wagon holding two big old chickens all their feathers picked off and he was just a yellin Merry Christmas Merry Christmas the team stopped right in front of the gate and all us children just went a swarming out there just a crawling over that wagon and looking in and mister I wish you could have seen what was in that wagon it's bags of striped candy and apples and oranges sacks of flour some real coffee and you know it's all just tinsily and pretty and we just couldn't say nothing just held our breath and looked at it all you know and Papa he's still standing there waving those chickens Merry Christmas to you Merry Christmas and he's laughing with a big old grin on his face and now mama now she comes hurrying out with a baby on her arms you know when she looks into that wagon she just stopped and then she started telling us the names of all those nuts there wasn't just peanuts there was well she knew the names of all of them now mama she knows a heap of things like that stuff before you know and we was all of us just chattering and going on at the same time I see young ones just a looking in there and all of a sudden we hear Papa call out Merry Christmas to you Sam Jackson and we stopped and looked and here comes Sam Jackson a leading that old cripple-legged mule of his up the lane and Papa said Sam Jackson did you get in town to get some Christmas this year Sam Jackson you know he share crops over across the creek from our place and he shook his head and said well no sir mister I didn't go into town I heard about that but I didn't know it was for black folks too I thought it was just for white folks all of a sudden none of us kids children were saying nothing Papa he looked down at mama looked up at him and they didn't say nothing like they don't a heap of times but they know what the other's thinking and all of a sudden Papa he broke out in a big grin again and he said Dad Blair it Sam Jackson it's sure a good thing you come by here Lord have mercy I'd like to forgot old Santa Claus would have me in court if he heard about this the last thing he asked is if I lived out here near you said he hadn't seen you around said he wanted me to bring part of this out here for y'all well at that Sam Jackson now he breaks out into a big grin and Papa says tell you what we're going to do you get your wife and your children and you come down here tomorrow morning it's going to be Christmas time all day long you come early and you plan to stay late Sam Jackson says you reckon and then mama called out to him and said tell your wife be sure to bring some of her pots and pans because we're going to have a heap of cooking to do I sure ain't got enough to take care of it all next morning it was cold but you didn't notice the cold you know when the sun comes up all rosy red and pretty and us young-uns we're all out of bed before daylight seem like just running in and out of the kitchen smelling and looking it's all still there sure enough and then here comes Sam Jackson we have young-uns we run out and we yell Merry Christmas and Papa says Merry Christmas to you Sam Jackson now you all come in and they come in and mama and sister Jackson they got in the kitchen and they started cooking things up and us young-uns started playing and every now and then we'd run up and smell inside that kitchen door when mama and sister Jackson was cooking and then we'd just die laughing and roll in the dirt and play in some more and Papa and Sam Jackson they put a table up and put some sheets over it some boards up over some saw horses and everybody had a place even the baby and mama and sister Jackson said well now it's ready so come on in and I sat right next to Willy Jackson you know and he just rolled his eyes at me and I'd roll mine at him and just die laughing and there was an apple and an orange and some stripe of the candy at everybody's place but that wasn't the real Christmas dinner mama and them had done cooked up that up and they had spread it up and down the table and so Papa and Sam Jackson they'd been sitting out in the porch this whole time and now they come in too and Papa he sits at one end of the table Sam Jackson he sits at the other end and there's just this beautiful table like you'd never seen I didn't know anything could ever look like that smell that good you know and Papa he says now brother Jackson I believe you're a deacon in the church I'm not much of a church man myself but I do believe you're a deacon so maybe you'd be willing to say grace so Mr. Jackson he stands up and his hands are real big you know he kind of hangs on to the side of the table he doesn't bow his head like a heap of folks do when they say the blessing he just looks up and he smiles and he says Lord I hope you're having a real nice Christmas up there with your angels as good a Christmas as we're having down here because it sure is Christmas time down here and I just want to say Merry Christmas to you Lord like I say Mr. I believe that was the wonderfulest Christmas in the whole United States of America now I would invite you to rise and body and spirit as we sing together number 239 go tell it on the mountain please be seated at this time we will take our offering for the evening please note that the details are on the back of your order of service and we thank you for your generosity the music is sublime thank you so much our fifth lesson this evening is by Becky Bradley one Christmas Eve my mother and I got on a New York City bus outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art it was our first visit to the museum and to the city and my head was spinning from trying to take in thousands of years of artwork in only two hours I was no longer captivated by New York City's speed and energy but drained from the cold, the walking and the endless choices the city seemed like a speeding locomotive chugging along indifferent to those who had in some way or another fallen onto the tracks a bulky disheveled woman hobbled onto the bus and dropped into a seat for the elderly and handicapped her plastic shopping bags took up two seats of their own she was well bundled but none of her coats had buttons she paid no attention to my stairs as she settled down for a nice warm ride when the bus began to move again she pulled out a slightly rusted tin compact and carefully applied some subtle rose colored lipstick her hand was steady her application precise with her fingertip she plotted the corner of her mouth she was around 60 and had a sweet unsuspecting face I thought maybe she was on her way to a church or a shelter for a holiday dinner I was comforted by the fact that she had somewhere to go the woman rode for only a short while before the bus driver stopped and asked her to get out no more free rides lady, he said I'm tired of giving free rides out you go she meekly offered to pay the money she had it here somewhere in one of her pockets but the bus driver ordered her out again and she acquiesced close to tears take a shower lady the driver muttered as she climbed slowly down the steps she smiled and nodded as if she'd known he would say that Merry Christmas she called after him before the doors closed with a wheeze behind her I buried my face in my mother's shoulder and cried all the way to our stop I cried because it was Christmas Eve and everyone deserved a break during holidays I cried because I worried the woman would miss dinner if she didn't get to the shelter on time but mostly I cried out of shame because neither I nor anyone else on that bus had offered to pay for her ride to those who can think only of the color of their eyes when they hear the word red so raw still is the recent loss for them to them I want to say Merry Christmas to those on the street corner holding up cardboard signs and holding out hopeful palms I want to say Merry Christmas to those who rail against the insensitivity of their illness for emerging at this point in the calendar year why they ask could it not wait for just another few weeks to them I want to say Merry Christmas to those who stare out of windows all day remembering years gone by wondering where the time has gone wondering when someone might visit them wondering how they can still be alive when so many who have people their lives are gone from this earth to them also I would say Merry Christmas to those who cover their bruised bodies so that others won't be able to see the battle wounds of their marriages the scars of their families ways who try to cover their battered spirits with a numbing silence I want to say to them also Merry Christmas Merry Christmas I say to all who can believe in these words may we stand by, support and encourage those sisters and brothers who cannot for until we can look them in the eye and say with an honest heart Merry Christmas our work in this world will not be completed blessed be and amen our closing Carol this evening is a Unitarian Carol composed by Edmund Hamilton Sears in the 19th century I invite you to rise once more in body and spirit as you sing together it came upon a midnight clear some people say that Jesus is the light of the world can be the light of the world act in ways that enlarge the realms of love and justice when we share another's pain or another offer a comforting ear to a friend in need we are the light of the world when we give bread to the hungry or support ways to house the homeless we are the light of the world when we fight temptations to wrongdoing within ourselves and treat our neighbors with respect we are the light of the world when we look for the good in others and in ourselves we are the light of the world when we do not stand quiet in the face of prejudice but speak our minds firmly and unflinchingly we are the light of the world when we fight despair within ourselves and side with hope we are the light of the world when we use our powers justly and in the service of love for humanity we are the light of the world we are the light of the world please remain seated as we close our service