One of the first things I was taught when I began living with adults with developmental disabilities at L’Arche Daybreak was that structure, routine, and consistency were central to their emotional well being. We tried to provide this consistency as best we could, but it was often difficult to do it as well as it needed to be done given the enormous amount of transition on the assistant teams in the homes. I lived in the home for three years but then made my own contribution to the constant transition by moving out to get married. There were four different house leaders in the next 2 years. Each was a good person who did their best, but each had very different gifts and abilities to lead and manage the home. The constant change and transition of leaders and leadership styles was too much for one member of the household: her violence spun out of control and she spent three months in a psychiatric hospital before she was able to return to the home.

 

When Jean Vanier began L’Arche, he thought that he would live a simple life with a couple of handicapped men in a small house in a small village in France. It would be a place of love, belonging, and acceptance for all of them. It would be a place where they could develop long-term, stable relationships that would enable each of them to grow into the fullness of who God had created them to be. Nobody could have predicted that within six months the staff and board at the institution in this small village would resign, that the institution and its 30 residents would be given to Jean, or that Jean would agree to take responsibility for the institution. L’Arche suddenly changed from a small and relatively stable household to a much more complicated reality with much more transition and change than was originally envisioned.

 

It is an unfortunate reality that the most vulnerable with the greatest need for structure and consistency often have the fewest resources at their disposal to create this stability for themselves. Children in foster care, the elderly in nursing homes, the developmentally disabled in institutions, group homes and L’Arche communities, for example, constantly welcome people into the most intimate areas of their life, and constantly say goodbye to these same people. Those who come and make healthy, long-term relational commitments are few and far between.

 

This sounds pretty miserable, and sometimes it is. The anger, the tears, the disruptive behaviours are real and are sometimes hard to live with. That being said, however, I am constantly amazed at the enormous welcome the disabled members of L’Arche Lethbridge give to the new assistants who come year after year after year after year… I hope I can be as gracious if I am ever in a position where I am dependent upon an ever-changing stream of people for my food, my medical needs, my transportation, my personal care, and my social life.

 

If I am to have a gracious attitude towards change in my declining years, I should probably start practicing being gracious now. The idea that I am somehow independent, that I am in control of my own destiny, that I have the ability to create stability in my life and in the life of those around me, is largely an illusion. While it’s true that the choices I make will affect my life for good or for ill, unexpected and uncontrollable change could come smashing into my life at any moment. Sometimes the change is something I really want, and sometimes it’s something I really don’t want. But whatever the change, there’s always a smaller or bigger part of me that wants things to go back to the way they used to be. If I don’t feel this way, probably someone I know does. The amount of power we give to those feelings has a direct impact on our ability to graciously welcome the new and present realities of our lives.

No where is this more clearly illustrated than in the story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. God instructed Lot and his family to flee the city and not to look back. The story goes that one of Lot’s wives looked back and she was changed into a pillar of salt. The message is clear: spending too much time looking back and wishing our lives were the way they used to be basically sucks the life right out of us even if our heart keeps on beating.

 

The gospel passage this morning, and the Christmas story in general, is filled with life smashing changes that come in the form of unexpected visitors. Some of them are good, some of them are not so good, but they all smashed former ways of living and/or thinking to smithereens.

 

Mary’s first unexpected visitor was the angel announcing to her that God was going to make her pregnant. Her second unexpected visitor was the fetus named Jesus kicking inside of her. Even though the angel had told her that this would happen, I find it hard imagine the Mary wouldn’t have felt any surprise when this “impossible” event actually came true! Say goodbye to your old life Mary, and say hello to the new!

 

The fetus named Jesus was an unexpected visitor in Joseph’s life too. He made the life-altering decision to divorce Mary until a second unexpected visitor, the angel in his dreams, told him in no uncertain terms why he should go ahead and marry Mary. It was quite a roller coaster ride ending at the “congratulations, you’ve been chosen to be the earthly father of God” station. Say goodbye to your old life, Joseph, and say hello to the new!

 

The stable animals in Bethlehem were unexpectedly visited by a husband and wife in labour, a squalling newborn, and then by a whole bunch of shepherds. This didn’t change their life very much, but the shepherds were probably never the same again after being unexpectedly visited by choirs of angels announcing the birth of the long awaited Messiah.

 

King Herod was surprised by the visit of the wise men, as well as by their unexpected announcement that the stars were announcing the birth of a New Jewish King. To say that Herod felt threatened is an understatement. He became so obsessed with finding and destroying this baby king that Roman soldiers became unexpected visitors at the homes of all Jewish families with boys under the age of two.

 

The wise men were unexpectedly visited by a dream telling them not to tell Herod what they had found. After their grand entrance into the territory they were forced to sneak out the back way without being seen. I would imagine that they were on Herod’s “no fly” list after that little stunt and never stepped foot in Judah again.

 

Finally, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus received unexpected visitors from the time the shepherds came the night of Jesus’ birth to the arrival of the wise men we read about in today’s gospel. There is no indication in the scriptural account they were not welcomed warmly. The family graciously welcomed each visitor and accepted the gifts that were offered: from the shepherd’s words that Mary pondered in her heart, to the gold, frankincense and myrrh from the wise men.

 

One needs to expect an increase in visitors after the birth of a child. But if in addition to family members everyone from migrant farm workers to royalty had come to worship Jonathan after he was born I would have been sorely tempted, angel announcements or not, to close the curtains and turn out the lights for a few weeks until everyone had left.

 

 

 

The example of the Holy Family, however, is to leave the curtains open, the lights on, and to welcome the unexpected visitor and the gifts they have to offer. This is the pathway that leads to the fullness of life that God desires for each one of us. The alternative is the example of Herod whose selfish attempts to manipulate his unexpected visitors cemented his own spiritual demise and brought physical harm to many innocent people.

 

I lived with Helen for three years. She was a little woman with Down’s Syndrome just a few months older than I was. She never spoke a word but somewhere she had her own private well spring of joy. Seemingly out of nowhere she would regularly break out into wild and contagious laughter. She moved slowly and simply stopped when she was tired, even if this meant sitting down in the middle of the road while crossing Yonge Street in Toronto. She invited those who knew her into a world of simple pleasures that moved at a pace about 100 times slower than the culture that surrounded her.

 

Because she couldn’t speak she couldn’t tell us exactly where it hurt. For this reason her unexpected visitor, cancer, wasn’t discovered until two weeks before her death, another unexpected visitor for both herself and the rest of us. Over 500 people came to her funeral. Of course there were tears, but her laughter multiplied faster than the loaves and fishes and we all left grateful for the opportunity to have known her.

 

The whole thing, however, almost didn’t happen. When Helen’s mother died, she went to live with her two elderly aunts. In what was presumably an act of desperation her aunts simply left Helen and two suitcases at the front doors of L’Arche Daybreak. She was an unexpected visitor, to say the least, whose gift was not yet obvious. But the community made the decision to welcome her despite her unorthodox application process. Helen was welcomed, her gift was revealed, her gift was shared, and people all over the world can now witness to the way that Helen touched and changed their lives.

 

How do we welcome the new? How do we welcome the unexpected visitor into our lives? Who do we resemble most, the Holy Family or King Herod?

 

The call, of course, is to resemble the Holy Family more than King Herod and to graciously welcome the unexpected visitor and their gift. Some we’ll know what to do with, some we may have to ponder in our hearts for years before they make any sense at all, and some will be given for our protection. For in truth we are all Holy Families to the degree that we provide a home for Jesus in our hearts, in our actions and in our relationships. When as individuals, families, and congregations we live from our identity as a Holy Family that has welcomed Jesus, we will be given the grace to welcome unexpected visitors with their often-surprising gifts into our lives in a way that leads towards the fullness of life here on earth, and in the life to come.

 

May it be so for each of us here this morning.