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A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Christmas Day, December 25, 2016,
by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer and the Rev. Brenda Loreman.
Scripture: Luke 2:1-20
Copyright © 2016 by Jeffrey S. Spencer and Brenda Loreman

During today’s worship service, Pastor Jeff and Pastor Brenda shared stories behind some famous and not so famous Christmas Carols, and then we sang them.

Away in a Manger (Pastor Jeff)

When she was little, my younger sister’s favorite Christmas carol was “Away in a Manger.” For a long time, people thought that Martin Luther, the great reformer, wrote “Away in a Manger.” It turns out that that was wrong. The words to the song were written by an American, but we don’t know who. And we don’t know who wrote the tune that we’re going to sing, either.

I like this carol, but I have a particular problem with one line in the second verse. “The cattle are lowing” – that means that the cows were mooing. “The baby awakes” – if I was sleeping in a barn and the cows were mooing, I’d probably wake up, too. “But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.”

Who are they kidding? What newborn baby doesn’t wake up crying, at least some of the time?! I think they included this line to make us feel guilty when we are fussy. I say, “Bah, humbug” to that. Maybe one of you would like to write new words to that verse.

So that’s a little bit of the story behind “Away in a Manger.” We’re going to do more of that today. We’re going to learn some things about some Christmas carols and then sing them.

BUT, with “Away in a Manger,” there is sometimes a debate about how to sing it. Should it be the tune that starts up high and then comes down: “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed”? Or should it be the tune that stars low and climbs up some: “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed”?

That’s the question we would have to answer every Christmas Eve when my younger sister was little when my family would sit around our Christmas tree and sing Christmas carols. We would usually end up singing both tunes.

Today we’re going to sing the one that starts up high and comes down – because that’s the tune that in our hymnal.


Good Christian Friends, Rejoice (Pastor Jeff)

Hum the tune to “Good Christian Friends, Rejoice,” and you’ll think – well, actually, I don’t know what you’ll think. I think, “That’s a happy, dancey tune. Maybe English, maybe late 18th century or 19th century.”

Sure enough, the tune is from the early 19th century, written by an Anglican priest. James Mason Neale, the composer, was, it turns out, a theological radical for his day. Ahead of his congregation and the church hierarchy in that time, he thought faith should lead to exuberance and that faithful people should reach out to the marginalized and forgotten. He even started a religious order for women, the Sisterhood of St. Margaret, whose mission was to feed the poor, to care for orphans, and to minister to prostitutes. For his efforts, he got death threats – and one congregation kicked him out throwing stones at him.

Because the music was 19th century, I assumed the words were, too. Wrong. The words were written in the early 1300s by a German nobleman turned Dominican monk named Heinrich Suso. Like Neale, the composer, Suso was a theological progressive for his time – progressive enough that he was tried for heresy. The pope condemned him. The German king exiled him. From Switzerland, he continued to preach and write, trying to communicate the joy and compassion of the gospel.

It was in this context that he penned “Good Christian Men, Rejoice.” It was passed around orally and finally found it’s way into print 150 years after it was authored.

Eventually it was translated and Neale wrote his music for the lyrics.

By the way, Suso was made a saint by the Catholic Church in 1831.

Let’s sing about the joy of the gospel.


Joy to the World (Pastor Brenda)

[Information to be added later]


Go Tell It on the Mountain (Pastor Jeff)

We owe a huge debt to the Fisk Jubilee Singers and a handful of church musician scholars for the fact that African-American Spirituals survive. Post-slavery, few white scholars saw the Spiritual as a legitimate musical form. African-American musicians were the ones who worked to collect and transcribe this music that was taught from mouth to ear over the decades.

As I think through the Spirituals I’m familiar with (which, I acknowledge, is a very limited list), I notice that only a handful are about Christmas: “Mary Had a Baby,” “Rise Up, Shepherd, and Follow,” “Sweet Little Jesus Boy,” and “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”

There are plenty of others. A Google search reveals a significant list, though still only a portion of all the spirituals created in the African-American experience.

Sometimes a Christmas carol invites us to imagine how life was for someone else. So it is with “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”

As you think about the Christmas story as Matthew and Luke tell it, who do you think an American slave would most identify with? I imagine it would be Mary and Joseph forced into substandard housing on the night their child is born, and the shepherds who had to work 24 hours a day and were pushed to the edges – literally and figuratively – of society. And those are the main characters in African-American Spirituals.

This song, “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” also invites us to ask what the good news is that we are to spread over the hills and everywhere. I would say that it is not just that God sent us salvation from sin that blessed Christmas morn so that we might live forever in heaven in the sweet by and by. I would say that God has been sending us salvation from oppression and injustice ever since that blessed Christmas morn.

So, let’s go tell it.


God’s Love Made Visible (Pastor Brenda)

[Information to be added later]



(Later in the service, Pastor Brenda read “Christmas Eve at the Epsom Circle McDonald’s,” a poem by Maren Tirabassi. You can read the poem here.)


A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2014, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Scripture: Luke 2:1-20
Copyright © 2014 by Jeffrey S. Spencer

It’s been a quiet week in Mount William, New Hampshire, my hometown. Sure, there’s been plenty of last minute Christmas shopping and grandparents have been called in to provide childcare reinforcement since school was out all week, but most people seem to have fortified themselves against the demands of the season and have managed to focus on their families and community.

The chatter at the Chowder House has been about Christmas – Christmas plans and Christmas hopes. Some have been hoping they won’t argue with the in-laws this year. Some have been hoping the turkey isn’t too dry. Some have been hoping they’ve found a good present for that person who they love but who is so difficult to shop for. Maggie John had been hoping that she would be able to round up a group of old high school friends to go caroling.

After her divorce, music has taken an important role in Maggie’s life. She joined a community chorus that rehearses in Concord back in September and she’s found healing in the music, the singing, and this new community of friends. Maggie hadn’t sung in a chorus since she was in high school. It was at a rehearsal of her new chorus that she got the idea. They were singing a movement from The Messiah and it brought back a flood of memories from those days over 30 years ago.

Back in high school, some of her chorus buddies made attending the annual Messiah sing at First Congregational Church in Concord a tradition, and they followed it with Christmas Caroling around Mount William. At the rehearsal, as they sang, “And the glory, the glory of the Lord, shall be re-e-e-e-ve-e-e-ealed,” Maggie was suddenly transported back in time and she could see herself standing in the snow in front of a white clapboard house singing about figgy pudding, stomping her feet to try to get them warm again. In her mind’s eye, she could see the others: Susan who harmonized on alto so well; Laura who was always suggesting which song to sing next; Jeremy who had a beautiful tenor voice, and beautiful eyes, and a beautiful smile. That really was a hard crush she had. And wasn’t he Jewish, at least nominally? Why was he out Christmas caroling?

Anyway, this fond memory grew into a hope that she could round up enough friends from decades past to form a little choir to go caroling again.

Somehow she managed to pull it off and Sunday night some old friends, their spouses, and in a few cases children and even a grandchild joined her knocking on doors, singing Christmas carols they knew and loved. It was a fun evening, even though there really wasn’t much snow on the ground.

Christmas seems to be filled with traditions. Each family has their own and they can be so strong kids are often surprised when they learn their friends have different traditions. All those traditions are gone for Maggie. It used to be that her family would spend Christmas Eve with her now-ex-husband’s family and Christmas Day would be spent at her parents’ home. That whole schedule has been tossed on the trash heap because of the divorce. She’ll still go to her parents’ home tomorrow, but her children will be with their father in Florida this year.

Christmas started to take on a new meaning for Maggie, what with the change in her family system. To her surprise, Christmas is taking on a religious meaning for her, and she blames that on the singing. One of the songs her chorus sang is a contemporary, fairly complex setting of an ancient text. Once she started getting the music down, she started paying attention to the lyrics.

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;
Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love.

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance
Thus was I knit to man’s nature
To call my true love to my dance.
Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love.

In a manger laid, and wrapped I was
So very poor, this was my chance
Between an ox and a silly poor ass
To call my true love to my dance.
Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love.[1]

“What an amazing way to look at the birth of Jesus,” Maggie thought. “And what an image of Jesus – a dancer, a lover – who doesn’t come to judge us, but who comes to dance with us, to woo us – who comes to dance with me.” Maggie had to wipe a tear away as she continued rehearsing. And now, Maggie is looking for ways to dance with Jesus.
Chester Banks has also undergone a bit of a transformation. It happened on the bus ride from New York City last Friday. Chester is spending his junior year of college studying in France, and he flew home for Christmas. The cheaper fare was to New York, so he decided to spend a couple days there, and then to take the bus to Concord where his mother picked him up.

About three hours into the seven-hour journey – well, it’s scheduled to be a seven-hour journey, but with traffic – Chester started getting impatient and bored. He can’t read in a bus without getting carsick and his iPhone had been dead for half an hour, so his mind started wandering. Images from the hours he had spent in museums over the past four months flashed before him. The bus reminded him of how nice European train travel is, at least comparatively speaking. That made him think about his trip to Belgium, which brought the Royal Museum of Fine Arts to mind, which brought Pieter Bruegel’s The Census at Bethlehem to mind.

Chester’s journey from New York to Mount William was something like two and a half times as far as the trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem, he figured. If his phone had been working, he would have asked Siri how long it would take to walk from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Days, he figured, and when you factor in “marauding bandits, deep rain-washed wadis cutting through the path, inns with no room, or full-term pregnancies,”[2] he wouldn’t be wrong. Who was he to complain about a seven-hour bus ride that covered more than twice the distance?

“And what idiotic government bureaucracy,” Chester muttered aloud, thinking both about Caesar’s order for families to return to their ancestral home to be counted, which made him think about the hours he’d be spending at the DMV next week to get his drivers license renewed.

Chester had learned in a religion class his freshman year that there is little historical evidence of this census. But then, for “Luke, the mandate from Rome and the journey of two peasants from Galilee to Judea are not primarily geographical or historical matters but theological ones. The question for Luke is where hope might be found for people like Mary or Joseph. They are, like poor and defenseless people everywhere and in ever time, at the whim of whatever caesar or mindless bureaucracy or uncaring machinery of state happens to lash out in their direction. Caesar issues a decree, drinks another glass of wine, eats a cluster of grapes – and Joseph and Mary pack provisions and head out on the Roman road to Judea.”[3]

Chester’s mind drifted back to Bruegel’s painting. Bethlehem looks very much like a 16th century northern European village in the painting and it’s not obvious who Mary and Joseph are. They are just part of the peasantry filling the village. “They have disappeared into the anonymity of the powerless. The irony is that while Joseph, Mary, and their unborn child are heading to Bethlehem to be counted, in fact they do not count, not to Rome anyway. They are faceless nobodies under the boot of an uncaring empire.”[4]

Suddenly a detail popped out – not from Bruegel’s painting, but from a display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Under a grand Christmas tree, there’s a grander, 18th century nativity scene. “In many ways it is a very familiar scene. The usual characters are all there: shepherds roused from sleep by the voices of angels; the exotic wise men from the East seeking…; Joseph; Mary; the babe – all are there, each figure an artistic marvel of wood, clay, and paint.”[5] But behind the holy family, so subtle he had almost missed it, Chester remembered there were crumbling Roman columns.

Chester grinned as he thought about the juxtaposition – the power of Rome crumbing before the vulnerability of a baby. He looked out the bus window at nothing in particular, holding this thought.

The bus pulled off the highway and into a city. Chester wasn’t sure which one. Heck, he wasn’t sure if they were in Connecticut or Massachusetts at that point. He noticed how bus stations seem to almost always be in a more depressed part of town. “These are Jesus’ people,” he thought. Then he thought about the crumbling columns.

“Why is the world still like this? Why hasn’t God changed things?” he found himself asking. He didn’t think these questions were a prayer, but apparently they were, for Chester felt an answer welling up in him. “While I’ve been waiting for God to act, God’s been waiting for me to act. No wonder nothing’s happening.”[6]

And I’m pretty sure that Jesus was born again in that very moment.

That’s the news from Mount William, New Hampshire, where all the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children go to Sunday School every week.

[1] These are the first three verses of this ancient song that tells the life of Jesus from his point of view. They are quoted from (accessed 24 December 2014)

[2] Thomas G. Long, “Living By the Word,” Christian Century, 10 December 2014, p. 21.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Thomas G. Long, Something Is About to Happen, CSS Publishing, quoted in an email from, dated 16 December 2014.

[6] This insight is actually from John Dominic Crossan that he has published in at least two books: The Greatest Prayer and The Power of Parable.

Last night, during our 11:00 p.m. Christmas Eve worship service, as we held our candles in the darkness, we remembered the 100th anniversary of the Christmas Truce that took place in World War I.  I shared the following words:

100 years ago tonight, young men from Great Britain and young men from Germany were five months into a war that would eventually be called “The Great War,” “The War to End All Wars,” and finally, “World War I.”

100 years ago tonight, young men from Great Britain and young men from Germany were living in trenches, having already experienced attacks and counter attacks that gave each side nothing more than injury and death.

And 100 years ago tonight, in Flanders Fields and in other places all along the Western Front, young men from Great Britain and young men from Germany called their own truce. In one place it started with the two sides lobbing Christmas Carols instead of artillery at each other. When one of the Germans started singing Stille Nacht, the Brits joined in, singing in English. Before the night was over, the “no man’s land” between the trenches had become a soccer field, and soldiers from opposing sides where sharing pictures of their families at home and sharing Christmas treats those families had sent them.

In the weeks following this incident, thousands of soldiers on both sides had to be transferred to other units serving in other places along the front, for they refused to shoot at these people they got to know and with whom they had shared Christmas.

After I shared these words, our choir director sang Stille Nacht, and the congregation joined in singing “Silent Night.”

For more information on the Christmas Truce, I recommend the following:

A sermon by the Rev. Fred Small, that he posted on Facebook.

This song by John McCutcheon, that introduced me to the story:

This video from a PBS program:

A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on the fifth day of Christmas, December 29, 2013, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Copyright © 2013 by Jeffrey S. Spencer

            One of the things I love about Christmas time is singing Christmas carols.  As far as I’m concerned, 12 days of Christmas just aren’t enough, so we let a few Christmas Carols sneak in during Advent.

I love singing Christmas carols because they bring back memories of childhood Christmases.  Part of our family Christmas Eve tradition was gathering in the living room around the Christmas tree, fire in the fireplace, candles on the mantle and the tree, bucket of water on the floor with rags in it pre-soaking to toss on burning branches.  The candles on the tree were my mother’s Swiss heritage shining forth.  The bucket was my father’s Yankee practicality shining forth.

I love singing Christmas carols because they tell the Christmas story, a familiar story, with poetic language that deepen and expand on it.  Some of them fuse together Luke’s birth narrative with Matthew’s story of Epiphany; we’ll wait on singing some of those until next week.  Others will take one element of the story and expand on it.

Every song has a story behind it. Sometimes we know the stories; sometimes we don’t.  Today, we are going to sing some Christmas carols, but before you do, I will share some of the stories behind them[i] before we sing them.  You might want to find the carol as I tell the story.  We’ll start of with “Away in a Manger” number 147 in our hymnal.[ii]

I once served a church where singing “Away in a Manger” almost caused fights.  Which tune are we going to use?  There are at least three tunes to which these lyrics are typically sung in America – the one with which it has been associated the longest is the tune we will use.  I served another church where a typo was repeated for at least three years in the Christmas Eve bulletin; they hymn was called “Away in a Manager.”  This was my younger sister’s favorite Christmas carol when she was little and it, along with “Jesus Loves Me,” is one of the first songs Christians teach their children.

“In 1887, American hymn writer James R. Murray entitled the tune [that is now sometimes called Mueller] to ‘Away in a Manger’ as ‘Luther’s Cradle Hymn.’  Murray further stated in his popular songbook, Dainty Songs for Little Lads and Lasses, that Martin Luther had not only written ‘Away in a Manger,’ but had sung it to his children each night before bed.”[iii]

The story is patently false.  Germans didn’t sing the song until it arrived in Germany from its country of origin, the United States.  I heard one claim that Murray made the story up to help with sales among the Lutherans.[iv]  Perhaps.  Or perhaps he heard the story, believed it, and repeated it.

In all likelihood, the first two verses of “Away in a Manger” were written by an anonymous American sometime in the mid-1800s.  The third verse was added sometime later, one assumes by another lyricist.  With no one claiming authorship, the legend of Luther being the composer took root.

During World War I, many groups started singing with words of “Away in a Manger” to an old Scottish tune, “Flow Gently Sweet Afton.”  This may well have been a protest against all things German, and since the Luther legend had affixed itself to the common tune, and Luther was a German …  Aren’t you glad we get politics involved in Christmas carols?

I actually find the lyrics a little troubling – but then, I find the lyrics to “Rockabye Baby” troubling.  “The cattle are lowing; the baby awakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.”  What lesson does that teach?  Good children don’t cry?  The third verse is, like “Rockabye Baby,” is about death.  “When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby – SMUSH!”  “Fit us for heaven to live with you there,” isn’t quite as bad, but it reiterates the “make me a good child just like Jesus,” and who can live up to that?

I will say that the music of the song, combined with the lyrics (if they aren’t looked at too closely) does create a sense of calm, at least, and maybe peace, which is something Jesus seeks to bring to earth.  And, I suppose, if we all behaved as if we were fit for heaven, there would be a lot less violence and a lot less war.

If I haven’t ruined this Christmas carol for you, let’s sing it.

Next, we look at “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” number 153 in our hymnal.

“In 1849, a Unitarian minister from Wayland, Massachusetts, was writing a Christmas Eve message from his congregation.  As Dr. Edmond Sears worked on his sermon, he was a troubled man.  Though it would be another decade before the civil war tore the United States apart, the debate over slavery, compounded by the poverty he saw in his own community, had all but broken the man’s spirit.  He desperately searched for words to inspire his congregation, but he was having a problem lifting even his own spirit above the depressing scenes that surrounded him.”[v]

If you know this hymn, you know where this story is going.

Unlike most Unitarian ministers, Sears believed in the divinity of Jesus.  Like most Unitarian ministers, Sears believed that it was the duty of followers of Jesus to be involved in reaching out the lost, helpless, and poor.  As he struggled to write his Christmas sermon, “it was the poverty and the hopelessness of the people he touched in the slums that sickened his heart and blocked his progress.  He must have wondered how he could write about the Light of the world when the world seemed so very dark.”[vi]

There was something about to whom the angels announced the birth that inspired him.  The angels came to the lowly, the marginalized – the shepherds.  He penned a five-verse poem that he called “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”  When he first shared the poem, his congregation “probably saw it as more a charge or challenge than a story of a miraculous birth in a far away land.”[vii]  But that’s what he wanted.

Nowhere is Sears’ message more obvious that in the poem’s third verse, one that has been discarded and all but forgotten.  (I will use his mid-19th century language.[viii]):

Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world hath suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love song which they bring:
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

Our next Christmas Carol is, “Good Christian Friends, Rejoice,” number 164 in our hymnal.

If you look at the bottom of the page, you’ll see that the words and music come from the 14th century, some 200 years before the Reformation.  I was shocked to learn this; I would have guessed it was written in the 18th century, 200 years after the Reformation.  I was also shocked to learn that the man behind this song was persecuted for his religious convictions, endured great personal hardship, suffered through lingering illness, and died in relative obscurity, not accepted by the church he loved.

Heinrich Suso was born in 1295, the son of a German noble.  This was in the midst of what we now sometimes call the Dark Ages.  Being of noble birth meant he was part of the 1%.  He was educated and pampered – and insulated form the realities of life for the rest of the population.  Instead of choosing to remain in the ruling class, he followed a call to the priesthood, becoming a Dominican.

In 1326, he wrote the Little Book of Truth, “a vibrant defense of progressive thinking in the church.  In his work, Suso justified taking the gospel and opening it in a way that would bring hope, compassion, and understanding to the common people – a fairly radical idea in its own right in the 14th century.  But instead of being held up as a man who truly understood the message that Jesus had brought to the earth, the priest was tried for heresy.”[ix]

Suso continued thinking and writing.  His next book was the Little Book of Eternal Wisdom, which was written for common people.  “Unable to control the priest and afraid that his radical thinking might cause a revolt, in 1329, the Pope condemned Suso.  Eventually, the German king exiled him.”[x]

One night, “Suso found himself immersed in a dream so real that he became a part of it.  In his dream, the priest saw countless angels not only singing, but dancing.  He listened as they sang and eventually joined with them in ‘an ecstatic dance.’  When he woke, he not only remembered the dream in vivid detail, but also recalled the words and the music.  Feeling led by divine guidance, Suso picked up a quill and ink and recorded “Good Christian Men, Rejoice” to paper.”[xi]  The song became one more tool for Suso to reach the common people with the Good News, which he continued to do in Switzerland, despite his condemnation and exile.

By the way, in 1831, the Pope beatified Heinrich Suso, declaring him one step below a saint.

The final Christmas Carol we’re going to look at today is “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” number 167 in our hymnal.  Given how important African-American spirituals are to American hymnody, I was a little surprised this is the only Christmas Carol in our hymnal with those roots.  But it turns out that few Negro spirituals were about Christmas, at least as far as we know now.

Negro spirituals were born in the fields of the South, born out of the experience of slaves.  Few slaves were able to read and write, so the songs were passed along by the oral tradition and were not collected and written down until the turn of the 20th century.  When one considered the suffering of slaves in America, it’s not surprising that few songs focused on Christmas.  Most focused on the pain and suffering of this life and the hope for freedom in the next.  Sometimes that hoped for freedom was hoped for in this life as well, and so the spiritual became a form of protest and even a way to sharing information about escape.

But look at whom the verses are about in this hymn.  The shepherds take center stage, even over Jesus.  And when Jesus is talked about, it is his lowly state that is celebrated.

We, of course, know nothing about the composer(s) of this song.  But we can be thankful for the gift of this song.  So let’s sing it.


[i] These stories are gleaned from Ace Collins, Stories Behind the Best-Loved Songs of Christmas (Grand Rapids:  Zondervan, 2001).

[ii] Chalice Hymnal (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1995).

[iii] Collins, op. cit., p. 24.

[iv] I don’t remember when or where I heard this, but I did hear it.

[v] Collins, op. cit., p. 96.

[vi] Ibid, p. 97.

[vii] Ibid.

[viii] As quoted by Collins, p 98.  Collins says this is the second verse, but poetically I think it is more likely the third verse.  Wikipedia agrees with me, that it’s the third verse (see

[ix] Ibid, p. 59.

[x] Ibid.

[xi] Ibid, p. 60.


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