Happy Christmas, almost.
26th of July, 2016, about 10.30 in the morning,
I was handed this little red alien-looking thing
that we now call our son, Ruben.
Where's Pete, who was interviewed?
Have you got kids?
You use the word pure when it comes to the birth of a baby.
Not me. It's the wrong word.
That is not the word that comes to mind when I think back to that moment.
And I prepared myself for being handed this little baby boy.
And I prepared myself for the emotions that I expected to feel.
So I expected to be absolutely overwhelmed by love.
And I expected myself to kind of be undone by thankfulness.
And I expected myself to feel this kind of burden-shedding sense of relief.
And I did feel all of those things.
But the overriding emotion, the most intense thing that I felt that day,
I had not prepared myself for.
And the emotion was vulnerability.
As I held this little baby boy, seconds old,
I felt massively, massively vulnerable.
And it made no sense to me.
Out of the three people significantly involved,
so maybe me less significantly,
but me, Sarah, my wife, and this little boy,
I was by far the least vulnerable.
So Sarah was still on the operating table,
the surgeon's still doing their thing,
the surgical nurse who's been unbelievably good,
emergency procedure, so quite scary.
She was massively vulnerable at that moment.
This little boy, seconds old,
could do nothing for himself,
being held by an amateur,
was massively, massively vulnerable.
And yet here's me feeling exactly the same thing.
And it made no sense to me.
I felt stupid feeling vulnerable.
But as I held him,
and I saw how much he needed me,
I started to doubt whether or not I could be that for him.
And as I saw this thing,
I'm not calling that, my wife tells me off.
As I saw this boy,
and how dependent he was going to be on us,
I questioned whether or not we could be dependable for him.
Has anyone else been there?
Has had kids?
I felt weak, exposed,
wondered whether or not I could be trusted.
I wasn't quite asking for the gift receipt,
but I was scared in that moment.
Now the only feeling that I could compare to it,
that I had that was kind of making sense of it,
was actually a very different moment.
And as a teenager,
my granny passed away with cancer.
I was very tight with my granny,
loved her a bit.
And when she had battled for a long time
with cancer of her esophagus,
she passed away at home as she wanted.
And we got the phone call,
and so me and my dad went round,
seeing my granddad.
But you know,
the event or the question
that sticks in my mind from that day
was when my dad turned to me and goes,
do you want to see your granny one last time?
I was in the living room.
She was still there in the bedroom.
And quick as a flash,
I said,
no.
And the reason I said no
was because I could not cope
with the vulnerability
that it made me feel.
Now,
they are two massively different events
at the total opposite spectrum
of human experience
and human existence.
The birth of a little boy,
the death of my granny,
and yet the emotion
in the mix of those two things
was exactly the same.
Massively,
massively vulnerable.
In those moments,
if you had asked me
which one is better,
the answer to that question
is almost
kind of offensively obvious.
Which is better,
the day of birth
or the day of death?
It's obvious.
I would trade
anything
to go through
the birth of a boy again
in comparison
to the death of my granny.
The day of birth
is better than the day of death.
Now,
if you come to this church,
you've been around,
you've been looking at
a book of the Bible
called Ecclesiastes.
If you've never been
to church before,
if you've never read
a book of the Bible before,
I dare you,
read Ecclesiastes.
It will do your nothing.
It's one of the books
in the Bible
that is fascinating
and yet frustrating.
And one of the places
where it most bugs
my happiness
is this verse.
Let me read it to you.
This is Ecclesiastes
chapter 7,
verse 1.
The day of death
is better
than the day of birth.
Happy Christmas.
Nice cheery note
to land on tonight.
Come to church,
they said.
It will be great,
they said.
Right, I said.
The day of death
better than
the day of birth.
Now, I read something
like that in the Bible
and I want to argue with it.
I want to say,
no danger,
I'm not having that.
So what's he saying?
I think his point is this.
The day of birth
holds only the potential
of what you might do.
Whereas the day of your death
shows the proof
of what you have done.
Which is it that gives
a better estimation
of your life?
The day of your birth
or the day of your death?
See,
in the day of your birth,
lots of people
probably looked at you
and said,
all those nonsense,
all those things
that make no sense,
but we all do.
And we dream dreams
and we have visions
of what this child
is going to do.
Whereas the day of death
gives us
a complete,
final account
account
of what we have
done.
The day of our death
will give a complete,
final account
to God
of what we have
done.
And in that sense,
the day of our death
is better
than the day of birth.
Now,
you let that land
and you go,
that makes me feel
massively,
massively
vulnerable.
Because it gives
weight
to everything
you say,
everything you think,
everything you do.
Doesn't it?
It means that
everything I did
yesterday
matters.
It means everything
I've done today
matters.
It means everything
I'll do tomorrow
matters.
It means that
what is said
at my funeral
will depend
on how I've
spent what
I'm given.
It means
that when God
looks at me
at the end
of my life,
what I've done
will determine
my eternity.
See,
when we
contemplate
this verse,
the day of
death,
better than
the day
of our
birth,
it should
land on us
as,
I am
vulnerable
given what
I've done.
And in fact,
I think that's
part of
the purpose
of the
Christmas story.
I think it's
part of
what we've
read tonight
from the
Bible.
It is
meant to
make me
and make
you feel
vulnerable.
The fact
that Jesus
would have
to come
from heaven
and become
a vulnerable
baby for
us shows
our
vulnerability.
The fact
that Jesus
would be
given names
like Emmanuel,
God with
us,
and then
Jesus,
Savior of
sinners,
shows that
he is going
to do
something for
us that
we cannot
do for
ourselves.
We're
vulnerable.
We need
saving.
And we may
not like that
because we
may think,
I want to
be my own
savior.
But deep
down we know
actually we
often need
saved from
ourselves.
But the
day of
Jesus'
birth does
give us
this promise
of Emmanuel,
God with
us,
Jesus,
Savior of
sinners.
But I
think as you
look at the
life of
Jesus,
that verse
applies.
The day
of his
death is
better than
the day
of his
birth.
Easter is
better than
Christmas.
Why?
Because in
his birth,
all we
are given
are promises
of what
he is
going to
do.
Whereas
by the
time of
his
death,
we are
given the
proof of
everything
that he
has done.
And so
you see
Jesus,
Easter
Friday,
strung up
on a
tree.
Why?
He is
suffering
hell to
save me
from hell.
He is
taking on
the
vulnerability
of death
and the
punishment
of hell
to save
me from
that.
Meaning
that without
him, I
am vulnerable
to that
prospect
after my
death.
And yet on
the cross,
Jesus takes
what I
deserve
to give
me what I
don't deserve.
He takes
hell to give
me heaven.
He takes
sin to
give me
his
perfection.
Which is
why the
day of
Jesus'
death, in
some ways,
is better
than the
day of
his birth.
Because it
gives you
the final
promise that
although at
Christmas we're
told he's
going to
come and
save, by
Easter you
say he
has saved
sinners.
Unlike
us, Jesus
doesn't just
have a day
of birth
though and
a day of
death.
he has
a day
of birth
Christmas,
he has
a day
of death
Easter,
but he
has a
third day.
He has
a resurrection
day.
He has
a day
that proves
everything
that he
has said
he will
do.
Because he
said he
will die
and he
did and
he said
he will
rise and
he did.
Meaning
that for a
Christian they
can actually
say that
their day
of death
will be
better than
their day
of birth.
Why?
Because the
day of
my birth
brought me
into this
world full
of suffering
and shame
and sin.
But if I
trust in
Jesus my
death is
going to
take me
out of
a world
of suffering
and shame
and sin
and into
a world
where there
is nothing
but light
and life.
Now you'll
sit on Christmas
Day at
some point
presents
opened,
turkeys
grand,
board games
played and
you'll probably
sit quite
content.
A little
oasis from
real life.
You don't
have to
work.
Telly's on
so the kids
are entertained
or you're
snoring away.
Life's okay.
A little
oasis.
But in many
ways that's
all it is,
isn't it?
Most of our
life is spent
chasing that
oasis that
will distract
ourselves from
the fact that
our life is
between these
two bookends.
a day of
birth and
a day of
death.
I was struck
by this last
Sunday.
Our church
doesn't have a
building.
We meet in a
place called
Libertus up in
Graves Mount.
It's a daycare
centre for
those at the
end of their
life,
particularly those
struggling with
dementia and
Alzheimer's.
Now my
grandparents on
my mother's
side both
passed away
with early
onset dementia
and Alzheimer's.
My mum worked
for Alzheimer's
Scotland for
years.
I know
what it's
like.
We sat
there last
Sunday morning
in what they
call their
art room.
And this is
where people
can come and
enjoy being
with other
people away
from the
loneliness of
home,
giving some
of their
family respite
and they're
entertained in
the art room.
And I'm
stood there
looking around
the room
seeing all
these kind
of craft
things that
they did.
And do you
know what it
reminded me
of?
All the
stuff that
my three
year old son
brings home
from nursery
that the
recycling bin
loves.
But isn't
it interesting
that the
same way
that we
are looked
after when
we are
young becomes
the same
way that we
are looked
after when
we're old.
Life is
short.
We begin
in nappies
and we
often end
in nappies.
It's a
cycle.
Often
humiliating.
always
vulnerable.
But where
we're
confronted
by life's
vulnerability,
the message
of Christmas
confronts us
with that
that shows
us although
we are
vulnerable
in the
face of
an eternity
from a
God that
we have
rebelled
against,
in Jesus
he is
promising
a
stability.
As Pete
talked about,
a peace,
a joy
that you
can find
not just
as an
oasis
to escape
the struggles
of life
but as a
reality to
help you
face the
struggles
of life.
Not just
a birthday
and a
death day
but a
third day.
The promise
of hope
beyond the
grave.
Now if you
don't know
that hope,
if you don't
know any
of this
stuff,
speak to
someone who
invited you
or someone
who looks
like they
know what
they're
talking about,
who sung
the carols
well,
and pester
them,
go home
and read
Ecclesiastes
and wrestle
with it,
argue with
it.
Maybe this
Christmas will
be the day
that you
can find
hope even
in the face
of this
day of
death.
I'm going
to pray
and then I
have no
idea what's
happening next.
Let me
pray.
Our
Father in
heaven,
we live
our lives
pursuing
escapes
from reality.
Longing to
find
something that
will numb
us from
what we
fear the
most.
Father,
I pray
that whether
it's just a
hungry soul
or a
troubled
soul
or a
tired
soul
or a
hopeless
soul
in here
tonight,
that they
might see
in the real
message at
the heart
of Christmas
the good
news
of Jesus
as
mighty
God,
everlasting
Father,
Prince of
peace.
And I
pray these
things in
his name.
Amen.