Letting Go of the Blanket: Fear Not, for Christ Is Born

Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.

Christmas Eve is probably my favorite day of the year. And I realize that I say that just about every Sunday. I do not know—maybe I just love Sundays—but I really do love Christmas Eve. I love the candlelight singing of Silent Night, especially the third verse when the church sings it a cappella. I especially love the ending of this service, when we step out of the pews, form a circle around the sanctuary, and sing to one another instead of everyone facing Pastor Ross at the front of the church.

There is a lot of sentimentality there. There is a lot of emotion there—because of the hope and the grace that Christmas brings.

You guys like Peanuts? Not the food—the comic.

Yeah, both, right.

I did not realize that the comic was actually called Peanuts until I was a teenager. I always just called it Snoopy or Charlie Brown. And of course, there is the famous Peanuts Christmas special. There is a character in Peanuts named Linus. If you remember Linus, he is a young boy, and what does he always have with him? His blue blanket—his security blanket. He gets very upset without it. It gives him peace. It gives him comfort.

As A Charlie Brown Christmas reaches the climax of the story, Charlie Brown keeps asking, “What is the reason for Christmas? What is the point of Christmas?” And Linus says, “I’ll tell you, Charlie Brown.” He walks out onto the stage, and all of a sudden the spotlight hits him, and he begins to recite Luke chapter 2. He is holding that blanket the entire time—until verse 10: “And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not. For behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people.’” And when Linus says the words “fear not,” he lets go of his security blanket.

It would be a terrifying thing to meet an angel. I do not know if you have ever seen those images online of so-called “biblically accurate angels”—they are pretty frightening. But even aside from that, to encounter a heavenly being, a messenger of God, wrapped in the holy light of God, would be terrifying. And if you read the Bible, almost every time angels appear, their first words seem to be the same: “Fear not. Do not be afraid.”

We have many fears in this life, because we want control. And the truth is, our lives are often out of control. When our lives feel out of control, we cling to things—because those things give us peace and comfort.

Those things can become idols. And we have many idols in our lives: ourselves, our politics, our jobs, even our nation and our communities. Even family can become an idol. They become our safety blankets. They make us feel safe and secure, as though we have agency in the world.

And it is true—we do have agency in the world. But that agency is marred by two things: our sin and our neighbor’s sin. Sometimes our neighbor’s sin affects us, and sometimes our sin affects others. And it ruins things.

It is Christmas Eve. Did you have any arguments with your family today? What about tomorrow?

It is going to happen. You are going to argue—even though it is the holidays, the holy days, the twelve days of Christmas. You are going to want to tell people where they are wrong. People are going to want to tell you where you are wrong. And you will want to control each other, because it all goes back to Genesis chapter 3. We, like Adam and Eve, desire to be like God—to be the one in charge, the one calling the shots. It makes us feel safe. It makes us feel secure.

But we are not safe. We are not secure. That sin we carry is killing us.

There is a Pink Floyd lyric—“another day closer to death.” If you do not know which song that is, just put on The Dark Side of the Moon and start listening. You will hear it soon enough.

We cannot stop that. We cannot stop our bodies from aging. We cannot stop sickness and illness. And we cannot make a utopia here on earth. We strive and we fight to make the world a better place. For some of you, that is literally your job—to keep others safe from the evils of the world, or to preach the good news, to call out sin, and to proclaim the gospel.

But even with all of that, a utopia will not be established on this side of eternity. That is why it is called utopia—“no place,” or “nowhere,” when translated.

God sees this. He saw it in the garden. He saw Adam and Eve sin. And after announcing the curses, he made a promise: that a Savior would come to make the world right again. That even though everything in our sinful flesh rebels against God, we are called to trust him—to place our cares and worries in his hands, to place our very lives in his hands.

For he is not a God who is far off. He is not distant. He is not limited. He is the God who created the universe and who walks with you every single day. He is the God who placed his name upon you. He is the God who feeds you the meal of immortality. He is the God who came in the flesh.

And so the message of the angel is this: do not fear, because God is our safety blanket.

God is what makes us whole. God is the one who removes our sin. God is the one who says, “Even though you die, yet shall you live; and whoever believes in me shall never die.”

This is the meaning of Christmas:

The God of heaven and earth invaded the domain of Satan and wrested back his children. The Shepherd came and defeated the bear and the lion and Goliath—not with tanks or bombs or guns, but as a baby.

I know—the most dangerous thing in the world: a baby.

But he was the hope of the nations. He was the very light of God—the light shining in the darkness, a darkness that does not understand it and cannot overcome it. He came because he loves you deeply and profoundly. He came to know what it is like to be human—even to die.

He is our Savior who rescues us. He is the Christ, the Messiah, the Anointed One. And what was he anointed to do? To take up the cross.

Yet the story does not stop there. In a few months, you will all be back here again, because it will be Easter. He came to break the power of the grave—this little baby.

He came to give us hope: the peace that surpasses all understanding, the peace that surpasses the power of the world, the peace that is the very peace of God Himself.

And when we hear this message, we do not bury it in the ground. We do not keep it to ourselves. We cannot. Look at how our culture picks up on Christmas. There are Christmas movies like Die Hard and A Christmas Story. And yes, Die Hard is a Christmas movie—I will stand on that.

We put up lights. We wish people a Merry Christmas. We wear special sweaters—sometimes ugly sweaters, sometimes beautiful ones. And what do they say? Merry Christmas. A child is born. Our food changes—Christmas cookies everywhere.

Just in time, too, because seven days from now many of you will swear off cookies with your New Year’s resolutions.

We change our lives for a month, because we cannot contain the good news. It is so good that heaven itself could not remain silent. A heavenly host appeared to the shepherds to declare the praises of God: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased.”

You are the ones with whom he is pleased. You are his children—his beloved children—whom he came to shepherd.

This is why I love this night. It is not just Silent Night. It is not just the candles. It is because that night, two thousand years ago, still makes the church bells ring with a hope that is unconquerable and cannot be driven out—a hope that can even make a little boy let go of his blanket.

May the light of Christ shine in your hearts now and always.
In Christ’s name. Amen.