The 19th Century English carol begins with a question, “What child is this, who, laid to rest, On Mary’s lap is sleeping?” Of course, it is answered right off: “This, this is Christ the king, Whom shepherds guard and angels sing.” And with such a conclusion we can do none other than instruct each other: “Haste, haste to bring Him laud, the Babe, the Son of Mary!”

But let’s not move too quickly off the question. We sing the carols and waltz through the season but few, even in the church, take the question seriously. What child is this? We’ve decorated houses, held parties and showered loved ones with presents all, supposedly, in honor of this child but few ask “Why?” We’ve sent cards, traveled across the country to visit family “for the holiday;” we’ve built houses of worship and utter prayers in his name. We even date time from his birth - 2008 winters since the arrival of the one who slept on Mary’s lap, give or take a few years. All these traditions with generations and layers of stories! Is it even possible to ask the question, “What child is this?” Since the whole biblical story is told backwards from the door of the empty tomb we are really asking the question “What man is this?” We ask, we tell, we sing carols and play with the pageant and in the story we find a doorway to light and life. He is the child of light.

What child is this? If light and life, how do you encounter him ... as sage and prophet, teacher and guide, revolutionary and movement founder, lord and savior, son of man, son of God? Or, do all the layers of tradition and custom get in the way? What child is this laid to rest in greeting cards and pageant scenes, co-opted by governments, and so manipulated by some churches that, if he returned, Jesus would not recognize himself.

Matthew had some definite ideas. The magi (often called kings or wise men, but magi to Matthew) presented gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Not subtle at all: the gift of gold is one appropriate for a king; frankincense, a tool of the priest in the temple; and myrrh, the burial spice for the slain prophet. King, priest and prophet; that’s who this child might be. King was at the center of Matthew’s telling of the birth; even announced by Herod: go, find this king of the Jews, this child king. Of course Herod wanted to kill the child; kings don’t take lightly to competition.

What child is this? It is the key question for Christians to ask. Does the babe in the manger become friend or king; personal savior or head of the church? Does he forgive my sins or usher in the kingdom of God’s justice and peace? If you say “All of the above,” what hymn are you apt to sing: “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” or “Crown Him with Many Crowns?” Might you be singing “I’ll Fly Away” or “Called as Partners in Christ’s Service?” When spiritually motivated do you fall to your knees or head to the front of the line for workers? Is Jesus the lover of my soul or the one who frees slaves and lets the oppressed go free? What child is this?

One of our adult classes is reading through Brian McLaren’s newest book: Everything Must Change: Jesus, Global Crises and a Revolution of Hope. He certainly hits the hot button words: change, hope, revolution, crisis ... and Jesus (No, I’m not talking about Mike Huckabee.) McLaren is asking the same question as the carol: What child is this? It is an important question. Writing from a background as an American evangelical, McLaren has found that the definition of Jesus as the one who “forgives my sins and ushers me to heaven” to be quite an incomplete image and one that insults the fuller witness of the scriptures. For Jesus, as Matthew reminds us, was the king in the face of Herod, who announced the kingdom of God right under the nose of the Kingdom of Caesar. He was born against the wishes of the empire, lived in conflict with the empire and was killed by decree of the empire. And, from that beginning, Christians have had an uneasy relationship with empire.

What child is this? Activists have him look like Che and lead mass movements; isolationists turn him into a personal savior who lives in one’s heart, separate from the world, even celebrating the demise of the world.

What child is this? I invite you to consider among the many good ones the image of light. He is light in darkness; light that keeps shining. As Matthew told the story it is the child, more than the heavenly star, that is the real light. It is the child who draws in the magi and it is the child who is the continuity of the light that broke through in creation, appeared in Moses and the prophets and continues in the world today, even born to us today.

I’ve been thinking of such light as Alison and I read through the Christmas letters. (Unlike the common jokes about the copied Christmas letter, I love to receive them and get caught up with friends at a distance.) Guy, my best friend in high school, wrote that his mother died this past year. She’s missed but, as he wrote, just shy of 92 she lived a long and wonderful life. Dick and Carol wrote of difficult times with health. They are hanging on, obviously anxious, but hoping for a bit of light in the new year. Sally wrote of being separated from her husband at the end of the year. “The children keep me going.” In contrast, Steve’s note overflows with a sense of gratitude, what with a new, healthy baby in the household. Cardray sent a photo of himself from Iraq, in full military gear with helmet, sun glasses and rifle across his lap, sitting against a crumbling stone wall. He wrote: “I love you and miss you.” And then there were all the prayers for peace. Prayers for light and life. These notes celebrate the gift of light and express a deep longing for light where there is darkness.

What child is this? Why, the child born this day is light, light in darkness. And the darkness shall not overcome it.