All that he is
Commentary
Object:
The Psalmist cries out "O, magnify the Lord with me" (Psalm 34:3), and we make take that as our invitation and our calling this holiday. The occasion and Scriptures combine to give us that opportunity. They give us the chance to magnify the Lord.
When I was a boy, I misunderstood the phrase "magnify the Lord." It made no sense to me, for I thought that you can't make God bigger than he already is. And, of course, we can't. But what we can do with him is something akin to what we do with any magnifying glass: we can try to look at him more closely and to see him more clearly.
In that sense, of course, it is always the role of the preacher to be a magnifying glass for the congregation. And today's familiar passages are a great benefit to us in that work. Specifically, each passage enables us to look more closely at Jesus, and thus to see him more clearly.
Opponents notwithstanding, you and I still see a fair number of nativity scenes in stores, churches, front yards, and individual homes. They represent the Christmas event. But in those scenes, all we really see is that Jesus is a baby. And candidly, that may be all that so much of the culture around us knows about him this Christmas.
But Jesus is more than just a baby. He was then, which is why the angels, Herod, shepherds, and Magi all responded in the ways that they did. And he is certainly more than a baby now. So it is that Isaiah, Luke, and Paul cooperate with one another and with us today to help us proclaim all that he is!
Isaiah 9:2-7
Preaching is a privilege, to be sure. I'd be hard pressed to think of a greater one. Yet occasionally I wish that we worked in a different medium, for words -- at least my words -- seem inadequate for the task. And specifically just now I'm thinking of both music and painting.
The composer and the artist are able to do things, you see, that the preacher cannot. For when we speak, we are obliged to speak only one word, one phrase, one sentence at a time. To overlap words and phrases would become incoherent for our audiences. Yet the composer is able to arrange many notes together at a single moment in his piece. And the artist, meanwhile, is able to present an entire picture at once, with all of its colors and details there to be seen and discovered.
This familiar seasonal passage from Isaiah might be more effectively presented to our people in music or art than in words. Our challenge is to help our people see and hear simultaneously the truths that are contained here. They are gospel truths, and these few prophetic verses are packed full of them.
First, we note the familiar theme of light and darkness. From the first act of God at creation (Genesis 1:3) to the climactic descriptions of the New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23-25), light and darkness are recurring themes in Scripture. And we perceive that the issue is not merely the literal, physical state of light or dark. Rather, we recognize that those physical states become metaphors for deeper, spiritual conditions (e.g., Psalm 82:5; John 8:12). And that seems to be what is at stake here for the people referenced in Isaiah 9:2.
Second, we hear here the theme of rejoicing, which is surely a part of our association with this holiday. To capture the quality of that promised gladness, the prophet utilizes two contemporary images that would have had familiar and practical meaning for his audience: namely, harvesting crops and dividing spoils. Both connote abundance and success. Yet while we do not naturally associate Christmas with warfare, the prophet expands more on that imagery than on the harvest.
There is talk of oppressors, battles, warriors, and blood. This is not the stuff of secular Christmas songs -- "White Christmas," "Winter Wonderland," or "Frosty the Snowman" -- to be sure. Yet a thoughtful reading of our Christian corpus of Christmas music, on the other hand, reveals some very sober themes. Consider the imagery, for example, found in "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," "Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus," or "Joy to the World." Our hymnody recognizes that Christmas is no trite celebration. There are, indeed, issues of oppression, liberty, and victory involved.
Then we come to the most familiar -- and probably most cherished -- portion of the passage. George Frideric Handel has perhaps done more than any preacher to make famous Isaiah's language about the child that will be born and the names by which he will be called.
We will give more thought to these particulars below. For the present, though, it is sufficient for us to note simply the breadth of the promise. The child's impact seems to be both global and eternal; his roles run the gamut from exalted to intimate; and his attributes range from power to peace.
Words can't do justice, therefore, to all that is here. You and I would need the skill of a musician or painter to capture all at once all of the gospel truths contained in these few prophetic verses.
Titus 2:11-14
When we think of the Christmas story, we tend to think of its tangible elements -- the ones that can be depicted in a crèche or nativity tableau. We think of angels and shepherds, wise men and gifts, stable and manger, parents and baby. Yet the apostle Paul offers a different take on the familiar scene. "The grace of God has appeared," he writes, "bringing salvation to all men."
Write that as the caption below the picture. When we see the cherished tableau or crèche, let this be our understanding of it. It is not merely that a baby has been born, but that the grace of God has appeared. It is not only that God sent his Son, but that that baby has brought salvation for all.
As Paul expands on that salvation, he portrays a kind of reorientation of a human life. On the one side, there are the worldly desires and ungodliness. On the other side, there is sensible, righteous, and godly living. Likewise, at the end of the passage he juxtaposes "every lawless deed" and "good deeds." The salvation of God, you see, instructs us to turn from the one to the other.
The trick, of course, is found in the phrase "the present age." Paul understands that a global change awaits -- a new age with a new way of living. In the meantime, however, the prevailing winds in this world blow mostly contrary to the ways of God. To deny the worldly desires and live righteously "in the present age," therefore, is a profound challenge. No fish has had to swim upstream against so strong a current as the man or woman of God seeking to live for him in a fallen world.
Finally, the apostle turns to a future prospect. Interestingly, he balances his earlier statement by utilizing the same word. The underlying Greek words, which we translate "appeared" and "appearing" are the source of our word Epiphany, and this epiphany evidently comes in two phases. The grace of God has already appeared; we still wait and hope, however, for the appearing of his glory.
Harry Emerson Fosdick's familiar hymn is not a Christmas carol, but it surely fits the spirit and themes of this passage. The salutation "God of grace and God of glory" captures the two-part nature of his appearing. "Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days,"1 meanwhile, speaks to our challenge of living between his first and his second comings.
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
It is Matthew, with his characteristic concern for the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, who reports the significance of Jesus' birth occurring in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:4-6). But it is Luke who tells us how it came to pass that a couple from Nazareth should have their baby in that prophesied town. The emperor in Rome had no idea how his decree was just a bumper in God's bank shot.
Interestingly, while Caesar Augustus was the big cheese in the world at the time, he places second in this narrative to a different king. And specifically, a king that had already been dead for a thousand years at that, for the truly dominant human monarch in this passage is David, who is mentioned three separate times in these fourteen verses. First, the narrator associates Bethlehem with David, and then Joseph with David. And later, the angel also makes the connection between Bethlehem and David.
The angelic reference is especially conspicuous. The shepherds, we assume, were located not far from Bethlehem. If you or I, therefore, had wanted to direct them to some site in Bethlehem, how would we have done it? Well, if I am just outside of town, I would simply say, "In town." And if I were a tad further removed, I would specify the town by name; I'd refer to it as Bethlehem. The angel, however, seems to go out of his way to introduce David into the news, eschewing the town's actual name and referring to it rather as "the city of David."
Even the audience for the angelic news tacitly recalls David. He, after all, is the most famous Bethlehem shepherd.
The prominence of David is no accident, of course, for by highlighting that particular man from history the story tells us a great deal about the baby in the present. And just as Jesus is implicitly tied to David here, the Palm Sunday crowds make the connection explicit, calling out "Hosanna to the Son of David" (Matthew 21:9). In human terms, Jesus is the son of Joseph, but Joseph is irrelevant to the crowds' expectations.
Not long after Palm Sunday, a conversation between Jesus and the Pharisees reveals what those specific expectations were. "What do you think of the Messiah?" Jesus asked them. "Whose son is he?" And without question or hesitation, the Pharisees responded, "The son of David" (Matthew 22:41). The prominence of David in the story of Jesus' birth, therefore, is a subtle witness to who Jesus is and what he will be.
Finally, the familiar scene in the field and night sky outside of Bethlehem paints a fascinating picture of reality. The human audience, we observe, was small, motley, and afraid. In the sky overhead, meanwhile, there was "a multitude of the heavenly host praising God." Perhaps that scene is not limited to Christmas night. Perhaps that is always the case. Perhaps the human audience for the good news of Jesus is always lagging behind the fabulous understanding and adoration of the heavenly host.
Application
The Isaiah and Luke passages go hand in hand: they both speak of a birth, and we see in retrospect that they speak of the same birth. The former declares "Unto us is born," and the latter proclaims "Unto you is born…" We observe, therefore, that it is a surprisingly personalized birth. In neither case is the audience the immediate family of the baby, you see, and yet still the birth is somehow "unto" them. This is the first layer of gospel to be revealed about all that Jesus is: namely, that he is personal; that he is "unto you."
Both the prophetic and angelic messengers tell about the birth of a child, and each one elaborates on the identity of that child. As we have noted above, both texts identify the child with David. The Luke passage makes its three different references to David, deliberately tying the baby's lineage and birthplace to that singularly important figure from Israel's history. Isaiah, meanwhile, anticipates that the child who is born will one day occupy "the throne of David and (rule) over his kingdom." And that is not expected to be the finite reign of an ordinary monarch, but "from then on and forevermore." This is a very special baby indeed.
Furthermore, Isaiah's prophecy offers a famous list of titles for this child: "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace." Within the ordinary context of human events it is an astounding prospect, you see. For it is no mere mortal that is being promised for David's throne and kingdom. Rather, in a remarkable turn, it is evidently God himself who will occupy David's throne and rule eternally over that kingdom.
As an aside, we may note that the natural tendency for a great many Christians is to keep God at a distance. And I don't necessarily mean, in this case, that we keep him at a distance personally, but rather that we keep him at a distance theologically. In our beliefs and doctrines, we associate him and his presence primarily with heaven. Yet from the God who comes walking in the Garden of Eden to the God who plans to occupy David's throne to the God who puts on flesh and is born in Bethlehem, we worship an astonishingly personal and present God. So while we tend to relegate him to heaven, the end-time declaration instead says this: "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them" (Revelation 21:3).
Meanwhile, the angel in Luke also weighs in on the identity of the baby. In addition to the Davidic references, the angel calls Jesus "Savior," "Christ," and "Lord." These three terms are so full of power and meaning that each deserves its own sermon. Perhaps one year I will preach a four-part Advent sermon series on what just what the angel says alone.
The news that "there has been born for you a Savior" speaks, first, of the human need for a Savior, as well as the truth that only God himself can be that savior (Isaiah 43:11). Also, it reminds us of the significance of Jesus' name (see Matthew 1:21), how he articulates his mission (Luke 19:10), and how the apostle Paul summarizes the reason for his coming (1 Timothy 1:15).
The title "Christ," of course, carries in Greek the same meaning as the Hebrew "Messiah." This baby is the long-awaited anointed one. He has been promised and foretold. For generations, the people had hung their hopes on the prospect of his coming. That single term, therefore, carries with it an accumulated meaning, enhanced and enriched by years of prophecies. And now the angel affirmed that the Christ, with all that means, was here.
Finally, the angel calls him "the Lord." This is likely to be an undervalued term in our vernacular, for it has almost no meaning apart from a religious context. In the world of the Bible, however, it was a word with real-world teeth. It connoted ownership, authority, and sovereignty. It was a human title with such potency that the people of God found it an apt title for him. And over the course of generations, it also became associated with the revered name of God. For the angel to call this baby "the Lord," therefore, was a statement of tremendous substance.
And so on this holiday, we may put the pieces together from the selected texts and preach the gospel. Indeed, more gospel than can be easily fit into a single message. For it is the profound good news of all that he is!
An Alternative Application
Luke 2:1-14 -- "And the Government." The people of Jesus' day may have tended to over-politicize their understanding of the Messiah. Fixated on the political and military reality of the occupying Roman Empire, they expected God's promised one to function as a heroic military figure, a liberating revolutionary, and a strong monarch. And so they misunderstood and underestimated what the real work of Jesus would be.
Conversely, the people of our day by tend to under-politicize their understanding of Christ. That's not to say that Christians -- or their preachers -- necessarily ought to be more overtly or actively political. Rather, we need to rediscover the biblical truth that Jesus is Lord and that he will one day reign over all.
That political reality is plainly anticipated, of course, in the familiar language of Isaiah 9. David's throne is referenced, and an ever-growing kingdom is promised. No need to spiritualize the message, for its plain meaning is quite clear. Government is mentioned twice. And the expected child will be the centerpiece of that awaited government.
The Luke narrative, meanwhile, tells the story of that child's birth and openly identifies him as the Christ. But it is Luke's starting place for his story that adds a political hue to the picture. For I think we make a mistake if we dismiss the references to Caesar Augustus and Quirinius as mere narrative stage-setting. I believe there is a larger, theological component to the storyteller's choice.
The story begins with a sovereign's decree. What Caesar dictates sets people and events in motion. It has a seemingly global impact. Yet the decree from Caesar Augustus is juxtaposed in short order with a declaration from a different Sovereign. The Lord God has a plan, and it is announced by no less than angel heralds. Moreover, the impact of the Lord's activity it is even more global than Caesar's sway, for it "shall be for all the people."
We may also detect a gently condescending tone in Luke's narrative. "This was the first census taken," he notes, "while Quirinius was governor of Syria." The human potentates and their actions are implicitly minimized. These rulers, after all, come and go. Their tenures have beginnings and ends. And their big-deal decrees can be condensed to enumeration.
In contrast, the activity of God that Luke reports is epochal. It is a once-in-history event, and it changes everything. And the important human rulers of their day are reduced to mere props -- backdrop, scenery -- in the story of Jesus' birth.
__________
1. Harry E. Fosdick, "God of Grace and God of Glory," United Methodist Hymnal, #577.
When I was a boy, I misunderstood the phrase "magnify the Lord." It made no sense to me, for I thought that you can't make God bigger than he already is. And, of course, we can't. But what we can do with him is something akin to what we do with any magnifying glass: we can try to look at him more closely and to see him more clearly.
In that sense, of course, it is always the role of the preacher to be a magnifying glass for the congregation. And today's familiar passages are a great benefit to us in that work. Specifically, each passage enables us to look more closely at Jesus, and thus to see him more clearly.
Opponents notwithstanding, you and I still see a fair number of nativity scenes in stores, churches, front yards, and individual homes. They represent the Christmas event. But in those scenes, all we really see is that Jesus is a baby. And candidly, that may be all that so much of the culture around us knows about him this Christmas.
But Jesus is more than just a baby. He was then, which is why the angels, Herod, shepherds, and Magi all responded in the ways that they did. And he is certainly more than a baby now. So it is that Isaiah, Luke, and Paul cooperate with one another and with us today to help us proclaim all that he is!
Isaiah 9:2-7
Preaching is a privilege, to be sure. I'd be hard pressed to think of a greater one. Yet occasionally I wish that we worked in a different medium, for words -- at least my words -- seem inadequate for the task. And specifically just now I'm thinking of both music and painting.
The composer and the artist are able to do things, you see, that the preacher cannot. For when we speak, we are obliged to speak only one word, one phrase, one sentence at a time. To overlap words and phrases would become incoherent for our audiences. Yet the composer is able to arrange many notes together at a single moment in his piece. And the artist, meanwhile, is able to present an entire picture at once, with all of its colors and details there to be seen and discovered.
This familiar seasonal passage from Isaiah might be more effectively presented to our people in music or art than in words. Our challenge is to help our people see and hear simultaneously the truths that are contained here. They are gospel truths, and these few prophetic verses are packed full of them.
First, we note the familiar theme of light and darkness. From the first act of God at creation (Genesis 1:3) to the climactic descriptions of the New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:23-25), light and darkness are recurring themes in Scripture. And we perceive that the issue is not merely the literal, physical state of light or dark. Rather, we recognize that those physical states become metaphors for deeper, spiritual conditions (e.g., Psalm 82:5; John 8:12). And that seems to be what is at stake here for the people referenced in Isaiah 9:2.
Second, we hear here the theme of rejoicing, which is surely a part of our association with this holiday. To capture the quality of that promised gladness, the prophet utilizes two contemporary images that would have had familiar and practical meaning for his audience: namely, harvesting crops and dividing spoils. Both connote abundance and success. Yet while we do not naturally associate Christmas with warfare, the prophet expands more on that imagery than on the harvest.
There is talk of oppressors, battles, warriors, and blood. This is not the stuff of secular Christmas songs -- "White Christmas," "Winter Wonderland," or "Frosty the Snowman" -- to be sure. Yet a thoughtful reading of our Christian corpus of Christmas music, on the other hand, reveals some very sober themes. Consider the imagery, for example, found in "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," "Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus," or "Joy to the World." Our hymnody recognizes that Christmas is no trite celebration. There are, indeed, issues of oppression, liberty, and victory involved.
Then we come to the most familiar -- and probably most cherished -- portion of the passage. George Frideric Handel has perhaps done more than any preacher to make famous Isaiah's language about the child that will be born and the names by which he will be called.
We will give more thought to these particulars below. For the present, though, it is sufficient for us to note simply the breadth of the promise. The child's impact seems to be both global and eternal; his roles run the gamut from exalted to intimate; and his attributes range from power to peace.
Words can't do justice, therefore, to all that is here. You and I would need the skill of a musician or painter to capture all at once all of the gospel truths contained in these few prophetic verses.
Titus 2:11-14
When we think of the Christmas story, we tend to think of its tangible elements -- the ones that can be depicted in a crèche or nativity tableau. We think of angels and shepherds, wise men and gifts, stable and manger, parents and baby. Yet the apostle Paul offers a different take on the familiar scene. "The grace of God has appeared," he writes, "bringing salvation to all men."
Write that as the caption below the picture. When we see the cherished tableau or crèche, let this be our understanding of it. It is not merely that a baby has been born, but that the grace of God has appeared. It is not only that God sent his Son, but that that baby has brought salvation for all.
As Paul expands on that salvation, he portrays a kind of reorientation of a human life. On the one side, there are the worldly desires and ungodliness. On the other side, there is sensible, righteous, and godly living. Likewise, at the end of the passage he juxtaposes "every lawless deed" and "good deeds." The salvation of God, you see, instructs us to turn from the one to the other.
The trick, of course, is found in the phrase "the present age." Paul understands that a global change awaits -- a new age with a new way of living. In the meantime, however, the prevailing winds in this world blow mostly contrary to the ways of God. To deny the worldly desires and live righteously "in the present age," therefore, is a profound challenge. No fish has had to swim upstream against so strong a current as the man or woman of God seeking to live for him in a fallen world.
Finally, the apostle turns to a future prospect. Interestingly, he balances his earlier statement by utilizing the same word. The underlying Greek words, which we translate "appeared" and "appearing" are the source of our word Epiphany, and this epiphany evidently comes in two phases. The grace of God has already appeared; we still wait and hope, however, for the appearing of his glory.
Harry Emerson Fosdick's familiar hymn is not a Christmas carol, but it surely fits the spirit and themes of this passage. The salutation "God of grace and God of glory" captures the two-part nature of his appearing. "Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days,"1 meanwhile, speaks to our challenge of living between his first and his second comings.
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
It is Matthew, with his characteristic concern for the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, who reports the significance of Jesus' birth occurring in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:4-6). But it is Luke who tells us how it came to pass that a couple from Nazareth should have their baby in that prophesied town. The emperor in Rome had no idea how his decree was just a bumper in God's bank shot.
Interestingly, while Caesar Augustus was the big cheese in the world at the time, he places second in this narrative to a different king. And specifically, a king that had already been dead for a thousand years at that, for the truly dominant human monarch in this passage is David, who is mentioned three separate times in these fourteen verses. First, the narrator associates Bethlehem with David, and then Joseph with David. And later, the angel also makes the connection between Bethlehem and David.
The angelic reference is especially conspicuous. The shepherds, we assume, were located not far from Bethlehem. If you or I, therefore, had wanted to direct them to some site in Bethlehem, how would we have done it? Well, if I am just outside of town, I would simply say, "In town." And if I were a tad further removed, I would specify the town by name; I'd refer to it as Bethlehem. The angel, however, seems to go out of his way to introduce David into the news, eschewing the town's actual name and referring to it rather as "the city of David."
Even the audience for the angelic news tacitly recalls David. He, after all, is the most famous Bethlehem shepherd.
The prominence of David is no accident, of course, for by highlighting that particular man from history the story tells us a great deal about the baby in the present. And just as Jesus is implicitly tied to David here, the Palm Sunday crowds make the connection explicit, calling out "Hosanna to the Son of David" (Matthew 21:9). In human terms, Jesus is the son of Joseph, but Joseph is irrelevant to the crowds' expectations.
Not long after Palm Sunday, a conversation between Jesus and the Pharisees reveals what those specific expectations were. "What do you think of the Messiah?" Jesus asked them. "Whose son is he?" And without question or hesitation, the Pharisees responded, "The son of David" (Matthew 22:41). The prominence of David in the story of Jesus' birth, therefore, is a subtle witness to who Jesus is and what he will be.
Finally, the familiar scene in the field and night sky outside of Bethlehem paints a fascinating picture of reality. The human audience, we observe, was small, motley, and afraid. In the sky overhead, meanwhile, there was "a multitude of the heavenly host praising God." Perhaps that scene is not limited to Christmas night. Perhaps that is always the case. Perhaps the human audience for the good news of Jesus is always lagging behind the fabulous understanding and adoration of the heavenly host.
Application
The Isaiah and Luke passages go hand in hand: they both speak of a birth, and we see in retrospect that they speak of the same birth. The former declares "Unto us is born," and the latter proclaims "Unto you is born…" We observe, therefore, that it is a surprisingly personalized birth. In neither case is the audience the immediate family of the baby, you see, and yet still the birth is somehow "unto" them. This is the first layer of gospel to be revealed about all that Jesus is: namely, that he is personal; that he is "unto you."
Both the prophetic and angelic messengers tell about the birth of a child, and each one elaborates on the identity of that child. As we have noted above, both texts identify the child with David. The Luke passage makes its three different references to David, deliberately tying the baby's lineage and birthplace to that singularly important figure from Israel's history. Isaiah, meanwhile, anticipates that the child who is born will one day occupy "the throne of David and (rule) over his kingdom." And that is not expected to be the finite reign of an ordinary monarch, but "from then on and forevermore." This is a very special baby indeed.
Furthermore, Isaiah's prophecy offers a famous list of titles for this child: "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace." Within the ordinary context of human events it is an astounding prospect, you see. For it is no mere mortal that is being promised for David's throne and kingdom. Rather, in a remarkable turn, it is evidently God himself who will occupy David's throne and rule eternally over that kingdom.
As an aside, we may note that the natural tendency for a great many Christians is to keep God at a distance. And I don't necessarily mean, in this case, that we keep him at a distance personally, but rather that we keep him at a distance theologically. In our beliefs and doctrines, we associate him and his presence primarily with heaven. Yet from the God who comes walking in the Garden of Eden to the God who plans to occupy David's throne to the God who puts on flesh and is born in Bethlehem, we worship an astonishingly personal and present God. So while we tend to relegate him to heaven, the end-time declaration instead says this: "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them" (Revelation 21:3).
Meanwhile, the angel in Luke also weighs in on the identity of the baby. In addition to the Davidic references, the angel calls Jesus "Savior," "Christ," and "Lord." These three terms are so full of power and meaning that each deserves its own sermon. Perhaps one year I will preach a four-part Advent sermon series on what just what the angel says alone.
The news that "there has been born for you a Savior" speaks, first, of the human need for a Savior, as well as the truth that only God himself can be that savior (Isaiah 43:11). Also, it reminds us of the significance of Jesus' name (see Matthew 1:21), how he articulates his mission (Luke 19:10), and how the apostle Paul summarizes the reason for his coming (1 Timothy 1:15).
The title "Christ," of course, carries in Greek the same meaning as the Hebrew "Messiah." This baby is the long-awaited anointed one. He has been promised and foretold. For generations, the people had hung their hopes on the prospect of his coming. That single term, therefore, carries with it an accumulated meaning, enhanced and enriched by years of prophecies. And now the angel affirmed that the Christ, with all that means, was here.
Finally, the angel calls him "the Lord." This is likely to be an undervalued term in our vernacular, for it has almost no meaning apart from a religious context. In the world of the Bible, however, it was a word with real-world teeth. It connoted ownership, authority, and sovereignty. It was a human title with such potency that the people of God found it an apt title for him. And over the course of generations, it also became associated with the revered name of God. For the angel to call this baby "the Lord," therefore, was a statement of tremendous substance.
And so on this holiday, we may put the pieces together from the selected texts and preach the gospel. Indeed, more gospel than can be easily fit into a single message. For it is the profound good news of all that he is!
An Alternative Application
Luke 2:1-14 -- "And the Government." The people of Jesus' day may have tended to over-politicize their understanding of the Messiah. Fixated on the political and military reality of the occupying Roman Empire, they expected God's promised one to function as a heroic military figure, a liberating revolutionary, and a strong monarch. And so they misunderstood and underestimated what the real work of Jesus would be.
Conversely, the people of our day by tend to under-politicize their understanding of Christ. That's not to say that Christians -- or their preachers -- necessarily ought to be more overtly or actively political. Rather, we need to rediscover the biblical truth that Jesus is Lord and that he will one day reign over all.
That political reality is plainly anticipated, of course, in the familiar language of Isaiah 9. David's throne is referenced, and an ever-growing kingdom is promised. No need to spiritualize the message, for its plain meaning is quite clear. Government is mentioned twice. And the expected child will be the centerpiece of that awaited government.
The Luke narrative, meanwhile, tells the story of that child's birth and openly identifies him as the Christ. But it is Luke's starting place for his story that adds a political hue to the picture. For I think we make a mistake if we dismiss the references to Caesar Augustus and Quirinius as mere narrative stage-setting. I believe there is a larger, theological component to the storyteller's choice.
The story begins with a sovereign's decree. What Caesar dictates sets people and events in motion. It has a seemingly global impact. Yet the decree from Caesar Augustus is juxtaposed in short order with a declaration from a different Sovereign. The Lord God has a plan, and it is announced by no less than angel heralds. Moreover, the impact of the Lord's activity it is even more global than Caesar's sway, for it "shall be for all the people."
We may also detect a gently condescending tone in Luke's narrative. "This was the first census taken," he notes, "while Quirinius was governor of Syria." The human potentates and their actions are implicitly minimized. These rulers, after all, come and go. Their tenures have beginnings and ends. And their big-deal decrees can be condensed to enumeration.
In contrast, the activity of God that Luke reports is epochal. It is a once-in-history event, and it changes everything. And the important human rulers of their day are reduced to mere props -- backdrop, scenery -- in the story of Jesus' birth.
__________
1. Harry E. Fosdick, "God of Grace and God of Glory," United Methodist Hymnal, #577.
