Extreme measures
Commentary
We live in a world of extremes. There are areas of extreme heat, like Death Valley, and areas of extreme cold, like Antarctica. There are extreme heights in the Himalayan Mountains and extreme depths in the Pacific Ocean's Mariana Trench. There are the extreme light of the sun and the extreme dark of a black hole. There are extreme wealth and extreme poverty, in some countries separated only by an eight-foot wall. In common language we describe a person's commitment by the willingness to go to extreme lengths to accomplish a goal. In sports, as a creative alternative to the NFL, NBA, NHL, and PGA, there are extreme sports with their winter and summer X-games.
God has gone to extremes at Christmas. On the cosmic stage of a single galaxy, on a particular speck of dust hurtling through space, in the course of the history that was unfolding painfully through time, God put flesh on his love and gave it muscle to bear the entire weight of the human condition. How does Isaiah anticipate this? What is Paul's take on it? What is Luke's hurry for us to witness this "with haste" with the shepherds? In a world where the appetite is for the extreme, we are in for quite a treat.
Isaiah 9:2-7
The words of hope in these verses are imbedded in words of judgment. It is not that the prophet speaks out of both sides of his mouth, but that the word of God is like a two-edged sword, cutting both ways -- with hurt and with healing. The people of God had felt the rod of his anger, the staff of his fury (Assyria; Isaiah 10:5) because of their godlessness. But, God, in his mercy, will do a new thing for his people, something as wonderful as the birth of a child. The darkness that had overshadowed the land will give way to a new light. Joy will replace the sadness that had broken the heart of the people, as they saw their land overrun and all their gains turned into spoils for a conquering army. This joy will be real, because the events that occasion it will be from the hand of God.
Isaiah recalls "the day of Midian" (9:4; see Judges 6-8), when Gideon championed the cause of the people. Gideon was chosen by God to save the people from the current oppression of the Midianites. To make sure that the people understood that it was God's hand which was directing the affairs, Gideon was told to reduce his contingent of 32,000 soldiers to 300. Now it would be clear that God brought about the victory. Gideon himself was an unlikely leader for such a critical time; he came from the weakest clan in Manasseh and spoke of himself as the least in his family (Judges 6:15). If anything good was going to come from his efforts, it would surely have to be God's doing.
What God is zealously doing not only makes use of unlikely resources, but also aims at an unlikely goal: peace rather than retaliation. This is an extreme contrary response to a people who cry out vengefully for retribution. But, God is more concerned with restoration. Perhaps this is why a child becomes the icon for coming times, rather than a warrior champion, clad in armor with weapon in hand. Justice and righteousness, not coercion and fear, will rule the day.
The extreme in God's plan is also revealed by the geography God chooses for his self-revelation. The hills of Palestine are as unlikely a place as any for something so momentous as the hand of God shaping the world for the Messiah. It is usually in the capitals of the world where the heralds cry out, "Prince of Peace," and whatever other titles are ascribed to the noble royalty in charge. To assert that God is brewing up something history-shaping and human-holding amongst a clan of people who cannot even stand up for themselves is something too preposterous to contemplate. Yet, such is the extreme nature of prophecy -- it is willing to stand on extreme edges and witness the work of God.
Titus 2:11-14
Paul's letter to Titus is not so much a "who's who" as a "what's what." Although a few first-century Christians are mentioned by name in his letter, he spends most of his efforts in describing just what the character of a Christian should be like -- and not just for bishops, but also for older and younger men and women and slaves. He sketches the behavior for Christians in relationship to government authorities, to others in the community, and to fellow Christians. Tucked right in the heart of all this practical advice is the reason for it all: God's grace, revealed in Jesus Christ saves us and trains us as we await the return of our Lord in glory. The strategic placement and use of gar expresses this grammatically.
Salvation belongs to God and is offered to all through Jesus Christ. This is grace: as one Christian educator defined it acrostically -- God's Riches According to Christ's Efforts. It is because of the excellence in what Christ Jesus has already done for us in his suffering and death and resurrection that we can boast of our right-standing before God. Our redemption from sin and death is a gift; so is our sanctification. For the work that Christ began in his flesh on the cross for us continues in our flesh, as we are trained in holiness and purified for godly deeds. The well-rooted tree (justification) bears good fruit (sanctification). It is not true that Christians are so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good. Quite the contrary! Because of our blessed hope for "the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ" (2:13), we are zealous "to live sober, upright, and godly lives in this world" (2:12). We are not to be like Estragon and Vladimir in Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. They wait haplessly for Godot to come, Vladimir concluding, "We have kept our appointment and that's an end to that. We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment." How sad! Paul tells Titus and his fellow Christians to be saints, to engage in life purposefully, to have a character about one's daily activities that reflects godliness. Waiting only will not do; good deeds are called for. In the rest of this short letter, Paul outlines what that means in practical terms for bishops as well as slaves.
Here is systematic theology for the daily Christian life, ordering our understanding of the work and purposes of God. Christmas is the doorbell that announces God's presence with us in Jesus Christ. As we open the door and invite him in, our hearts and household are affected by God's love, reshaping us as "people of the gift," now gifted to live for others through our actions, as Elizabeth O'Connor so aptly describes in The New Community, which stems from her membership in the Church of the Saviour in Washington, D.C.
Paul tells Titus -- and us -- to declare these things; then, to "exhort and reprove with all authority" (2:15). The doorbell is ringing again. The Christ who appeared at the threshold of our lives already, is coming again. Let us be ready.
Luke 2:1-20
Always concerned to contextualize his Gospel account in the geographical and political realities of the day, Luke perhaps gives us more information than we may want to know. Yet, we need to know the particularities surrounding the story to tell, in order to grasp the earthiness and the specificity with which God loves us. Luke does not propose a philosophical religion or a religious philosophy to which to adhere. He is intent on identifying the very embodiment of the heart and will of God in the person of Jesus, whom simple shepherds can see and talk about.
We get a rundown of who's who on the throne. We get an address update. (Luke would have provided the zip codes, if he had them.) We get the top story of the day: a census. We get a snag in the plot, because Joseph forgot to call ahead for a reservation. We get a little drama with the birth of a child "on the road." It's not in the back seat of a taxi cab or a dimly lit alley, but it would have been, had the birth taken place today. Luke draws us into the story with the trappings of those things we tend to pay attention to "on the news." But, they are only trappings, like the paper and bows with which Christmas gifts are wrapped.
The real heart of the story is something that has to be announced, by angels no less! Luke is not promulgating a religion of immanence, like Buddhism. There is a grand transcendence to the events of this story which reveals the very heartbeat of God in the heartbeat of a baby in a manger. It takes angels to make the players aware of it -- first, Mary, and then the shepherds. (In Matthew's account, the angel plays a significant role in communicating to Joseph and presumably the wise men.)
When confronted with transcendence, it is natural to be afraid. Our lives which loom so large before our own eyes shrink to a paltry pimple when we realize that there is indeed something greater in the universe beyond our control and imagination. We are all keeping sheep on the third-shift, when the glory of the Lord shines brightly around. The first word the heavenly messenger needs to speak is one of comfort and encouragement: "Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people" (2:10). The only thing more extreme than the qualitative difference between God and humanity (Kierkegaard) is the extreme measure that God took to overcome that difference. No wonder that one angel alone could not hold up the refrain of praise, but had to be joined by "a multitude of the heavenly host" (2:13).
Luke guides us into a faith-filled response, as we read the narrative of the holy birth. He does so using a three-layered use of doxology: doxa. First, there is the objective reality of the "glory of the Lord" (2:9) that shone around the shepherds and grabbed their attention. Then, there is the attribution of glory given to God by the heavenly angels, as they sing their praise (2:14). When the shepherds have experienced the announcement on the hillside and witnessed the baby in the manger, they express their hearts' joy by glorifying God (2:20). From objective reality to subjective affirmation, the doxa of these verses brings the hearer of the story to the threshold of faith before the infant Jesus. This is the reason Luke is in a hurry to bring us into Bethlehem "with haste" with the shepherds, so that we too might glorify and praise God for all that we now have heard and seen. No longer are we spectators of the events; we are participants. As participants, like Mary, we are to ponder these things in our hearts and let these things shape our very being in the world, just like Paul wrote to Titus. Isaiah was right: we do have a "Mighty God" (Isaiah 40:8), who with an extreme zeal will do exactly what he promises to do.
Application
History has some serious lessons to teach us, if we would be but good students. It is frightfully amazing to see to what extremes some authorities will go to gain and maintain power, to increase their government. Pol Pot, for example, exterminated approximately one quarter of the population of Cambodia to establish Khmer Rouge rule. The Nazis are responsible for close to 25 million deaths during their reign of brutality in the late 1930s and 1940s. Communist systems from around the globe during the "short twentieth century" (1917 and on) have brought nearly 100 million to their deaths through various, systematic means of torture and terror that range from the gulag to starvation to relocation to work camps to executions.
In our democratic society there is an increase of government to address the needs of our communities. Yet, improvements are unevenly distributed in the population; for example, the apportionment of school funds. Gains in one area are offset by setbacks in another; for example, increases in the minimum wage and benefits for employees versus the burdens placed on small business owners. While one problem is being significantly addressed another raises its Hydra head; for example, higher EPA standards reduce pollution in urban settings while legal pornography pollutes the Internet. Though we must be engaged in our human systems of government, they do not resolve the issues of our human condition as we would hope they might.
In striking contrast to this is the extreme proclamation that the Messiah's reign -- "the increase of his government" -- will grow, endure, and have the quality of peace. Although we cannot say that this has been fully accomplished to date, we can see signs of its truth. Where in your parish or community can you identify examples that Messiah's rule has been expressed and that it has indeed born the fruit of peace? Look to where you would least expect it, like in the manger hay. Look to whom you would least expect it to come from, like a child. Look to what you might least desire, like forgiveness and acceptance of your enemy rather than vengeance and seeing that "they get theirs." How can you help your hearers understand and appreciate the radically different way in which God has chosen to enter this world and reclaim it as his own and reshape it towards its original design? In Messiah, Jesus our Lord and Savior, we are truly "born anew to a living hope," as Peter expresses it (1 Peter 1:3), a hope that human institutions cannot fulfill.
So characteristic of our culture is that we crave one high after another. Whether that be with drugs or addictive gambling or movie thrillers or macabre news stories, we like the sharp, cutting edge either as spectators or participants; each week, the more intense, the better! We peer into the arenas of irreligion and worldly passions for enlightenment and entertainment. If we were paraphrasing Paul in Titus, we might use such words as secularism for irreligion and consumerism for worldly passion. We conceive of the world without God and devour the world as if it were only for our gratification. We bow before the high altar of individualism, claiming ourselves as the final arbiter of truth in a pluralistic world. So, God takes measures into his own hands and does an extreme thing by entering into these very arenas of our creating to encounter us with a humble, servant, sacrificial love in Jesus that strangely has the power to seize us and lead us to higher ground, out of Babylon to Bethlehem.
In this year of the census, we are reminded that every individual counts and needs to be counted. Will you be counted with the shepherds at the manger, seeking the truth in the One in whom it can be found? Faith takes you to the Savior now, spiritually speaking; you do not have to go to Bethlehem, literally speaking. You can witness to the marvelous story of redemption and sanctification right where you are when the census counts you.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Isaiah 9:2-7
"We are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in high places" (Ephesians 6:12). So writes the Apostle Paul to Christians in the first century church of Ephesus in Asia Minor.
When we celebrate Christmas and come to a Christmas Eve service, we bring to it a certain amount of sentimentality. Everything is so beautiful at Christmas time -- the candlelight, the decorated tree, the choir numbers and hymns, the warmth of a gathered congregation on a cold winter evening. We wish everyone we meet a "Merry Christmas!" and go out feeling content and happy with it all.
But the Apostle Paul and the New Testament and, indeed, our text for the evening think that there is a great deal more involved in Christmas than our sentimental feelings about the beautiful trappings or about that tiny babe laid in a manger and surrounded with shepherds and animals and a lovely Mary. In the text that I just read for you from Ephesians, Paul talks about contending against the world rulers of this present darkness. And our Old Testament text deals with light come into darkness, and the boots of tramping warriors and bloody garments burned in fire. In short, the Bible -- Old and New Testament alike -- associate the birth of Jesus Christ with a cosmic battle, with a sacred war, with a fight against the powers of evil that have cast gloom over the earth.
Let us put our Old Testament text in its historical context. It comes to us from the prophet Isaiah in the eighth century B.C., and it reflects the military situation in the ancient Near East at that time. Beginning in 735 B.C., the armies of the Assyrian Empire swept over the whole of the eastern Mediterranean coast, engulfing the small states in their path, including the northern territories of the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali. Those tribes were indeed a "people who walked in darkness," because they were subject to a foreign oppressor. But, proclaimed Isaiah, there will come a time when God will raise up an anointed davidic king, a Messiah, who will reclaim the territory of northern Israel, who will re-establish the boundaries of the davidic empire, and who will break the rod of Assyria, as the rule of the Midianites was broken in the time of the Judges (Judges 6-8). That king, declared Isaiah, will do away with the weapons of war and establish a just and righteous peace in the land forever. Then the people of Israel will be able to rejoice like those who are gathering in an abundant harvest, or like those who celebrate and divide the spoils after a military victory. It will be like a great light shining on a people who formerly walked in darkness, proclaimed Isaiah, like emerging from gloom into gladness.
The interesting fact is that such a davidic Messiah never came for the people of northern Israel, and in 721 B.C., the ten northern tribes of that nation were carried into Assyrian exile and have never been heard from again. And yet, this prophecy from Isaiah is preserved in our Bibles, as future good news for a people who are experiencing darkness. It promises a davidic king who will war against the forces of evil and defeat them and bring peace and light and good life to his kingdom.
So did that davidic king ever come? Was Isaiah's prophecy ever fulfilled? The Gospel according to Matthew thinks so, because it quotes verses 1-2 of Isaiah's prophecy and applies them to the ministry of Jesus. Matthew 4:15-16 tells us that after John the Baptist was arrested, Jesus of Nazareth left his home and dwelt in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulon and Naphtali. And that, records Matthew, was the fulfillment of Isaiah's words in 9:1-2. Jesus was the great light come to a people in darkness. As we have so often heard, Jesus was and still is the promised davidic Messiah. And we are remembering and celebrating his birth at this Christmastime.
According to our scripture lesson, however, Jesus Christ comes to us not just as a lovable little cuddly baby, to whom we can sing sweet songs. Nor, grown to manhood, does he come as simply an inspired prophet or admirable and moral example of love, even unto death. Jesus Christ comes to us as God's anointed King. "The government will be upon his shoulders," declares our text. Jesus Christ comes to rule -- to rule your life and mine, to direct our thoughts and actions and emotions according to his way and not according to our own. His rule will be forever, "from this time forth and for evermore," according to our Scripture lesson. And his sovereignty will extend over all the earth, and will have "no end." So we're dealing with an everlasting King at this Christmas celebration, to whom we owe our allegiance.
He comes not just as a human king, however, not just as a successor to the line of David. He also comes to us as "Mighty God." We have to do with God in the birth of Jesus Christ. As the familiar hymn puts it, "Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see; Hail the incarnate Deity, Pleased as man with men to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel." God comes to us enfleshed in the birth at Bethlehem. And so "affairs are now soul-size," good Christians, and we have to do with Almighty God, who is indeed the Ruler over all the warring nations of our turbulent earth -- the One who deals with oppressors and principalities, with armies and tyrants and political powers and all the ways of this maddened world.
We have to do in Jesus Christ with God, who has declared sacred battle against human madness and all the forces of evil that have so corrupted his good creation. He has vowed that he will not desert his handiwork to wrong, to cruelty, to violence, to all the dark and death-dealing ways in our world and in our society that lead only to chaos and the darkness of the grave. He has vowed that there will be light and life again, that his creation shall return to the goodness that it had when God first made it. And so the Lord has entered the battle in the flesh of his Son. He comes to us as Wonderful Counselor, preaching the ways of peace, of justice in society and world, and of righteousness in human hearts. Finally, on a cross on Golgotha, he engages all the powers of human and spiritual and moral evil -- our sin, our ethical blindness, our treachery, our betrayal of his rule, and even our death. He wrestles with wrong on that cross, and with the great black powers of wickedness in high places that so capture and enslave human beings and that subject the world of nature to corruption. In his resurrection, he triumphs over it all, defeating earth's death and all its influences. And because of that victory, he asks that we join in this Christmastime with his forces of light and not with evil's forces of darkness. Oh, yes, this happy season has to do with a cosmic battle, in which you and I can have a stake, for good or for ill.
But whoever heard of a battle being fought in love? Well, this one -- this war of our God in Jesus Christ with the darkness of evil and sin -- has that character. Because you see, our davidic Messiah, our King, our Mighty God, our Wonderful Counselor, our Prince of Peace and justice and righteousness, also comes to us in his incarnation as Everlasting Father, says our text. Christ comes to us as the incarnation of the Father who loves us, his children -- as the merciful parent who is willing to forgive all us prodigal wanderers. He comes as One who will never give us up to our evil, whose love is everlasting. He comes as One who shares all our life -- our trials, our temptations, our sufferings -- who understands us better than we understand ourselves, and who pities us both in our weakness and in our proud strength. He loves us so much that he will even die for us, rather than give us over to dark death. And he promises that he will accompany us, strengthen us, comfort, guide, and bear us up to the end of time and eternity. So everthing that God is, good Christian friends, is incarnated there in that babe at Bethlehem. Isaiah's prophecy has been fulfilled. And that means, you see, that no matter who or where we are, and no matter what darkness surrounds us, you and I can walk in his wondrous light by faith.
God has gone to extremes at Christmas. On the cosmic stage of a single galaxy, on a particular speck of dust hurtling through space, in the course of the history that was unfolding painfully through time, God put flesh on his love and gave it muscle to bear the entire weight of the human condition. How does Isaiah anticipate this? What is Paul's take on it? What is Luke's hurry for us to witness this "with haste" with the shepherds? In a world where the appetite is for the extreme, we are in for quite a treat.
Isaiah 9:2-7
The words of hope in these verses are imbedded in words of judgment. It is not that the prophet speaks out of both sides of his mouth, but that the word of God is like a two-edged sword, cutting both ways -- with hurt and with healing. The people of God had felt the rod of his anger, the staff of his fury (Assyria; Isaiah 10:5) because of their godlessness. But, God, in his mercy, will do a new thing for his people, something as wonderful as the birth of a child. The darkness that had overshadowed the land will give way to a new light. Joy will replace the sadness that had broken the heart of the people, as they saw their land overrun and all their gains turned into spoils for a conquering army. This joy will be real, because the events that occasion it will be from the hand of God.
Isaiah recalls "the day of Midian" (9:4; see Judges 6-8), when Gideon championed the cause of the people. Gideon was chosen by God to save the people from the current oppression of the Midianites. To make sure that the people understood that it was God's hand which was directing the affairs, Gideon was told to reduce his contingent of 32,000 soldiers to 300. Now it would be clear that God brought about the victory. Gideon himself was an unlikely leader for such a critical time; he came from the weakest clan in Manasseh and spoke of himself as the least in his family (Judges 6:15). If anything good was going to come from his efforts, it would surely have to be God's doing.
What God is zealously doing not only makes use of unlikely resources, but also aims at an unlikely goal: peace rather than retaliation. This is an extreme contrary response to a people who cry out vengefully for retribution. But, God is more concerned with restoration. Perhaps this is why a child becomes the icon for coming times, rather than a warrior champion, clad in armor with weapon in hand. Justice and righteousness, not coercion and fear, will rule the day.
The extreme in God's plan is also revealed by the geography God chooses for his self-revelation. The hills of Palestine are as unlikely a place as any for something so momentous as the hand of God shaping the world for the Messiah. It is usually in the capitals of the world where the heralds cry out, "Prince of Peace," and whatever other titles are ascribed to the noble royalty in charge. To assert that God is brewing up something history-shaping and human-holding amongst a clan of people who cannot even stand up for themselves is something too preposterous to contemplate. Yet, such is the extreme nature of prophecy -- it is willing to stand on extreme edges and witness the work of God.
Titus 2:11-14
Paul's letter to Titus is not so much a "who's who" as a "what's what." Although a few first-century Christians are mentioned by name in his letter, he spends most of his efforts in describing just what the character of a Christian should be like -- and not just for bishops, but also for older and younger men and women and slaves. He sketches the behavior for Christians in relationship to government authorities, to others in the community, and to fellow Christians. Tucked right in the heart of all this practical advice is the reason for it all: God's grace, revealed in Jesus Christ saves us and trains us as we await the return of our Lord in glory. The strategic placement and use of gar expresses this grammatically.
Salvation belongs to God and is offered to all through Jesus Christ. This is grace: as one Christian educator defined it acrostically -- God's Riches According to Christ's Efforts. It is because of the excellence in what Christ Jesus has already done for us in his suffering and death and resurrection that we can boast of our right-standing before God. Our redemption from sin and death is a gift; so is our sanctification. For the work that Christ began in his flesh on the cross for us continues in our flesh, as we are trained in holiness and purified for godly deeds. The well-rooted tree (justification) bears good fruit (sanctification). It is not true that Christians are so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good. Quite the contrary! Because of our blessed hope for "the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ" (2:13), we are zealous "to live sober, upright, and godly lives in this world" (2:12). We are not to be like Estragon and Vladimir in Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. They wait haplessly for Godot to come, Vladimir concluding, "We have kept our appointment and that's an end to that. We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment." How sad! Paul tells Titus and his fellow Christians to be saints, to engage in life purposefully, to have a character about one's daily activities that reflects godliness. Waiting only will not do; good deeds are called for. In the rest of this short letter, Paul outlines what that means in practical terms for bishops as well as slaves.
Here is systematic theology for the daily Christian life, ordering our understanding of the work and purposes of God. Christmas is the doorbell that announces God's presence with us in Jesus Christ. As we open the door and invite him in, our hearts and household are affected by God's love, reshaping us as "people of the gift," now gifted to live for others through our actions, as Elizabeth O'Connor so aptly describes in The New Community, which stems from her membership in the Church of the Saviour in Washington, D.C.
Paul tells Titus -- and us -- to declare these things; then, to "exhort and reprove with all authority" (2:15). The doorbell is ringing again. The Christ who appeared at the threshold of our lives already, is coming again. Let us be ready.
Luke 2:1-20
Always concerned to contextualize his Gospel account in the geographical and political realities of the day, Luke perhaps gives us more information than we may want to know. Yet, we need to know the particularities surrounding the story to tell, in order to grasp the earthiness and the specificity with which God loves us. Luke does not propose a philosophical religion or a religious philosophy to which to adhere. He is intent on identifying the very embodiment of the heart and will of God in the person of Jesus, whom simple shepherds can see and talk about.
We get a rundown of who's who on the throne. We get an address update. (Luke would have provided the zip codes, if he had them.) We get the top story of the day: a census. We get a snag in the plot, because Joseph forgot to call ahead for a reservation. We get a little drama with the birth of a child "on the road." It's not in the back seat of a taxi cab or a dimly lit alley, but it would have been, had the birth taken place today. Luke draws us into the story with the trappings of those things we tend to pay attention to "on the news." But, they are only trappings, like the paper and bows with which Christmas gifts are wrapped.
The real heart of the story is something that has to be announced, by angels no less! Luke is not promulgating a religion of immanence, like Buddhism. There is a grand transcendence to the events of this story which reveals the very heartbeat of God in the heartbeat of a baby in a manger. It takes angels to make the players aware of it -- first, Mary, and then the shepherds. (In Matthew's account, the angel plays a significant role in communicating to Joseph and presumably the wise men.)
When confronted with transcendence, it is natural to be afraid. Our lives which loom so large before our own eyes shrink to a paltry pimple when we realize that there is indeed something greater in the universe beyond our control and imagination. We are all keeping sheep on the third-shift, when the glory of the Lord shines brightly around. The first word the heavenly messenger needs to speak is one of comfort and encouragement: "Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people" (2:10). The only thing more extreme than the qualitative difference between God and humanity (Kierkegaard) is the extreme measure that God took to overcome that difference. No wonder that one angel alone could not hold up the refrain of praise, but had to be joined by "a multitude of the heavenly host" (2:13).
Luke guides us into a faith-filled response, as we read the narrative of the holy birth. He does so using a three-layered use of doxology: doxa. First, there is the objective reality of the "glory of the Lord" (2:9) that shone around the shepherds and grabbed their attention. Then, there is the attribution of glory given to God by the heavenly angels, as they sing their praise (2:14). When the shepherds have experienced the announcement on the hillside and witnessed the baby in the manger, they express their hearts' joy by glorifying God (2:20). From objective reality to subjective affirmation, the doxa of these verses brings the hearer of the story to the threshold of faith before the infant Jesus. This is the reason Luke is in a hurry to bring us into Bethlehem "with haste" with the shepherds, so that we too might glorify and praise God for all that we now have heard and seen. No longer are we spectators of the events; we are participants. As participants, like Mary, we are to ponder these things in our hearts and let these things shape our very being in the world, just like Paul wrote to Titus. Isaiah was right: we do have a "Mighty God" (Isaiah 40:8), who with an extreme zeal will do exactly what he promises to do.
Application
History has some serious lessons to teach us, if we would be but good students. It is frightfully amazing to see to what extremes some authorities will go to gain and maintain power, to increase their government. Pol Pot, for example, exterminated approximately one quarter of the population of Cambodia to establish Khmer Rouge rule. The Nazis are responsible for close to 25 million deaths during their reign of brutality in the late 1930s and 1940s. Communist systems from around the globe during the "short twentieth century" (1917 and on) have brought nearly 100 million to their deaths through various, systematic means of torture and terror that range from the gulag to starvation to relocation to work camps to executions.
In our democratic society there is an increase of government to address the needs of our communities. Yet, improvements are unevenly distributed in the population; for example, the apportionment of school funds. Gains in one area are offset by setbacks in another; for example, increases in the minimum wage and benefits for employees versus the burdens placed on small business owners. While one problem is being significantly addressed another raises its Hydra head; for example, higher EPA standards reduce pollution in urban settings while legal pornography pollutes the Internet. Though we must be engaged in our human systems of government, they do not resolve the issues of our human condition as we would hope they might.
In striking contrast to this is the extreme proclamation that the Messiah's reign -- "the increase of his government" -- will grow, endure, and have the quality of peace. Although we cannot say that this has been fully accomplished to date, we can see signs of its truth. Where in your parish or community can you identify examples that Messiah's rule has been expressed and that it has indeed born the fruit of peace? Look to where you would least expect it, like in the manger hay. Look to whom you would least expect it to come from, like a child. Look to what you might least desire, like forgiveness and acceptance of your enemy rather than vengeance and seeing that "they get theirs." How can you help your hearers understand and appreciate the radically different way in which God has chosen to enter this world and reclaim it as his own and reshape it towards its original design? In Messiah, Jesus our Lord and Savior, we are truly "born anew to a living hope," as Peter expresses it (1 Peter 1:3), a hope that human institutions cannot fulfill.
So characteristic of our culture is that we crave one high after another. Whether that be with drugs or addictive gambling or movie thrillers or macabre news stories, we like the sharp, cutting edge either as spectators or participants; each week, the more intense, the better! We peer into the arenas of irreligion and worldly passions for enlightenment and entertainment. If we were paraphrasing Paul in Titus, we might use such words as secularism for irreligion and consumerism for worldly passion. We conceive of the world without God and devour the world as if it were only for our gratification. We bow before the high altar of individualism, claiming ourselves as the final arbiter of truth in a pluralistic world. So, God takes measures into his own hands and does an extreme thing by entering into these very arenas of our creating to encounter us with a humble, servant, sacrificial love in Jesus that strangely has the power to seize us and lead us to higher ground, out of Babylon to Bethlehem.
In this year of the census, we are reminded that every individual counts and needs to be counted. Will you be counted with the shepherds at the manger, seeking the truth in the One in whom it can be found? Faith takes you to the Savior now, spiritually speaking; you do not have to go to Bethlehem, literally speaking. You can witness to the marvelous story of redemption and sanctification right where you are when the census counts you.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Isaiah 9:2-7
"We are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in high places" (Ephesians 6:12). So writes the Apostle Paul to Christians in the first century church of Ephesus in Asia Minor.
When we celebrate Christmas and come to a Christmas Eve service, we bring to it a certain amount of sentimentality. Everything is so beautiful at Christmas time -- the candlelight, the decorated tree, the choir numbers and hymns, the warmth of a gathered congregation on a cold winter evening. We wish everyone we meet a "Merry Christmas!" and go out feeling content and happy with it all.
But the Apostle Paul and the New Testament and, indeed, our text for the evening think that there is a great deal more involved in Christmas than our sentimental feelings about the beautiful trappings or about that tiny babe laid in a manger and surrounded with shepherds and animals and a lovely Mary. In the text that I just read for you from Ephesians, Paul talks about contending against the world rulers of this present darkness. And our Old Testament text deals with light come into darkness, and the boots of tramping warriors and bloody garments burned in fire. In short, the Bible -- Old and New Testament alike -- associate the birth of Jesus Christ with a cosmic battle, with a sacred war, with a fight against the powers of evil that have cast gloom over the earth.
Let us put our Old Testament text in its historical context. It comes to us from the prophet Isaiah in the eighth century B.C., and it reflects the military situation in the ancient Near East at that time. Beginning in 735 B.C., the armies of the Assyrian Empire swept over the whole of the eastern Mediterranean coast, engulfing the small states in their path, including the northern territories of the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali. Those tribes were indeed a "people who walked in darkness," because they were subject to a foreign oppressor. But, proclaimed Isaiah, there will come a time when God will raise up an anointed davidic king, a Messiah, who will reclaim the territory of northern Israel, who will re-establish the boundaries of the davidic empire, and who will break the rod of Assyria, as the rule of the Midianites was broken in the time of the Judges (Judges 6-8). That king, declared Isaiah, will do away with the weapons of war and establish a just and righteous peace in the land forever. Then the people of Israel will be able to rejoice like those who are gathering in an abundant harvest, or like those who celebrate and divide the spoils after a military victory. It will be like a great light shining on a people who formerly walked in darkness, proclaimed Isaiah, like emerging from gloom into gladness.
The interesting fact is that such a davidic Messiah never came for the people of northern Israel, and in 721 B.C., the ten northern tribes of that nation were carried into Assyrian exile and have never been heard from again. And yet, this prophecy from Isaiah is preserved in our Bibles, as future good news for a people who are experiencing darkness. It promises a davidic king who will war against the forces of evil and defeat them and bring peace and light and good life to his kingdom.
So did that davidic king ever come? Was Isaiah's prophecy ever fulfilled? The Gospel according to Matthew thinks so, because it quotes verses 1-2 of Isaiah's prophecy and applies them to the ministry of Jesus. Matthew 4:15-16 tells us that after John the Baptist was arrested, Jesus of Nazareth left his home and dwelt in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulon and Naphtali. And that, records Matthew, was the fulfillment of Isaiah's words in 9:1-2. Jesus was the great light come to a people in darkness. As we have so often heard, Jesus was and still is the promised davidic Messiah. And we are remembering and celebrating his birth at this Christmastime.
According to our scripture lesson, however, Jesus Christ comes to us not just as a lovable little cuddly baby, to whom we can sing sweet songs. Nor, grown to manhood, does he come as simply an inspired prophet or admirable and moral example of love, even unto death. Jesus Christ comes to us as God's anointed King. "The government will be upon his shoulders," declares our text. Jesus Christ comes to rule -- to rule your life and mine, to direct our thoughts and actions and emotions according to his way and not according to our own. His rule will be forever, "from this time forth and for evermore," according to our Scripture lesson. And his sovereignty will extend over all the earth, and will have "no end." So we're dealing with an everlasting King at this Christmas celebration, to whom we owe our allegiance.
He comes not just as a human king, however, not just as a successor to the line of David. He also comes to us as "Mighty God." We have to do with God in the birth of Jesus Christ. As the familiar hymn puts it, "Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see; Hail the incarnate Deity, Pleased as man with men to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel." God comes to us enfleshed in the birth at Bethlehem. And so "affairs are now soul-size," good Christians, and we have to do with Almighty God, who is indeed the Ruler over all the warring nations of our turbulent earth -- the One who deals with oppressors and principalities, with armies and tyrants and political powers and all the ways of this maddened world.
We have to do in Jesus Christ with God, who has declared sacred battle against human madness and all the forces of evil that have so corrupted his good creation. He has vowed that he will not desert his handiwork to wrong, to cruelty, to violence, to all the dark and death-dealing ways in our world and in our society that lead only to chaos and the darkness of the grave. He has vowed that there will be light and life again, that his creation shall return to the goodness that it had when God first made it. And so the Lord has entered the battle in the flesh of his Son. He comes to us as Wonderful Counselor, preaching the ways of peace, of justice in society and world, and of righteousness in human hearts. Finally, on a cross on Golgotha, he engages all the powers of human and spiritual and moral evil -- our sin, our ethical blindness, our treachery, our betrayal of his rule, and even our death. He wrestles with wrong on that cross, and with the great black powers of wickedness in high places that so capture and enslave human beings and that subject the world of nature to corruption. In his resurrection, he triumphs over it all, defeating earth's death and all its influences. And because of that victory, he asks that we join in this Christmastime with his forces of light and not with evil's forces of darkness. Oh, yes, this happy season has to do with a cosmic battle, in which you and I can have a stake, for good or for ill.
But whoever heard of a battle being fought in love? Well, this one -- this war of our God in Jesus Christ with the darkness of evil and sin -- has that character. Because you see, our davidic Messiah, our King, our Mighty God, our Wonderful Counselor, our Prince of Peace and justice and righteousness, also comes to us in his incarnation as Everlasting Father, says our text. Christ comes to us as the incarnation of the Father who loves us, his children -- as the merciful parent who is willing to forgive all us prodigal wanderers. He comes as One who will never give us up to our evil, whose love is everlasting. He comes as One who shares all our life -- our trials, our temptations, our sufferings -- who understands us better than we understand ourselves, and who pities us both in our weakness and in our proud strength. He loves us so much that he will even die for us, rather than give us over to dark death. And he promises that he will accompany us, strengthen us, comfort, guide, and bear us up to the end of time and eternity. So everthing that God is, good Christian friends, is incarnated there in that babe at Bethlehem. Isaiah's prophecy has been fulfilled. And that means, you see, that no matter who or where we are, and no matter what darkness surrounds us, you and I can walk in his wondrous light by faith.
