Looking for a king in a democratic age
Commentary
Object:
One morning in 1872, David Livingstone wrote this in his diary: “March 19, my birthday. My Jesus, my King, my Life, my All, I again dedicate my whole self to Thee. Accept me, and grant, O gracious Father, that ere the year is gone I may finish my work. In Jesus’ name I ask it. Amen.”
Just one year later, servants came to check on their master’s delay. They found him on his knees in prayer. He was dead.
Livingstone’s testimony is powerful on many levels. But the one that is most striking is his claim upon Jesus as “my king.” This has been a common declaration of the church throughout the ages. Even in our era, when democratic social movements topple kings and weigh in against tyrannical regimes, the largest social organization in the entire human race, the Church of Jesus Christ, holds as one of its core tenets of belief that Jesus is King.
Mary’s beautiful song is one of the key passages undergirding all New Testament theological testimonies that declare Jesus to be King. Why should Jesus be a king? He was born into a poor family during a time of foreign occupation of their country. He was never trained in schools of leadership, and had no desire to claim any throne. He seemed to alienate the rich and powerful, rebuffed the efforts of his disciples to start an armed rebellion, hushed the adulation of those who were the recipients of his mighty power, told the existing rulers that if he had a kingdom it was not in direct competition with theirs on their terms, and died an ignoble death meant for the worst of society’s scalawags.
Yet from the first connections people made with Jesus, he was often identified as king. Foreigners traveled hundreds of miles to Judea when he was born, telling folks along the way of their astrological readings and projections: a truly great international king had been born! Palestine’s powerful King Herod was afraid of Jesus, and felt he might be competing for the throne Herod had worked so hard to control. Jesus’ own words, while never clearly self-identifying him as a king, were constantly filled with language about the Kingdom of Heaven or the Kingdom of God, of which he seemed to know a great deal more than anyone who was not directly connected with the key governing authority. And then, a Roman centurion assigned to Jesus’ execution squad, made the remarkable testimony, using language otherwise reserved only for the Emperor himself, that “surely this man was the Son of God.” Somehow people kept viewing Jesus as a king.
And the affirmations only continued after Jesus disappeared from the scene. He is above all principalities and powers, Paul wrote, and said that every knee in heaven and on earth would bow to him. John saw him as an all-powerful ruler (Revelation 1), and had a vision of him as conquering king (19). Even in their prayers, members of the early church addressed Jesus as “Sovereign Lord,” a term that could hardly be less than royal acknowledgement (Acts 5).
Micah 5:2-5a
Israel’s prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. First of all, the prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel’s experiences of its Curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, etc. For this reason the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics.
This is not to say that Israel was held to a different behavioral standard than would otherwise be expected among the nations of the earth. Rather, through Israel’s lifestyle there was supposed to flow a witness toward its neighbors, revealing the unique splendor of its God. By looking at the people of Yahweh, living in Canaan, other tribes and nations were to gain a sense of the true character of life when it was experienced in harmony with the forgotten Creator of all. For this reason the public actions of Israel were crucial to its covenant existence. Both Isaiah and Micah succinctly summarized it in this way:
In the last days the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and all nations will stream to it. Many peoples will come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths.” The law will go out from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swards into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Come, O house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord. (Isaiah 2:2-5; nearly identical is Micah 4:1-5)
Second, the function and message of prophecy were very political. For Israel to come under the domination of other nations was always seen as a divine scourge which resulted from the application of the covenant Curses due to Israel’s disobedience. How Israel handled its international relations showed plainly whether she trusted Yahweh, or if she had otherwise become enamored with power and politics rooted in lesser gods. Constantly the prophets asked whether Israel was Yahweh’s witnessing people, or if she was merely another nation with no particular mission or divine purpose. Israel’s self-understanding was thus always very religious, and at the same time invariably political.
It is in this light that the typical prophetic litany against the nations surrounding Israel must be read. These other social and political entities were assessed for public moral behavior by Yahweh alongside Israel because Yahweh was the creator of all, and continued to be Lord of the nations. All countries are chided for their own internal social sins as well as for their inappropriate aggressions toward one another, including and especially for their treatment of Israel. While they may be used by Yahweh as a temporary tool of chastisement, punishing Israel according to the covenant Curses, they might never presume to hold dominance over either Israel or her God. This typical hubris of nations was regularly condemned as idolatrous by the prophets, and any society afflicted by it would receive divine retribution in its own turn.
Third, as the epochs of Israel’s political fortunes unfolded, the message of the prophets became increasingly apocalyptic. There was a growing sense that because things had not gone the way they should have, producing heartfelt and on-going national repentance and covenant restoration, Yahweh will have to intervene directly again, in a manner similar to that which happened during the time of Moses. When Yahweh interrupts human history the next time, however, along with judgments on the wickedness of the nations of the world, Israel will also fall heavily under divine punishment. But because Yahweh is on a mission to restore the fallen world, this next major divine intervention will be paired with a focus on establishing a new world order as well, even while the old is falling away under the conflagration. In this coming messianic age, everything in both society and the natural realm will finally function in the manner the Creator had intended in the beginning. Furthermore, because Yahweh is faithful to promises made, Israel will not be forgotten, and a remnant of God’s servant-nation will be at the center of all this renewal and restoration and great joy.
This increasingly forward-looking thrust of prophecy leads some to think of it as primarily foretelling, a kind of crystal ball gaze into the future. In reality, however, the nature of prophecy in ancient Israel is more forth-telling: declaring again the meaning of the ancient Sinai covenant, explaining the mission of Yahweh as witness to the world, and describing the implications of the morality envisioned by the suzerain-vassal treaty stipulations. Included in this forth-telling is the anticipation of how things will look when everything is renewed. This becomes the basis for the “new covenant” of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. This forms the background to the prophecies about the “new heavens and new earth” in Isaiah. This shapes the contours of the messianic age described by Isaiah, Ezekiel, Joel, Micah, and Zechariah.
The growing clarity of the prophetic message is best seen when these divinely called and authorized covenant spokespersons are reviewed in historical sequence. While not all aspects of each prophetic experience is fully known, a great amount can be learned from the information provided within most of the prophecies. In large outline the biblical prophets can be grouped in eras spanning about a century each.
The earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral and religious advisors. Second, few of their words were written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have had close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families that cared for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group include Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29-39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13 who talk with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true king, Yahweh. For them, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophesy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17--2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti-Sinai covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voices from this era belong, however, to those members of “The Twelve” Minor Prophets whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival Israel around the year 760 BC. He explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which, he made clear, would soon result in divine judgment upon these people. All in all, the word from Yahweh through Amos was dark and gloomy and pointedly judgmental. Because of his pithy precision, coupled with verbal economy, Amos has become the model of street-corner prophets who rail against their societies in epigrammatic diatribes.
The same message was communicated in a very different tone and manner by Hosea, a contemporary of Amos. Hosea also spoke in the northern kingdom of Israel, but probably as a resident of that community. His oral and written communications are dated to the years 750-723 BC because of the rulers identified within the prophecy’s pages.
Hosea had a very bad marriage. His wife, Gomer, was a prostitute before they wed, and bore at least two sons during their time together. It is uncertain, though, whether these children were biologically related to Hosea, since Gomer was not one to stay in her marriage bed at night. Her escapades and his faithful pleadings, which sound more like a soap opera than a biblical drama, became the analogy for Yahweh’s relationship with Israel. Through the voice of Hosea, Yahweh poignantly reviewed the past, detailing the amazing story of love that had brought young Israel into a very privileged and powerful position among the nations of the world. But this rehearsal grew bitter as both Hosea and Yahweh mourned their scorned loves, and wept for their respective wives who were each destroying themselves and their families.
Although more polished and less dramatic, the message of another contemporary was much the same. Micahorated his prophecies over a period of about five decades, from 740-690 BC. He began this ministry in the north, but after Israel was destroyed by the Assyrians in 722 BC, headed south and used the terrifying international political threat as a warning to Judah. God is faithful, Micah intoned, but Israel (and also Judah) has been unfaithful to the Sinai covenant. Therefore judgment is surely coming. Indeed, precisely during Micah’s prophecies it arrived in vengeful force against the northern kingdom, wiping it out of existence.
But peeking through this woeful sermon is a searingly bright ray of hopeful expectation. If God can turn things around for Israel, God will do it through a descendent of King David. As God promised through the prophet Nathan (2 Samuel 7), there will always be a son of the “man after God’s own heart” on the throne of God’s people. Since David wanted to build a house for God, God promised to build an eternal house for David, stretching David’s royal seed in rule from then to eternity.
Now, in a very dark hour for the people of God, Micah catches sight of God’s great promise once again, and drags the leaderless people down to Bethlehem to see what God is yet to do. If hope is to come at all, it will emerge from this little farming village that others have long ignored. So we sing about Micah’s “Little Town of Bethlehem:”
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.
The hope and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
Hebrews 10:5-10
One insistent theme in the rambling sermon of Hebrews is that Jesus is the meaning of history, and that God has been planning a long, long time for him to come and do his work. That is the essence of today’s passage. Using David’s testimony in Psalm 40:6-8, Jesus is announced as David’s greater son, promised for generations.
How did such a connection, which we today take for granted, come about? The key is in the promise made by God through Nathan to David in 2 Samuel 7. David was an unlikely king himself, set on a track to power during Israel’s trial run at monarchy under the roller-coaster leadership of King Saul. Although he tried not to compete with the one he knew had also been selected for high office by Yahweh, David increasingly found himself on a trajectory that put him on Israel’s throne. Yet he wanted, even there, to affirm that this nation’s truest political structure was a theocracy. The God of the Exodus and the Sinai Covenant was Israel’s primary ruler.
For this reason David brought the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh’s portable throne on earth, to Jerusalem, the new capital city of the nation (2 Samuel 6). Moreover, he wished for the building that would house the Ark to be a splendid palace, worthy of the nation’s Great King. To this task he set his purposes and resources, affirmed, at first, by his advisor, the prophet Nathan (v. 3).
Yet that night Nathan received a new word from the Lord. Although David’s desires were laudable, he was too much a man of battle to build a palace of peace. David should gather the resources and make the plans, and then pass along to his son the mandate of Temple building.
But the prophetic word went further. Because David had tried to do the right thing, God wanted to honor him in a unique way. Although David was not permitted to build a house for God at this time, God would build a house for David. God made a pledge, a promise, a non-conditioned Royal Grant covenant to David. For all the years to come (as Randy Travis would sing: “Forever and ever. Amen!”), into perpetuity, David would have a descendent on the throne of the nation that was called God’s chosen people.
This was an amazing commitment, and it came back in big ways as Israel’s history unfolded. Even when Solomon’s stupid son Rehoboam should have lost the throne entirely, a remnant of the nation stuck with him as king. Their faithfulness to God’s commitments proved accurate, for later the large portion of the nation that split off under Rehoboam’s rival Jeroboam was destroyed by the Assyrian empire in 722 BC. Through the shenanigans of Queen Athaliah and King Ahaz, or the turncoat despotism of King Manasseh, or the selfish panderings of Kings Jehoiakin and Zedekiah, Yahweh remained faithful to the divine promise, and the nation survived international threats that beat down many more powerful neighboring kingdoms. In fact, Judah was never really destroyed. While the Assyrians obliterated the Northern Kingdom, and Judah was made subject to Babylon for a while, a good portion of the nation survived intact as exiles. Eventually they returned to their patrimony, and began hoping anew for the return of the Davidic monarchy and national restoration.
That’s when good ancestral records became vitally important. Every family connected to the royal line would remember this promise of Yahweh and hope and pray that from their household the next great ruler would arise. So it was, that to an otherwise unimportant couple in Nazareth, about a thousand years after Yahweh made this pledge to David, a miraculous birth happened for two people who were both members of the royal family. On the basis of 2 Samuel 7, Jesus was born a king. While there was much that needed proof and confirmation about his character and his potential, once these things were seen by those around Jesus, the pieces quickly fell into place. That is why, when Jesus entered Jerusalem a week before his crucifixion, the crowds could shout with certainty and conviction, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” King Jesus had arrived.
For Israel, through the centuries of her sometimes much scarred existence, the promise of an eternal reign for David’s great sons was like Christmas gifts bought early in November or December, and packaged prettily for display under a tree until Christmas. One even has my name on it; all in the family know that it will bring me wonder and joy and blessing, but its exact content remains a mystery until the wrappings are ripped away. So too with God’s long-planned activity of salvation. The package was clearly set before the world in the national identity of Israel; but until the specifics of the gift were revealed through the person of Jesus, it remained a “mystery.” Even the prophets were somewhat in the dark about the exact contours of the great gift that was to be revealed. But now the wrappings are off, and the proclamation of Jesus is the hope of the world.
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55)
Mary is a marvelous figure. Although Reformers rightly reacted against the excesses of “Mariolatry,” she deserves a lot more honor than many Protestants have accorded. So it would seem that today’s gospel reading ought to raise Mary’s name and identity as a key component in our Advent preaching. But that is not necessarily the case. Although the story is largely about Mary, the message is not. True, she is “highly favored.” But when Gabriel explains why, the focus is on Jesus, not Mary. She will conceive and bear a son, but the son’s name is already declared (mother Mary has no choice in the matter). Her son (not her) will be great. In fact, he will be identified with God, not Mary. And all the promises made to great King David in 2 Samuel 7 will come true in this person she will carry for nine months.
Even when Mary questions how such marvelous tales could become reality, she is again set in the background. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Mary will be acted upon, and almost consumed under the weight of glory that crushes her. The only thing people will remark about, as these things unfold, is that “the holy one to be born will be called the son of God.”
Why does Luke tell us the story this way? He reminds us, at the beginning (Luke 1:1-4), that there are other reflections on the life and teachings of Jesus in circulation. Mark, in his gospel, did not think it appropriate even to talk about the weakness of Jesus when he was just a baby; so his tale begins as the full-grown Jesus strides decisively through the hills and valleys of Galilee, healing and teaching and proclaiming the Kingdom of God in sanctified frenzy. Later in the century John, too, will follow this path, speaking of Jesus’ initial coming only in the metaphors of philosophy and liturgical symbolism. And Matthew’s approach included a few notes about Jesus’ miraculous birth, but tied them quickly to stories of other great deliverers who were born to save Israel.
Luke’s purpose is more clearly seen when the gospel as a whole is read with care. Among the many things that mark Luke’s literary passions and style is his desire to locate the story and message of Jesus within its historical context. These are the days of Caesar Augustus, and Quirinius, and Pontius Pilate, and Claudius. And the way that Luke relates the events and actions of Jesus’ life reflect on incidents that others in the larger Greco-Roman world would appreciate quickly. Everyone knew, for example, that Cyrus the Great of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonians and sent the Jewish exiles home, was miraculously born. His mother claimed that on the night of his conception a bolt of lightning had flamed from heaven and pierced her womb. That is why her son became powerful, a ruler of nations.
So too with the next “Great” ruler of recent history. Alexander, born to Philip of Macedon (supposedly a direct descendent of the god Heracles) and his wife Olympias, was reputed to have come along only when one of the gods visited each of them in dreams and declared the divine qualities of their future son. Not only that, but the Temple of Artemis (or Dianna) in Ephesus caught fire the night Alexander was born. Rumor had it that the gods were so busy midwifing this birth that they neglected their usual care of that honored site.
Then there was the case of Caesar Augustus himself. An astrologer had foretold incredible things about him when he was born. Although his early years as Gaius Octavius Jr., did not betray great promise, by the time he was twelve he gave a funeral oration for his grandmother that stunned the crowds with its insight, passion and brilliance. He was on his way to become a truly divinely appointed ruler.
While Luke would not wish to merely place Jesus among that crowd as a product of myth and superstition, he does understand that the exceptionally great leaders among the nations are prepared and equipped by God. Thus, at the start of Jesus’ life-story, it is important to Luke that the great divine plans be highlighted. Only in this way will the full impact of Jesus’ ministry be understood.
Application
Some gifts we receive are simply add-ons to the polite niceties of the relationship. For instance, a man might give a woman a book as a Christmas gift. He knows she likes to read, and this happens to be a best-seller she has not yet gotten into, so he gives it to her as a reflection of his thoughtfulness.
At a second level, however, other gifts might more directly tie into their relationship. He might buy a bottle of expensive perfume. When she opens the gift she is not only aware of his care, but also enters a conspiracy with him toward a deepening level for their friendship. She applies the perfume to her body, and its scent becomes part of their special language of love. When she uses the perfume she thinks uniquely of him. When he smells the perfume, he thinks solely of her. The gift is not simply an add-on in their friendship; it has become a symbol of their relationship itself.
But there is also a third level of gifting. Suppose the man and the woman are married. Along with gifts like books and perfumes they also have sexual intercourse as an expression of their love. When a baby is born, it is a gift for both of them, since neither could produce it alone. Yet it is more than just an outside gift that is brought into the relationship; it is itself the relationship come to expression. The gift is not just a thoughtful gesture (level 1) or even a meaningful enhancement to the relationship (level 2); this gift is the essence of the relationship come alive in a unique and special way (level 3).
So with Jesus. In the past God spoke of the divine commitment of care to the human race (providence; level 1). God also gave unique testimony of love through the nation of Israel (revelation; level 2). Now, however, God comes to live with us, to be part of our world, and to transform our lives in ways that we had never before considered (salvation; level 3).
Alternative Application
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55). So we need to honor Mary. But we must be careful not to take any of the attention off from her son. Mary’s role in the birth of the Messiah was truly unique. Yet it was only a portion of the long and heaven-directed planning by which God took up residence on earth for the salvation of all nations. This is Luke’s emphasis, and Mary’s song. The balances of power on earth are about to be tipped through this new king, born in the most unlikely of circumstances.
So how do we measure power? Alan Redpath tells of a prominent businessman in South Africa who was duly impressed with the luxury of Rolls Royce automobiles. He ordered one for himself and marveled at its speed and handling. He looked through the manual but found no test results listed indicating the horsepower of the engine. So he went to the dealer.
“I’m sorry,” the dealer told him. “The company never states the horsepower of their engines.”
But the man was not to be put off. And he was too powerful a person to be ignored. So the dealer sent a cable to Derby, England, asking the head office for an answer in the matter.
Within a short time, there was a reply. It was brief and to the point, a response of only a single word. How much horsepower does the Rolls Royce engine develop? “ADEQUATE.” That’s all. That’s enough.
So it is in the birth story of Jesus. The power of God will come down and engender this powerful life. How powerful will the baby be? He will be king. With how much authority? Enough. Adequate. To rule all nations on earth. And everything within them will change.
Just one year later, servants came to check on their master’s delay. They found him on his knees in prayer. He was dead.
Livingstone’s testimony is powerful on many levels. But the one that is most striking is his claim upon Jesus as “my king.” This has been a common declaration of the church throughout the ages. Even in our era, when democratic social movements topple kings and weigh in against tyrannical regimes, the largest social organization in the entire human race, the Church of Jesus Christ, holds as one of its core tenets of belief that Jesus is King.
Mary’s beautiful song is one of the key passages undergirding all New Testament theological testimonies that declare Jesus to be King. Why should Jesus be a king? He was born into a poor family during a time of foreign occupation of their country. He was never trained in schools of leadership, and had no desire to claim any throne. He seemed to alienate the rich and powerful, rebuffed the efforts of his disciples to start an armed rebellion, hushed the adulation of those who were the recipients of his mighty power, told the existing rulers that if he had a kingdom it was not in direct competition with theirs on their terms, and died an ignoble death meant for the worst of society’s scalawags.
Yet from the first connections people made with Jesus, he was often identified as king. Foreigners traveled hundreds of miles to Judea when he was born, telling folks along the way of their astrological readings and projections: a truly great international king had been born! Palestine’s powerful King Herod was afraid of Jesus, and felt he might be competing for the throne Herod had worked so hard to control. Jesus’ own words, while never clearly self-identifying him as a king, were constantly filled with language about the Kingdom of Heaven or the Kingdom of God, of which he seemed to know a great deal more than anyone who was not directly connected with the key governing authority. And then, a Roman centurion assigned to Jesus’ execution squad, made the remarkable testimony, using language otherwise reserved only for the Emperor himself, that “surely this man was the Son of God.” Somehow people kept viewing Jesus as a king.
And the affirmations only continued after Jesus disappeared from the scene. He is above all principalities and powers, Paul wrote, and said that every knee in heaven and on earth would bow to him. John saw him as an all-powerful ruler (Revelation 1), and had a vision of him as conquering king (19). Even in their prayers, members of the early church addressed Jesus as “Sovereign Lord,” a term that could hardly be less than royal acknowledgement (Acts 5).
Micah 5:2-5a
Israel’s prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. First of all, the prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel’s experiences of its Curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, etc. For this reason the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics.
This is not to say that Israel was held to a different behavioral standard than would otherwise be expected among the nations of the earth. Rather, through Israel’s lifestyle there was supposed to flow a witness toward its neighbors, revealing the unique splendor of its God. By looking at the people of Yahweh, living in Canaan, other tribes and nations were to gain a sense of the true character of life when it was experienced in harmony with the forgotten Creator of all. For this reason the public actions of Israel were crucial to its covenant existence. Both Isaiah and Micah succinctly summarized it in this way:
In the last days the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and all nations will stream to it. Many peoples will come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths.” The law will go out from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swards into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Come, O house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord. (Isaiah 2:2-5; nearly identical is Micah 4:1-5)
Second, the function and message of prophecy were very political. For Israel to come under the domination of other nations was always seen as a divine scourge which resulted from the application of the covenant Curses due to Israel’s disobedience. How Israel handled its international relations showed plainly whether she trusted Yahweh, or if she had otherwise become enamored with power and politics rooted in lesser gods. Constantly the prophets asked whether Israel was Yahweh’s witnessing people, or if she was merely another nation with no particular mission or divine purpose. Israel’s self-understanding was thus always very religious, and at the same time invariably political.
It is in this light that the typical prophetic litany against the nations surrounding Israel must be read. These other social and political entities were assessed for public moral behavior by Yahweh alongside Israel because Yahweh was the creator of all, and continued to be Lord of the nations. All countries are chided for their own internal social sins as well as for their inappropriate aggressions toward one another, including and especially for their treatment of Israel. While they may be used by Yahweh as a temporary tool of chastisement, punishing Israel according to the covenant Curses, they might never presume to hold dominance over either Israel or her God. This typical hubris of nations was regularly condemned as idolatrous by the prophets, and any society afflicted by it would receive divine retribution in its own turn.
Third, as the epochs of Israel’s political fortunes unfolded, the message of the prophets became increasingly apocalyptic. There was a growing sense that because things had not gone the way they should have, producing heartfelt and on-going national repentance and covenant restoration, Yahweh will have to intervene directly again, in a manner similar to that which happened during the time of Moses. When Yahweh interrupts human history the next time, however, along with judgments on the wickedness of the nations of the world, Israel will also fall heavily under divine punishment. But because Yahweh is on a mission to restore the fallen world, this next major divine intervention will be paired with a focus on establishing a new world order as well, even while the old is falling away under the conflagration. In this coming messianic age, everything in both society and the natural realm will finally function in the manner the Creator had intended in the beginning. Furthermore, because Yahweh is faithful to promises made, Israel will not be forgotten, and a remnant of God’s servant-nation will be at the center of all this renewal and restoration and great joy.
This increasingly forward-looking thrust of prophecy leads some to think of it as primarily foretelling, a kind of crystal ball gaze into the future. In reality, however, the nature of prophecy in ancient Israel is more forth-telling: declaring again the meaning of the ancient Sinai covenant, explaining the mission of Yahweh as witness to the world, and describing the implications of the morality envisioned by the suzerain-vassal treaty stipulations. Included in this forth-telling is the anticipation of how things will look when everything is renewed. This becomes the basis for the “new covenant” of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. This forms the background to the prophecies about the “new heavens and new earth” in Isaiah. This shapes the contours of the messianic age described by Isaiah, Ezekiel, Joel, Micah, and Zechariah.
The growing clarity of the prophetic message is best seen when these divinely called and authorized covenant spokespersons are reviewed in historical sequence. While not all aspects of each prophetic experience is fully known, a great amount can be learned from the information provided within most of the prophecies. In large outline the biblical prophets can be grouped in eras spanning about a century each.
The earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral and religious advisors. Second, few of their words were written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have had close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families that cared for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group include Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29-39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13 who talk with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true king, Yahweh. For them, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophesy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17--2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti-Sinai covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voices from this era belong, however, to those members of “The Twelve” Minor Prophets whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival Israel around the year 760 BC. He explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which, he made clear, would soon result in divine judgment upon these people. All in all, the word from Yahweh through Amos was dark and gloomy and pointedly judgmental. Because of his pithy precision, coupled with verbal economy, Amos has become the model of street-corner prophets who rail against their societies in epigrammatic diatribes.
The same message was communicated in a very different tone and manner by Hosea, a contemporary of Amos. Hosea also spoke in the northern kingdom of Israel, but probably as a resident of that community. His oral and written communications are dated to the years 750-723 BC because of the rulers identified within the prophecy’s pages.
Hosea had a very bad marriage. His wife, Gomer, was a prostitute before they wed, and bore at least two sons during their time together. It is uncertain, though, whether these children were biologically related to Hosea, since Gomer was not one to stay in her marriage bed at night. Her escapades and his faithful pleadings, which sound more like a soap opera than a biblical drama, became the analogy for Yahweh’s relationship with Israel. Through the voice of Hosea, Yahweh poignantly reviewed the past, detailing the amazing story of love that had brought young Israel into a very privileged and powerful position among the nations of the world. But this rehearsal grew bitter as both Hosea and Yahweh mourned their scorned loves, and wept for their respective wives who were each destroying themselves and their families.
Although more polished and less dramatic, the message of another contemporary was much the same. Micahorated his prophecies over a period of about five decades, from 740-690 BC. He began this ministry in the north, but after Israel was destroyed by the Assyrians in 722 BC, headed south and used the terrifying international political threat as a warning to Judah. God is faithful, Micah intoned, but Israel (and also Judah) has been unfaithful to the Sinai covenant. Therefore judgment is surely coming. Indeed, precisely during Micah’s prophecies it arrived in vengeful force against the northern kingdom, wiping it out of existence.
But peeking through this woeful sermon is a searingly bright ray of hopeful expectation. If God can turn things around for Israel, God will do it through a descendent of King David. As God promised through the prophet Nathan (2 Samuel 7), there will always be a son of the “man after God’s own heart” on the throne of God’s people. Since David wanted to build a house for God, God promised to build an eternal house for David, stretching David’s royal seed in rule from then to eternity.
Now, in a very dark hour for the people of God, Micah catches sight of God’s great promise once again, and drags the leaderless people down to Bethlehem to see what God is yet to do. If hope is to come at all, it will emerge from this little farming village that others have long ignored. So we sing about Micah’s “Little Town of Bethlehem:”
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.
The hope and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
Hebrews 10:5-10
One insistent theme in the rambling sermon of Hebrews is that Jesus is the meaning of history, and that God has been planning a long, long time for him to come and do his work. That is the essence of today’s passage. Using David’s testimony in Psalm 40:6-8, Jesus is announced as David’s greater son, promised for generations.
How did such a connection, which we today take for granted, come about? The key is in the promise made by God through Nathan to David in 2 Samuel 7. David was an unlikely king himself, set on a track to power during Israel’s trial run at monarchy under the roller-coaster leadership of King Saul. Although he tried not to compete with the one he knew had also been selected for high office by Yahweh, David increasingly found himself on a trajectory that put him on Israel’s throne. Yet he wanted, even there, to affirm that this nation’s truest political structure was a theocracy. The God of the Exodus and the Sinai Covenant was Israel’s primary ruler.
For this reason David brought the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh’s portable throne on earth, to Jerusalem, the new capital city of the nation (2 Samuel 6). Moreover, he wished for the building that would house the Ark to be a splendid palace, worthy of the nation’s Great King. To this task he set his purposes and resources, affirmed, at first, by his advisor, the prophet Nathan (v. 3).
Yet that night Nathan received a new word from the Lord. Although David’s desires were laudable, he was too much a man of battle to build a palace of peace. David should gather the resources and make the plans, and then pass along to his son the mandate of Temple building.
But the prophetic word went further. Because David had tried to do the right thing, God wanted to honor him in a unique way. Although David was not permitted to build a house for God at this time, God would build a house for David. God made a pledge, a promise, a non-conditioned Royal Grant covenant to David. For all the years to come (as Randy Travis would sing: “Forever and ever. Amen!”), into perpetuity, David would have a descendent on the throne of the nation that was called God’s chosen people.
This was an amazing commitment, and it came back in big ways as Israel’s history unfolded. Even when Solomon’s stupid son Rehoboam should have lost the throne entirely, a remnant of the nation stuck with him as king. Their faithfulness to God’s commitments proved accurate, for later the large portion of the nation that split off under Rehoboam’s rival Jeroboam was destroyed by the Assyrian empire in 722 BC. Through the shenanigans of Queen Athaliah and King Ahaz, or the turncoat despotism of King Manasseh, or the selfish panderings of Kings Jehoiakin and Zedekiah, Yahweh remained faithful to the divine promise, and the nation survived international threats that beat down many more powerful neighboring kingdoms. In fact, Judah was never really destroyed. While the Assyrians obliterated the Northern Kingdom, and Judah was made subject to Babylon for a while, a good portion of the nation survived intact as exiles. Eventually they returned to their patrimony, and began hoping anew for the return of the Davidic monarchy and national restoration.
That’s when good ancestral records became vitally important. Every family connected to the royal line would remember this promise of Yahweh and hope and pray that from their household the next great ruler would arise. So it was, that to an otherwise unimportant couple in Nazareth, about a thousand years after Yahweh made this pledge to David, a miraculous birth happened for two people who were both members of the royal family. On the basis of 2 Samuel 7, Jesus was born a king. While there was much that needed proof and confirmation about his character and his potential, once these things were seen by those around Jesus, the pieces quickly fell into place. That is why, when Jesus entered Jerusalem a week before his crucifixion, the crowds could shout with certainty and conviction, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” King Jesus had arrived.
For Israel, through the centuries of her sometimes much scarred existence, the promise of an eternal reign for David’s great sons was like Christmas gifts bought early in November or December, and packaged prettily for display under a tree until Christmas. One even has my name on it; all in the family know that it will bring me wonder and joy and blessing, but its exact content remains a mystery until the wrappings are ripped away. So too with God’s long-planned activity of salvation. The package was clearly set before the world in the national identity of Israel; but until the specifics of the gift were revealed through the person of Jesus, it remained a “mystery.” Even the prophets were somewhat in the dark about the exact contours of the great gift that was to be revealed. But now the wrappings are off, and the proclamation of Jesus is the hope of the world.
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55)
Mary is a marvelous figure. Although Reformers rightly reacted against the excesses of “Mariolatry,” she deserves a lot more honor than many Protestants have accorded. So it would seem that today’s gospel reading ought to raise Mary’s name and identity as a key component in our Advent preaching. But that is not necessarily the case. Although the story is largely about Mary, the message is not. True, she is “highly favored.” But when Gabriel explains why, the focus is on Jesus, not Mary. She will conceive and bear a son, but the son’s name is already declared (mother Mary has no choice in the matter). Her son (not her) will be great. In fact, he will be identified with God, not Mary. And all the promises made to great King David in 2 Samuel 7 will come true in this person she will carry for nine months.
Even when Mary questions how such marvelous tales could become reality, she is again set in the background. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Mary will be acted upon, and almost consumed under the weight of glory that crushes her. The only thing people will remark about, as these things unfold, is that “the holy one to be born will be called the son of God.”
Why does Luke tell us the story this way? He reminds us, at the beginning (Luke 1:1-4), that there are other reflections on the life and teachings of Jesus in circulation. Mark, in his gospel, did not think it appropriate even to talk about the weakness of Jesus when he was just a baby; so his tale begins as the full-grown Jesus strides decisively through the hills and valleys of Galilee, healing and teaching and proclaiming the Kingdom of God in sanctified frenzy. Later in the century John, too, will follow this path, speaking of Jesus’ initial coming only in the metaphors of philosophy and liturgical symbolism. And Matthew’s approach included a few notes about Jesus’ miraculous birth, but tied them quickly to stories of other great deliverers who were born to save Israel.
Luke’s purpose is more clearly seen when the gospel as a whole is read with care. Among the many things that mark Luke’s literary passions and style is his desire to locate the story and message of Jesus within its historical context. These are the days of Caesar Augustus, and Quirinius, and Pontius Pilate, and Claudius. And the way that Luke relates the events and actions of Jesus’ life reflect on incidents that others in the larger Greco-Roman world would appreciate quickly. Everyone knew, for example, that Cyrus the Great of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonians and sent the Jewish exiles home, was miraculously born. His mother claimed that on the night of his conception a bolt of lightning had flamed from heaven and pierced her womb. That is why her son became powerful, a ruler of nations.
So too with the next “Great” ruler of recent history. Alexander, born to Philip of Macedon (supposedly a direct descendent of the god Heracles) and his wife Olympias, was reputed to have come along only when one of the gods visited each of them in dreams and declared the divine qualities of their future son. Not only that, but the Temple of Artemis (or Dianna) in Ephesus caught fire the night Alexander was born. Rumor had it that the gods were so busy midwifing this birth that they neglected their usual care of that honored site.
Then there was the case of Caesar Augustus himself. An astrologer had foretold incredible things about him when he was born. Although his early years as Gaius Octavius Jr., did not betray great promise, by the time he was twelve he gave a funeral oration for his grandmother that stunned the crowds with its insight, passion and brilliance. He was on his way to become a truly divinely appointed ruler.
While Luke would not wish to merely place Jesus among that crowd as a product of myth and superstition, he does understand that the exceptionally great leaders among the nations are prepared and equipped by God. Thus, at the start of Jesus’ life-story, it is important to Luke that the great divine plans be highlighted. Only in this way will the full impact of Jesus’ ministry be understood.
Application
Some gifts we receive are simply add-ons to the polite niceties of the relationship. For instance, a man might give a woman a book as a Christmas gift. He knows she likes to read, and this happens to be a best-seller she has not yet gotten into, so he gives it to her as a reflection of his thoughtfulness.
At a second level, however, other gifts might more directly tie into their relationship. He might buy a bottle of expensive perfume. When she opens the gift she is not only aware of his care, but also enters a conspiracy with him toward a deepening level for their friendship. She applies the perfume to her body, and its scent becomes part of their special language of love. When she uses the perfume she thinks uniquely of him. When he smells the perfume, he thinks solely of her. The gift is not simply an add-on in their friendship; it has become a symbol of their relationship itself.
But there is also a third level of gifting. Suppose the man and the woman are married. Along with gifts like books and perfumes they also have sexual intercourse as an expression of their love. When a baby is born, it is a gift for both of them, since neither could produce it alone. Yet it is more than just an outside gift that is brought into the relationship; it is itself the relationship come to expression. The gift is not just a thoughtful gesture (level 1) or even a meaningful enhancement to the relationship (level 2); this gift is the essence of the relationship come alive in a unique and special way (level 3).
So with Jesus. In the past God spoke of the divine commitment of care to the human race (providence; level 1). God also gave unique testimony of love through the nation of Israel (revelation; level 2). Now, however, God comes to live with us, to be part of our world, and to transform our lives in ways that we had never before considered (salvation; level 3).
Alternative Application
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55). So we need to honor Mary. But we must be careful not to take any of the attention off from her son. Mary’s role in the birth of the Messiah was truly unique. Yet it was only a portion of the long and heaven-directed planning by which God took up residence on earth for the salvation of all nations. This is Luke’s emphasis, and Mary’s song. The balances of power on earth are about to be tipped through this new king, born in the most unlikely of circumstances.
So how do we measure power? Alan Redpath tells of a prominent businessman in South Africa who was duly impressed with the luxury of Rolls Royce automobiles. He ordered one for himself and marveled at its speed and handling. He looked through the manual but found no test results listed indicating the horsepower of the engine. So he went to the dealer.
“I’m sorry,” the dealer told him. “The company never states the horsepower of their engines.”
But the man was not to be put off. And he was too powerful a person to be ignored. So the dealer sent a cable to Derby, England, asking the head office for an answer in the matter.
Within a short time, there was a reply. It was brief and to the point, a response of only a single word. How much horsepower does the Rolls Royce engine develop? “ADEQUATE.” That’s all. That’s enough.
So it is in the birth story of Jesus. The power of God will come down and engender this powerful life. How powerful will the baby be? He will be king. With how much authority? Enough. Adequate. To rule all nations on earth. And everything within them will change.
