In praise of praise
Commentary
Object:
Our English word "carol" emerged from the public celebrations of late Medieval France. It was originally a term used to describe joyful singers circling a flute player. While the subject of the ballads in those early years of "caroling" could be anything that brought a smile to the face and a lilt to the heart and a jig to the step, the word was quickly tied to the singers of Christmas and their songs in praise of God who did wondrous things in the incarnation of Jesus.
So it is that the music of Christmas is now always "caroled." Caroling is the singing of wonder, praise, and joy. One of the great preachers of the past said that when we speak of ordinary things, any old face would do, but when telling the story of salvation, only a radiant smile could communicate the message.
A woman remembered going with her father to a hospital on a Christmas morning as he conducted worship for those who were isolated from families and friends. She recalled her father's passion about the birth stories of Jesus, and the wonder that filled his eyes when he exclaimed the great power and mystery of God's love. When the little congregation sang Christmas carols with feeble voices and warbling weariness, the preacher increased his own passionate praise until all were energized in a holy glow.
All, that is, except one of the charge nurses who was not too happy to be stuck with this Christmas shift and its bothersome holiday extras. She played the part of Nurse Ratched in stellar type-casting. No quiver of a smile had a chance on her grim lips; no flicker of faith would ever sparkle in her eyes.
The young girl carried some of her father's preacherly boldness in her heart, and when the service was over, stood in front of the prim sourpuss demanding, "Aren't you a Christian?"
However inappropriate the challenge from a child who should be seen and not heard, the nurse responded with professional dignity: "Of course I am."
"Then," said the budding evangelist, "your heart should tell your face!"
So it should be with us on this first Sunday of Christmas. It is indeed a time for caroling, for singing, for dancing, and for contagious chorusing. Isaiah called Israel to such expressions of faith in today's lectionary passage, as did the writer of Hebrews who was more fully conscious of how God's great acts of deliverance had worked themselves out in the coming of the Savior.
Only Herod, in our readings, found more kinship in the scathing disdain of Nurse Ratched. And, of course, the result was music far afield from caroling.
Isaiah 63:7-9
Isaiah was born in an era of nervous prosperity, when Judah's king presumed that his political success gave him the right to be national high priest as well (2 Chronicles 26). Yahweh sent a stern message of reproach, inflicting Uzziah with leprosy, the mark of divine judgment, forcing him to relinquish all his future plans as he became a social and religious outcast. This was the reason for Isaiah's fear during his own temple encounter with the Holy One (Isaiah 6), an event that he coupled in his journal with Uzziah's fatal hubris (Isaiah 6:1).
Isaiah was likely a member of the royal family who served as court historian and reporter. He did not relish the job during the reign of Ahaz, who was a religious weakling (Isaiah 7) and a political eel, slipping into the shadow of whatever international bully happened to bellow the loudest at the moment. More to Isaiah's temperament was Hezekiah, Ahaz' son, a man as different from his father as was possible. Hezekiah housecleaned the temple, restored the ceremonies prescribed by Moses, found and published Solomon's wisdom (see Proverbs 25:1), and remained faithful to Yahweh's insistence on political neutrality in a world where Assyria threatened and Egypt beckoned and Syria bullied and Israel taunted.
The outcome of little Judah's faithful independence and fealty to Yahweh was a miraculous deliverance wildly more gripping than most Hollywood blockbusters could fabricate: insults and taunts are shouted from the Mount of Olives directly down to the putrid masses huddled in famine and fear; King Hezekiah spreads a document demanding capitulation on the temple altar and receives prophetic word that deliverance is moments away; a city official publicly doubts the sanity of the king's religious trust and is told that within 24 hours freedom will swing open barricaded doors, and foodstuffs will glut the current scalpers' black market, but he will not live to see it happen; lepers sneak out of a besieged city where famine stalks and disease creeps, seeking crumbs from boisterous enemy soldiers tied by fat supply lines back to Nineveh; undefeated Assyrian shock troops, the best in the world, are frightened by nighttime sighings of the breeze in the trees, and run away home in terror; siege-weary Jerusalem awakens to absolute quiet from the enemy encirclement, and stampedes to gorge on Assyrian coffers at the beckoning of lepers, crushing the doubting city manager at precisely the hour of relief.
This is the kind of "tall tale" behind Isaiah's song in this reading. God had indeed done "many good things" and praise was the order of the day.
But it is the note of Yahweh's identification with his people that is particularly important for New Testament Christians on a day like the first Sunday of Christmas. Isaiah sings, "In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them" (v. 9). While this could be interpreted in many ways, it is no more clearly understood than through the complete engagement of the Creator with his creatures in the incarnation of the Savior, Jesus. In our distress, God is himself distressed. And, for our sakes, at Christmastime, the distress of God was revealed in the stressed and distressed life of Jesus. That is why the tone of Christmas carols is always wonder and praise.
Hebrews 2:10-18
Christianity was only three decades old. Many of the first believers in Jesus as Messiah were no longer around, either aged into eternity or robbed of life through martyrdom. Rome was at its imperial apex, with no other contenders around the Mediterranean Sea (dubbed proudly by some as "that Roman lake"!), although Hellenized Persia continued to challenge for control of the Levant, and northern "barbaric" tribes pricked restlessly at the forested borders of Gaul and Germania.
Great success and power had corrupted the city of Rome itself, however, and its grandeur from a distance appeared very tarnished to those who came seeking more. Patrician families clashed in jealous intrigues, the masses who flooded in from the reaches of the empire demanded more food and bloodier entertainment, and the throne itself saw a succession of spoiled and ill-tempered brutes warm it for a season before unnatural deaths stalked them in poetic justice (accurate historical depictions are portrayed in HBO's cable series Rome, available on DVD). Caligula's cruelty gave way to Claudius' meddling and addiction to gladiatorial gore. More recently Nero had ascended when his mother poisoned Claudius, and ominous portents suggested greater travesties to come.
In this context a fair number of Romans looked for moral grounding and social stability not offered by their contemporary society. Many were intrigued by the countercultural religious devotion and ethical rectitude evidenced by the large Jewish community. Although Jews were not given to evangelistic proselytizing, any outsiders who came with humble demands to join this religio-ethnic community were not turned away. It took at least three years of conformity to Mosaic mores, as interpreted by rabbis and traditions, before Gentile "God-fearers" were admitted into the fellowship.
The newcomers often exceeded their born-and-bred compatriots in ritualistic zeal, since for them it was a costly choice of identity, often requiring complete breaks with family and former associates. A proselyte to Judaism was not easily distracted from rigorous participation in full expressions of Jewish faith and life.
Within this roiling world of moral quest and religious shifting, a new factor had recently emerged, and from the unlikeliest of sources -- the Jewish homeland itself. Reports were multiplying of a young Galilean itinerant teacher, Jeshua ben Joseph, who had garnered large crowds in open-air meetings. It was hard to know the significance of these things because he appeared to be conservative religiously while progressive socially. He challenged the current ruling systems, Roman and Jewish, without developing a political base of his own or advocating any revolutionary movement. Some said he was Messiah, some a great prophet, some a miracle-worker the likes of which had not been seen in generations. All agreed that he was a captivating teacher and that those who experienced his personal care came away with healing and hope of one kind or another.
A strange twist entered the reports at this point, for the young rabbi's life was cut short through intrigues precipitating his crucifixion. This was not unusual in and of itself, since such actions were part of daily political life. But in this instance, the telling of these events was coupled with strange testimonies that this Jesus had come back from the dead, not just in ghostly form, but in full fleshly presence. Some denied this. Some affirmed it. Some saw it as a confirmation that Jesus was actually the Messiah.
In fact, a new strain of messianic Judaism was quickly spreading from community to community, and powerful teachers were spreading the word that the prophetic "Day of the Lord" had arrived. Arguments about Jesus were popping up in synagogue discussions and marketplace conversations. During the reign of Claudius these energetic engagements erupted into boisterous name-calling and mob-producing incitements. Around 48 AD, Claudius actually expelled the entire Jewish community from Rome in an attempt to regain order after heated debates about one "Chrestus" (probably a misreported version of "Christus") caught the public ire.
After a brief cooling-down period, Jews reentered Rome and life went on in tedious tenacity. That is, until Nero succeeded Claudius, and set about on his own grand rebuilding of the royal capital. When fires destroyed much of the city in 64 AD, the emperor pointed the finger at the Christians and began a four-year intensive persecution of the sect. By this time, however, there was a common recognition that Christianity was not merely a subset of Judaism, and for that reason, Jews were not included in the pogrom.
All of these things lie behind the crafting of what we know as the Epistle to the Hebrews. Many of the Gentile proselytes to Judaism were quickly swept into the ranks of the Christian believers. How fortunate they were to have sought out this deeply religious persuasion at exactly the time when its messianic prophecies were being fulfilled! Gentile converts to Judaism made up a sizeable portion of the Christian community in Rome. Thus, when Nero targeted the latter while deliberately ignoring the former, these new believers in Jesus were caught in a quandary: Should we stay with the recent developments of our Jewish faith and lose homes and businesses and lives and family and friends, or should we return to the non-messianic Judaism that first attracted us and keep our homes and businesses and lives and family and friends?
It is easy to see how many actively contemplated or pursued the latter path, and how hard it was to hold to the former route. But that is precisely what Hebrews is written to encourage. And in today's lectionary reading, prophetic weight is added to homiletic urgency for all who think that giving up Jesus will save them from hardship. It is precisely through suffering that Jesus was proved the Messiah, according to our text. And it is only in following Jesus through the suffering that is about to be unleashed by Nero that full religious perfection will be found. Faithfulness to Jesus is actually the truest measure of remaining faithfully Jewish (v. 16). The story of Christmas is the confirmation of it all. That is why we carol the praise of our God.
Matthew 2:13-23
Mark's summary of Peter's preaching about Jesus appeared in print as the first gospel, sometime during Nero's persecutions. It was an affirmation that in the clash of the political powers of the day, the heavenly "Son of God" would always defeat the earthly "son of God," the name given by the Roman Senate to each new emperor when the previous one was awarded a postmortem deification.
When Matthew wanted to circulate Mark's gospel tract among his own Syrian community, he found it somewhat deficient in several ways. First, it did not provide an adequate story of what happened at Jesus' resurrection, and the cover-up that ensued. Second, the beginning was far too abrupt, bringing Jesus into the throes of heated battle without telling the amazing story of the incarnation and divine planning. Third, there were so many more great teachings of Jesus that should have been recounted in its pages. Fourth, the language of the tome was a little rough. And fifth, particularly for Matthew's own Jewish-Christian congregations, the link to Israel's covenant past was underplayed. To each of these deficiencies, Matthew set his corrective hand.
It is the last issue, in particular, that helps us understand the contours of our gospel reading. The story of the Magi is well-known. But this follow-up tale is often ignored because of its travelogue feel and nasty report of infanticide. Yet when it is understood from Matthew's gospel-rewriting point of view, it begins to shimmer with significance.
Matthew wants to emphasize, for his Jewish-Christian communicants, the resounding connection between Jesus and their historic faith. To accomplish this, he builds a genealogic table (1:1-17) that points to the rhythmic work of God in bringing in the messianic kingdom, even concluding the recitation with a clear indication that God has to be up to something again, since the dials, cogs, and constellations are all lining up again for the culminating fourteenth generation.
Then Matthew checks off a list of comparisons that will fully identify Jesus with the heritage of Israel. Jesus is miraculously born according to angelic foretelling (1:1-18), just like others of Israel's strategic deliverers (think of Isaac, Samson, and Samuel). Jesus is heralded to the nations (2:1-12) as the ultimate source of human meaning and divine connection (think of God's testimony to Abram in Genesis 12, and Rahab and the Gibeonites of Joshua's experiences). Now, in today's passage, like ancient Israel, Jesus is called out of Egypt, just as the ruler of the day kills baby boys (Herod=Pharaoh), and called to a unique ministry (living in Nazareth he becomes a Nazarene that sounds like a Nazirite).
Matthew will continue this deft coupling of Jesus with Israel as he brings the prophet John out of the wilderness (think Moses) to help Jesus pass through the waters of the Jordan River (as did Israel, 3:1-17), while a period of temptation for forty (days for Jesus, years for Israel) prepares them to enter the promised land of messianic fulfillment (4:1-25). All of this is confirmed when Jesus becomes the new Moses, going up the mountain (5:1) to teach the ways of the kingdom to a new generation.
So the text for today has three primary homiletic meanings. First, it is part of a larger arc in Matthew's gospel designed to fully connect Jesus to Israel's history and help us understand that he is the culmination and fulfillment of God's historic salvific plans through the family of Abraham. Second, it is a reminder that these divine initiatives are always coupled with resistance and evil counterattacks. Third, there is a nod of recollection that those who participate in the grand mission of God are "Nazirites"; they are set aside and consecrated to be the agents of God's restoration of the entire cosmos in the mighty mystery of salvation.
Application
Robert Rainy, principal of New College in Edinburgh late in the nineteenth century, described joy as "the flag that flies over the castle when the king is in residence." How apt! Joy flutters and catches the breeze. Joy animates the colors of its components. Joy tells the story of the one who resides in the big house. Joy is the song of delight that echoes in the stirring renditions of national anthems when peace and hope and expectation are the hues of the day.
Rainy used the analogy to explain to his niece what it meant for Jesus to bring joy. God come home. God near at hand. God making the world right. God taking up residence among us. This is the message of Christmas and the echo of our texts for today. God has returned to the castle of earth's kingdoms, the rightful Lord and Master. And those who know it sing with joy.
Alternative Application
Hebrews 2:10-18. L. Nelson Bell, the father-in-law of Billy Graham, was a medical missionary in China for much of his career. One of the earliest converts to Christianity under his ministry was a wizened old man that later church members simply called "Elder Cao." When Dr. Bell asked Elder Cao to tell some visitors why he had become a Christian, the elderly gentleman put it simply.
"A man fell into a deep and slimy pit," said Elder Cao, "and he was unable to get out. Along came the Buddha. He stopped and took pity on the man. 'If you will come up here to me,' said the Buddha, 'I will teach you the way of enlightenment and you will never fall into the pit again.' But the man could not get out of the pit, so the Buddha went on to bring enlightenment to others.
"Along came Confucius, and he too was moved with compassion by the plight of the man in the pit. 'If you will listen to my teachings,' said Confucius, 'you will understand how society is formed, and what can be done to prevent anyone from falling into the pit.' Then he, too, went on, for the man did not rise out of the pit.
"Finally," said Elder Cao, "Jesus came along. As with the others, he was filled with concern for the man in the pit. So he jumped down into the pit and helped the man get out.
"This," said Elder Cao, "is why I am a Christian."
That, in summary, is the message of the book of Hebrews as a whole, and the focus of today's lectionary reading in particular. Partnered with the background material above, this would make an excellent homiletic word of encouragement.
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 148
This psalm is all about praise. It is extravagant in its descriptions of the kinds of praise and of the things that should be praised. It sings, shouts, soars, and dances the praise of God! It is an understanding of and approach to praise that is completely different than our own. In short, this psalm illustrates praise as a way of life; praise as an attitude. Usually we reserve an hour or so a week for praise. We head to church, do our praise thing, and then head back out into the world to slog through another week.
But the psalmist here comes from a much different place. Praise pours from the core of one's being. Praise escapes from the lips and claps in the rhythm of the hands. Everywhere the eyes look, there are reasons to praise. The sight of the mountains and the oceans, the smell of pine trees in the hot summer air; all of it erupts into what one gospel preacher called, "an attitude of gratitude."
All this begs the question, how do we develop this attitude? How do we move out from our compartmentalized lives where we reserve a fraction of one day a week to give to God? How do we go from a religion designed to meet our needs to a movement of transformed people who give their lives over to God's needs?
Can we just decide to do it? No. If it were that simple it would have been done long ago. Could it be that it's not a one-time decision, but a focused ongoing effort? Is it possible that the development of a lifestyle of praise begins with praising God as soon as we open our eyes every morning? Can it be part of a spiritual discipline about how we respond to life?
We are not objects of life's activity, we are God's children. We can praise God in any condition or situation. Are we in struggle over a relationship? God is still to be praised! Are we hurting or wounded? God is still worthy of praise! Is our life crowded with injustice and violence? The songs of praise create the rhythms of liberation's dance. All the myriad streams of our days can exist in the same space and moment as an utterance of praise. How else could Saint Paul sing songs of praise from jail? How else could the Freedom Riders sing songs as the dogs were unleashed upon them?
Moving into a life of praise takes practice, it's true. But it is worth the effort. It is worth the time. For truly, God is worthy of our praise. Worthy indeed.
So it is that the music of Christmas is now always "caroled." Caroling is the singing of wonder, praise, and joy. One of the great preachers of the past said that when we speak of ordinary things, any old face would do, but when telling the story of salvation, only a radiant smile could communicate the message.
A woman remembered going with her father to a hospital on a Christmas morning as he conducted worship for those who were isolated from families and friends. She recalled her father's passion about the birth stories of Jesus, and the wonder that filled his eyes when he exclaimed the great power and mystery of God's love. When the little congregation sang Christmas carols with feeble voices and warbling weariness, the preacher increased his own passionate praise until all were energized in a holy glow.
All, that is, except one of the charge nurses who was not too happy to be stuck with this Christmas shift and its bothersome holiday extras. She played the part of Nurse Ratched in stellar type-casting. No quiver of a smile had a chance on her grim lips; no flicker of faith would ever sparkle in her eyes.
The young girl carried some of her father's preacherly boldness in her heart, and when the service was over, stood in front of the prim sourpuss demanding, "Aren't you a Christian?"
However inappropriate the challenge from a child who should be seen and not heard, the nurse responded with professional dignity: "Of course I am."
"Then," said the budding evangelist, "your heart should tell your face!"
So it should be with us on this first Sunday of Christmas. It is indeed a time for caroling, for singing, for dancing, and for contagious chorusing. Isaiah called Israel to such expressions of faith in today's lectionary passage, as did the writer of Hebrews who was more fully conscious of how God's great acts of deliverance had worked themselves out in the coming of the Savior.
Only Herod, in our readings, found more kinship in the scathing disdain of Nurse Ratched. And, of course, the result was music far afield from caroling.
Isaiah 63:7-9
Isaiah was born in an era of nervous prosperity, when Judah's king presumed that his political success gave him the right to be national high priest as well (2 Chronicles 26). Yahweh sent a stern message of reproach, inflicting Uzziah with leprosy, the mark of divine judgment, forcing him to relinquish all his future plans as he became a social and religious outcast. This was the reason for Isaiah's fear during his own temple encounter with the Holy One (Isaiah 6), an event that he coupled in his journal with Uzziah's fatal hubris (Isaiah 6:1).
Isaiah was likely a member of the royal family who served as court historian and reporter. He did not relish the job during the reign of Ahaz, who was a religious weakling (Isaiah 7) and a political eel, slipping into the shadow of whatever international bully happened to bellow the loudest at the moment. More to Isaiah's temperament was Hezekiah, Ahaz' son, a man as different from his father as was possible. Hezekiah housecleaned the temple, restored the ceremonies prescribed by Moses, found and published Solomon's wisdom (see Proverbs 25:1), and remained faithful to Yahweh's insistence on political neutrality in a world where Assyria threatened and Egypt beckoned and Syria bullied and Israel taunted.
The outcome of little Judah's faithful independence and fealty to Yahweh was a miraculous deliverance wildly more gripping than most Hollywood blockbusters could fabricate: insults and taunts are shouted from the Mount of Olives directly down to the putrid masses huddled in famine and fear; King Hezekiah spreads a document demanding capitulation on the temple altar and receives prophetic word that deliverance is moments away; a city official publicly doubts the sanity of the king's religious trust and is told that within 24 hours freedom will swing open barricaded doors, and foodstuffs will glut the current scalpers' black market, but he will not live to see it happen; lepers sneak out of a besieged city where famine stalks and disease creeps, seeking crumbs from boisterous enemy soldiers tied by fat supply lines back to Nineveh; undefeated Assyrian shock troops, the best in the world, are frightened by nighttime sighings of the breeze in the trees, and run away home in terror; siege-weary Jerusalem awakens to absolute quiet from the enemy encirclement, and stampedes to gorge on Assyrian coffers at the beckoning of lepers, crushing the doubting city manager at precisely the hour of relief.
This is the kind of "tall tale" behind Isaiah's song in this reading. God had indeed done "many good things" and praise was the order of the day.
But it is the note of Yahweh's identification with his people that is particularly important for New Testament Christians on a day like the first Sunday of Christmas. Isaiah sings, "In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them" (v. 9). While this could be interpreted in many ways, it is no more clearly understood than through the complete engagement of the Creator with his creatures in the incarnation of the Savior, Jesus. In our distress, God is himself distressed. And, for our sakes, at Christmastime, the distress of God was revealed in the stressed and distressed life of Jesus. That is why the tone of Christmas carols is always wonder and praise.
Hebrews 2:10-18
Christianity was only three decades old. Many of the first believers in Jesus as Messiah were no longer around, either aged into eternity or robbed of life through martyrdom. Rome was at its imperial apex, with no other contenders around the Mediterranean Sea (dubbed proudly by some as "that Roman lake"!), although Hellenized Persia continued to challenge for control of the Levant, and northern "barbaric" tribes pricked restlessly at the forested borders of Gaul and Germania.
Great success and power had corrupted the city of Rome itself, however, and its grandeur from a distance appeared very tarnished to those who came seeking more. Patrician families clashed in jealous intrigues, the masses who flooded in from the reaches of the empire demanded more food and bloodier entertainment, and the throne itself saw a succession of spoiled and ill-tempered brutes warm it for a season before unnatural deaths stalked them in poetic justice (accurate historical depictions are portrayed in HBO's cable series Rome, available on DVD). Caligula's cruelty gave way to Claudius' meddling and addiction to gladiatorial gore. More recently Nero had ascended when his mother poisoned Claudius, and ominous portents suggested greater travesties to come.
In this context a fair number of Romans looked for moral grounding and social stability not offered by their contemporary society. Many were intrigued by the countercultural religious devotion and ethical rectitude evidenced by the large Jewish community. Although Jews were not given to evangelistic proselytizing, any outsiders who came with humble demands to join this religio-ethnic community were not turned away. It took at least three years of conformity to Mosaic mores, as interpreted by rabbis and traditions, before Gentile "God-fearers" were admitted into the fellowship.
The newcomers often exceeded their born-and-bred compatriots in ritualistic zeal, since for them it was a costly choice of identity, often requiring complete breaks with family and former associates. A proselyte to Judaism was not easily distracted from rigorous participation in full expressions of Jewish faith and life.
Within this roiling world of moral quest and religious shifting, a new factor had recently emerged, and from the unlikeliest of sources -- the Jewish homeland itself. Reports were multiplying of a young Galilean itinerant teacher, Jeshua ben Joseph, who had garnered large crowds in open-air meetings. It was hard to know the significance of these things because he appeared to be conservative religiously while progressive socially. He challenged the current ruling systems, Roman and Jewish, without developing a political base of his own or advocating any revolutionary movement. Some said he was Messiah, some a great prophet, some a miracle-worker the likes of which had not been seen in generations. All agreed that he was a captivating teacher and that those who experienced his personal care came away with healing and hope of one kind or another.
A strange twist entered the reports at this point, for the young rabbi's life was cut short through intrigues precipitating his crucifixion. This was not unusual in and of itself, since such actions were part of daily political life. But in this instance, the telling of these events was coupled with strange testimonies that this Jesus had come back from the dead, not just in ghostly form, but in full fleshly presence. Some denied this. Some affirmed it. Some saw it as a confirmation that Jesus was actually the Messiah.
In fact, a new strain of messianic Judaism was quickly spreading from community to community, and powerful teachers were spreading the word that the prophetic "Day of the Lord" had arrived. Arguments about Jesus were popping up in synagogue discussions and marketplace conversations. During the reign of Claudius these energetic engagements erupted into boisterous name-calling and mob-producing incitements. Around 48 AD, Claudius actually expelled the entire Jewish community from Rome in an attempt to regain order after heated debates about one "Chrestus" (probably a misreported version of "Christus") caught the public ire.
After a brief cooling-down period, Jews reentered Rome and life went on in tedious tenacity. That is, until Nero succeeded Claudius, and set about on his own grand rebuilding of the royal capital. When fires destroyed much of the city in 64 AD, the emperor pointed the finger at the Christians and began a four-year intensive persecution of the sect. By this time, however, there was a common recognition that Christianity was not merely a subset of Judaism, and for that reason, Jews were not included in the pogrom.
All of these things lie behind the crafting of what we know as the Epistle to the Hebrews. Many of the Gentile proselytes to Judaism were quickly swept into the ranks of the Christian believers. How fortunate they were to have sought out this deeply religious persuasion at exactly the time when its messianic prophecies were being fulfilled! Gentile converts to Judaism made up a sizeable portion of the Christian community in Rome. Thus, when Nero targeted the latter while deliberately ignoring the former, these new believers in Jesus were caught in a quandary: Should we stay with the recent developments of our Jewish faith and lose homes and businesses and lives and family and friends, or should we return to the non-messianic Judaism that first attracted us and keep our homes and businesses and lives and family and friends?
It is easy to see how many actively contemplated or pursued the latter path, and how hard it was to hold to the former route. But that is precisely what Hebrews is written to encourage. And in today's lectionary reading, prophetic weight is added to homiletic urgency for all who think that giving up Jesus will save them from hardship. It is precisely through suffering that Jesus was proved the Messiah, according to our text. And it is only in following Jesus through the suffering that is about to be unleashed by Nero that full religious perfection will be found. Faithfulness to Jesus is actually the truest measure of remaining faithfully Jewish (v. 16). The story of Christmas is the confirmation of it all. That is why we carol the praise of our God.
Matthew 2:13-23
Mark's summary of Peter's preaching about Jesus appeared in print as the first gospel, sometime during Nero's persecutions. It was an affirmation that in the clash of the political powers of the day, the heavenly "Son of God" would always defeat the earthly "son of God," the name given by the Roman Senate to each new emperor when the previous one was awarded a postmortem deification.
When Matthew wanted to circulate Mark's gospel tract among his own Syrian community, he found it somewhat deficient in several ways. First, it did not provide an adequate story of what happened at Jesus' resurrection, and the cover-up that ensued. Second, the beginning was far too abrupt, bringing Jesus into the throes of heated battle without telling the amazing story of the incarnation and divine planning. Third, there were so many more great teachings of Jesus that should have been recounted in its pages. Fourth, the language of the tome was a little rough. And fifth, particularly for Matthew's own Jewish-Christian congregations, the link to Israel's covenant past was underplayed. To each of these deficiencies, Matthew set his corrective hand.
It is the last issue, in particular, that helps us understand the contours of our gospel reading. The story of the Magi is well-known. But this follow-up tale is often ignored because of its travelogue feel and nasty report of infanticide. Yet when it is understood from Matthew's gospel-rewriting point of view, it begins to shimmer with significance.
Matthew wants to emphasize, for his Jewish-Christian communicants, the resounding connection between Jesus and their historic faith. To accomplish this, he builds a genealogic table (1:1-17) that points to the rhythmic work of God in bringing in the messianic kingdom, even concluding the recitation with a clear indication that God has to be up to something again, since the dials, cogs, and constellations are all lining up again for the culminating fourteenth generation.
Then Matthew checks off a list of comparisons that will fully identify Jesus with the heritage of Israel. Jesus is miraculously born according to angelic foretelling (1:1-18), just like others of Israel's strategic deliverers (think of Isaac, Samson, and Samuel). Jesus is heralded to the nations (2:1-12) as the ultimate source of human meaning and divine connection (think of God's testimony to Abram in Genesis 12, and Rahab and the Gibeonites of Joshua's experiences). Now, in today's passage, like ancient Israel, Jesus is called out of Egypt, just as the ruler of the day kills baby boys (Herod=Pharaoh), and called to a unique ministry (living in Nazareth he becomes a Nazarene that sounds like a Nazirite).
Matthew will continue this deft coupling of Jesus with Israel as he brings the prophet John out of the wilderness (think Moses) to help Jesus pass through the waters of the Jordan River (as did Israel, 3:1-17), while a period of temptation for forty (days for Jesus, years for Israel) prepares them to enter the promised land of messianic fulfillment (4:1-25). All of this is confirmed when Jesus becomes the new Moses, going up the mountain (5:1) to teach the ways of the kingdom to a new generation.
So the text for today has three primary homiletic meanings. First, it is part of a larger arc in Matthew's gospel designed to fully connect Jesus to Israel's history and help us understand that he is the culmination and fulfillment of God's historic salvific plans through the family of Abraham. Second, it is a reminder that these divine initiatives are always coupled with resistance and evil counterattacks. Third, there is a nod of recollection that those who participate in the grand mission of God are "Nazirites"; they are set aside and consecrated to be the agents of God's restoration of the entire cosmos in the mighty mystery of salvation.
Application
Robert Rainy, principal of New College in Edinburgh late in the nineteenth century, described joy as "the flag that flies over the castle when the king is in residence." How apt! Joy flutters and catches the breeze. Joy animates the colors of its components. Joy tells the story of the one who resides in the big house. Joy is the song of delight that echoes in the stirring renditions of national anthems when peace and hope and expectation are the hues of the day.
Rainy used the analogy to explain to his niece what it meant for Jesus to bring joy. God come home. God near at hand. God making the world right. God taking up residence among us. This is the message of Christmas and the echo of our texts for today. God has returned to the castle of earth's kingdoms, the rightful Lord and Master. And those who know it sing with joy.
Alternative Application
Hebrews 2:10-18. L. Nelson Bell, the father-in-law of Billy Graham, was a medical missionary in China for much of his career. One of the earliest converts to Christianity under his ministry was a wizened old man that later church members simply called "Elder Cao." When Dr. Bell asked Elder Cao to tell some visitors why he had become a Christian, the elderly gentleman put it simply.
"A man fell into a deep and slimy pit," said Elder Cao, "and he was unable to get out. Along came the Buddha. He stopped and took pity on the man. 'If you will come up here to me,' said the Buddha, 'I will teach you the way of enlightenment and you will never fall into the pit again.' But the man could not get out of the pit, so the Buddha went on to bring enlightenment to others.
"Along came Confucius, and he too was moved with compassion by the plight of the man in the pit. 'If you will listen to my teachings,' said Confucius, 'you will understand how society is formed, and what can be done to prevent anyone from falling into the pit.' Then he, too, went on, for the man did not rise out of the pit.
"Finally," said Elder Cao, "Jesus came along. As with the others, he was filled with concern for the man in the pit. So he jumped down into the pit and helped the man get out.
"This," said Elder Cao, "is why I am a Christian."
That, in summary, is the message of the book of Hebrews as a whole, and the focus of today's lectionary reading in particular. Partnered with the background material above, this would make an excellent homiletic word of encouragement.
Preaching the Psalm
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 148
This psalm is all about praise. It is extravagant in its descriptions of the kinds of praise and of the things that should be praised. It sings, shouts, soars, and dances the praise of God! It is an understanding of and approach to praise that is completely different than our own. In short, this psalm illustrates praise as a way of life; praise as an attitude. Usually we reserve an hour or so a week for praise. We head to church, do our praise thing, and then head back out into the world to slog through another week.
But the psalmist here comes from a much different place. Praise pours from the core of one's being. Praise escapes from the lips and claps in the rhythm of the hands. Everywhere the eyes look, there are reasons to praise. The sight of the mountains and the oceans, the smell of pine trees in the hot summer air; all of it erupts into what one gospel preacher called, "an attitude of gratitude."
All this begs the question, how do we develop this attitude? How do we move out from our compartmentalized lives where we reserve a fraction of one day a week to give to God? How do we go from a religion designed to meet our needs to a movement of transformed people who give their lives over to God's needs?
Can we just decide to do it? No. If it were that simple it would have been done long ago. Could it be that it's not a one-time decision, but a focused ongoing effort? Is it possible that the development of a lifestyle of praise begins with praising God as soon as we open our eyes every morning? Can it be part of a spiritual discipline about how we respond to life?
We are not objects of life's activity, we are God's children. We can praise God in any condition or situation. Are we in struggle over a relationship? God is still to be praised! Are we hurting or wounded? God is still worthy of praise! Is our life crowded with injustice and violence? The songs of praise create the rhythms of liberation's dance. All the myriad streams of our days can exist in the same space and moment as an utterance of praise. How else could Saint Paul sing songs of praise from jail? How else could the Freedom Riders sing songs as the dogs were unleashed upon them?
Moving into a life of praise takes practice, it's true. But it is worth the effort. It is worth the time. For truly, God is worthy of our praise. Worthy indeed.
