The surprise of Baby Grace
Commentary
And so it comes to this: After days of cooking and baking, planning and preparing, buying and wrapping and decorating, the goal of our efforts is at hand. The presents are under the tree, the stockings are hung, the Christmas dinner is on the table, the family is all together, perhaps trying to avoid the standard family arguments that always boil up and over when we're together at the holidays.
And so it comes to this: After the retail efforts nationwide, in which some businesses do 50 percent of their annual sales at Christmastime, after the shot in the arm that the Christmas shopping season gives to the national economy, the end of the shipping and advertising and stocking and restocking and ordering arrives.
And so it comes to this: Through Advent we have looked for and prepared for the coming of ... what? Well, if we hadn't experienced Christmas before, what would we have prepared for? We have spoken of the waiting and the hoping of Israel, the longing and yearning of people. We have felt the need for redemption and reconciliation for those who are exiled, in whatever form the exile may be, an ancient one in Babylon, or a modern one, perhaps the exile within one's own soul. But what are we looking for? You know you need, but you don't know what you need. In the times of exile, who can know what salvation means? In the midst of darkness who could ever know what the light will look like?
Imagine someone looking at the planet from far away with a powerful telescope and seeing how much effort we put into the celebration. Imagine a telescope so powerful that it could see how much emotional investment we make in the season. What would this extraterrestrial watcher say about what was going on? And then imagine that the telescope was so powerful it could look into the past. What would this watcher say to discover the real event behind all of the fuss we make?
Oh sure, we could offer all kinds of psychological reasons why people have a deep need for a celebration at this time of year, perhaps look at the anthropological reasons that a winter solstice festival meets certain needs of a culture and a people, maybe trace the pagan roots of the Christmas tree in the religion of the Druids. We could do all of that. But none of it would ever really answer the questions of the watcher or of us.
Because what it all comes down to is, of all things, a child being born, in an insignificant Middle Eastern country, an occupied corner of the Roman Empire, in the middle Iron Age, in a small town, under terrible circumstances. The last thing in the world that any of us would expect. God always surprises; who could possibly guess?
In the images of the story are some very surprising things: the strange juxtaposition of angels and a barn, of a savior in a feeding trough, of kings kneeling before a baby born in poverty. But the most surprising thing of all is that the Grace of God turns out to be a baby.
Isaiah 9:2-7
A hymn, a poem, a glorious aria sung in exultation, a chorus of angelic voices praising God. Is it possible to read these words without hearing Handel's Messiah in your mind? How many sermons could be written from these six verses? In a few words, it spans the full range of the gospel: It begins in darkness and it ends with the zeal of the Lord of hosts. And at the center of it is a child.
Historically, this passage almost certainly has roots in an actual event, although what that event was is open to debate. Elizabeth Achtemeier holds, along with many others, that it was to celebrate the coronation of the Judean king Hezekiah. Others suggest Jehoash or Ahaz. Still others believe that it was composed to celebrate the birth of a crown prince. In any case, given its historical setting, what right have we to recite it in connection with the birth of Jesus? This is a central question about prophetic literature and writing: Can it be both a description of, and a hymn about, an actual, historical event, and at the same time be "about" Jesus Christ? The answer is yes, but there is a difference: To assert the former is to make a statement of history; to assert the latter is to make a statement of faith. They are two different realms. God's promises are always open-ended, never completed finally in one fell swoop, always open to further fulfillment in future generations. The promise, though, is steadfast and enduring.
The passage opens with a brief introduction about bringing light into the darkness of people's lives, and their joyous celebration, for among other things, God has "multiplied the nation." It is like the joy of the harvest, and the joy, oddly, of people dividing the plunder.
And why the joy? The passage embarks on a series of three statements, verses 4-6, each beginning with "for." In other words, here are the reasons for the joy:
1. God has broken the oppression that the people have suffered, which the poet compares to Gideon's defeat of the Midianites (Judges 7).
2. God has destroyed the soldiers and their gear, even burning their clothes so there is no remnant.
3. Most important, a child is born.
So let's talk about the child, because he, of course, is how this relates to Christmas and the birth of Jesus. The child is born specifically "for" others. He is one who has authority, whose titles reflect what he will bring to the people. He will have the wisdom of a counselor, the might of God, the eternal care of a father, and he will bring peace. What more could you possibly ask for in a king, or a Messiah? His authority will grow, and peace will reign forever. And then we learn that it will be the throne of David from which this child will rule. And the marks of his kingdom will be justice and righteousness. It would be, if the prophet were to have his way, a complete restoration of David's kingdom.
It is a remarkable vision of how things are to be. But having already picked it apart and looked inside, we must now set that aside and put it back together. More important than its setting and the simple meaning of its words and verses, are the feelings, the mood, the tone behind this piece of poetry. This is a poem, an image, a song. We shouldn't read it; we should sing it, and we should feel it. Feel the joy. Feel the exultation and the triumph. Feel the fulfillment of the promise.
This is prophecy, but it is also joy, Christmas joy. Wrapped up in swaddling cloths.
Titus 2:11-14
Paul's letter to Titus is the third of three so-called Pastoral Epistles, pastoral because they deal with basic matters of the pastoral ministry in a church. The teaching of the letter to Titus is largely advisory and practical. It has to do with administration in the church and how to deal, as a church leader, with various groups of the church.
Pauline authorship is generally in doubt about all three of the pastorals. The letters lack much of what is distinctive in Pauline language and theology. What we see here is the common practice of pseudonymous authorship, using the name of a respected figure to lend authority to another's writing. Strange in our day, it was an accepted convention in the past, as an effort in the young church to interpret the thought of the respected figure.
Verse 11 begins with "for" so we know that what follows will be the explanation for something Paul had said previously. In this case Paul has been giving advice about various groups in the church, advice which, to our modern ears, sounds very offensive, urging wives to be submissive to their husbands and slaves to be submissive to their masters. In general, the advice could be summed up as an injunction not to make waves.
And the reason for that is the salvation in Jesus Christ. The grace of God appeared bringing salvation to all. That grace of God is efficacious, it does something, it produces something in us. It has the effect of changing our behavior, training us in a new way of living. "Training" is a strange usage, but if there is any truth at all to the notion that we are transformed by the grace of God, changed to our core, then training is a part of it.
Even as the author speaks of the grace of God that has already appeared in the world, he jumps ahead in verse 13 to God's further manifestation in Jesus Christ. And the passage ends with a statement of what Jesus Christ has done -- he gave himself to humanity.
This is an overview of Jesus Christ and why he came, a traditional theological statement of Christology. Yet at Christmas, such a grand concept as the grace of God coming down from on high and appearing in the world becomes more common and everyday, more mundane, and still more joyous, in the birth of a child.
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
How often have we heard these lines! They come to us every year in Christmas worship, but they also are to be heard in Christmas pageants and Christmas cards. They have even been taken up by the secular society, as we see mangers and stables and stars, shepherds and angels in every magazine, on television, even outside city hall.
Is it that the holiday has lent a sort of retroactive significance to these words, or is it something about these words in themselves that so grabs us and so grabs the world? It's hard to say. But when you read it carefully, again, the story is always surprising, always a shock to the system, always a dramatic reversal on how things ought to be.
There is a clear division in the text. Verses 1-7 are set forth as a straight history, a very particular history. It was during the reign of Caesar Augustus, but also during one particular segment of the reign when Quirinius was governor of Syria. Immediately we run into historical problems. In Luke this is taking place while Herod the Great was king of Judea, but Quirinius was never the governor of Syria during Herod's reign. Further, historians can find no evidence of a census during the reign of Augustus. Luke did his research, however, even if there were a few flaws. In it he maintains his point, which is to establish the birth in a specific historical setting. His concern is also, in verse 4, to make it clear from the beginning that there is a connection between Jesus and David. But otherwise, the first division of our passage is simple and factual. A child is born to poor travelers, who couldn't find a room. Perhaps because we know what's coming, there is a subtle excitement right beneath the surface of the plain narrative. This is something big, but what?
We learn the answer not in the stable but in the field. Verse 8 is still very much about the ordinary things of life -- the shepherds working with the flocks. And into the pastoral night setting, into their simple lives, come a vision and a light and a song. No wonder they were terrified! It is a powerful message that the first ones to hear the news are not the rich and mighty, not the television stations and reporters, not the middle class. No, it's the working people, maybe even the low people on the totem pole. Ordinary people, in ordinary times.
But that's where the ordinary ends. With the angels and the heavenly host we understand that there is nothing ordinary about this birth or about this child. And the message of the angel? The one who was born was not called a king, but a savior, the Lord, the Messiah, the anointed. And through it all we understand in this, the very beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that this Messiah will be vastly different from what people expected a Messiah to be. The sign that the angel mentions is a very strange sign of a Messiah: a child, wrapped in simple pieces of cloth, in a manger. The song of the angels says even more: that this birth is distinctly an act of God, and it is about, among other things, peace for God's people.
And so it is left to the shepherds to tell of the miraculous vision even to the child's parents. And Mary, the Galilean teenager? She held it all very close, pondering, wondering, while the shepherds went away, praising God. And those two things are just about all you can do on such a day as this, with such news as this, and with such meaning as this: You can ponder and wonder, and you can praise God.
Application
We have such strong expectations about how things are going to happen or how they should happen -- our past experience forms and shapes and molds those expectations. And we are usually pretty accurate in them. Much of the time, our experience is a reliable indicator of what's coming next. And so it is that we expect someone who is a savior to be grand and noble, to be high and exalted, to be powerful, impressive, formidable. How much more do we expect such things of the one we call God. The expectations that the Judeans had of a Messiah are not substantially different from our own expectations of people and authorities. We know the place that people should have.
But then comes Christmas, and everything is turned on its ear. Because the one that we understand, with the understanding of faith, to be the Messiah doesn't fit those expectations. Neither high nor powerful, neither noble or grand. Quite the contrary, it is a baby. And that catches us off guard. And not just any baby, but a baby born in poverty, like countless babies born today -- crack babies, babies born with fetal alcohol syndrome, babies whose parents aren't married, babies who face a future of hardship and deprivation. That's the company that our savior enters.
Rejoicing at the birth of a baby is not the surprising part. Parents usually rejoice when new life is born to them. And traditionally royal families and nations always celebrate the birth of the crown prince. The prophet Isaiah speaks of a child born to Israel, a son given for the people and the nation. Isaiah's song was for a child born to royalty, a child of the ruling class. And he would be a good king, wise and caring; he would be the king who brings peace to Israel. Such hopes and dreams wrapped up in a small child. But it wasn't to come to pass, at least not in the way the people of Isaiah's time hoped.
No, the surprising thing is the contrast, between the lowliness of babies in general and this one in particular, on the one side, and the God of all creation who sent him, on the other side. Between the smallness of the baby and the purpose for which God sent this baby. Between the roughness of the barn and the songs of glory and praise that would be sung by multitudes for 2,000 years after this baby was born.
Of course, this whole thing of the Creator God coming into the world and coming into human history is pretty strange anyway. There is something known as the "scandal of particularity." Here's what the author Annie Dillard has to say about it in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "That Christ's incarnation occurred improbably, ridiculously, at such-and-such a time, into such-and-such a place is referred to -- with great sincerity even among believers -- as 'the scandal of particularity.' Well, the 'scandal of particularity' is the only world that I, in particular, know. What use has eternity for light? We're all up to our necks in this particular scandal."
So God became a human being at a certain time and in a certain place in the person of a newborn male Jew born to working-class parents. It is very particular indeed, which is why Luke takes such pains to specify precisely when the thing happened. And yes, in its particularity it is scandalous, it is shocking, it is a surprise. It is also utterly grace filled. Paul tells Titus: "For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all." In a baby.
The thing about a baby is that he is uniquely accessible. He is utterly non-threatening. He is approachable. Which is precisely what God wants to be to us, approachable and non-threatening. We are drawn to a baby, to the innocence and the need and the acceptance. Besides which, a baby is how we all began.
So this is a baby whose name is Jesus, and this is a baby whose purpose is Grace, and that is very, very surprising. And nothing will ever be the same again. Ever.
And thanks be to God.
Alternative Applications
1) Isaiah: The Child that Broke the Yoke: Isaiah writes of the Messianic King to come, and what the names of the king would be: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. And the child would lift the bar from people's shoulders, break the yoke of oppression, and bring light to the darkness of people's lives. We believe that has fulfillment in Jesus Christ. What is the oppression that Christ breaks? What is the darkness of life that he brings light to?
2) Luke: Told about the gospel: The shepherds heard the Good News, of great joy, from the angels. They then went and told Mary about the vision in the field. They then left praising and glorifying God out loud. In some ways they were the first evangelists, those shepherds, because they spread the news. We all are in the position of being told about the gospel, of hearing the Good News from somebody else. It is not transmitted whole into our consciousness by some strange telepathy. We have to hear it, and that also means that we need to continue the noise of the shepherds, praising God and telling the world about the birth and about the child.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 96
This psalm is one of the "enthronement" songs that celebrate the kingship of God. Most of the psalm also appears in 1 Chronicles 16:23-33, where it is one of the hymns sung by Asaph and the official singers once the Ark of the Covenant has been brought to Jerusalem. So why is it also one of the readings for Christmas Eve/Day, and for all three years of lectionary at that? The answer to that leads to the preaching possibilities:
1) Verse 1 calls the congregation of Israel to sing a "new song." The "old song" was the song of Moses and the people at the Red Sea (Exodus 15), a celebration of the mighty deeds of God in delivering the Israelites from the pursuing Egyptians. But by the time of the psalmist, that was old news. The new song was needed to sing the praise of God's current mighty works among the people, and in this case, one of those was that Yahweh was not merely God of Israel, but of "all the earth" (v. 1), and of all "families of the peoples" (v. 7). This, understand, was a giant step forward for Israel, who once thought of Yahweh as their God alone.
In the Book of Revelation, yet another new song is sung by those around the Lamb of God (Revelation 14:3). Thus one connection to Christmas from this psalm is the new song instituted by Jesus' birth.
A way to get into the sermon might be to discuss our difficulty in accepting Advent songs at all and Christmas hymns that are new, preferring instead the old favorites.
2) The God/King will judge the peoples with equity (v. 10) and righteousness (v. 13). While the term "judge" makes us think of those who preside over courtrooms, the older meaning has to do with someone who is helpful and God-sent to solve a crisis in the life of his people. In that sense, Jesus is a judge for us. Obviously, the psalmist could not have been referring specifically to Jesus, but the church's interpretation of the psalm that way is valid nonetheless, for Christ came ("he is coming to judge the earth," v. 13) as an instrument of God's help.
In what ways is the judgment of Christ both redeeming and freeing?
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Isaiah 9:2-7
This passage from the eighth century B.C. prophecies of Isaiah of Jerusalem is the stated Old Testament text for Christmas Eve in all three cycles of the Revised Common Lectionary. And of course it seems very appropriate for Christmas Eve, when the "hopes and fears of all the years" are centered on that little town of Bethlehem of Judea. There, we remember, Mary brought forth her first-born Son and laid him in a cattle manger, because there was no room for her little family in the inn of Bethlehem. The town was full of folk, all come to register in the census decreed by Caesar Augustus when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And so there was no room for a peasant woman to give birth in a warm and lighted inn.
But why, we might ask, do we use this passage so frequently for our Christmas Eve celebrations? It is quoted in the Gospel according to Matthew in 4:15-16, but there it has nothing to do with Jesus' birth. Rather, it is applied to Jesus' stay, after he is grown, in the city of Capernaum on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the northern territory of Israel. John the Baptist has been arrested, according to Matthew, and so Jesus has gone north, very likely to escape a similar fate. And when Jesus heads north, Matthew says the people in the north, there in the territory of the tribes of Zebulon and Naphtali, have a great light and joy and everlasting peace brought to them. So Matthew connects this passage with the beginning of Jesus' ministry, not with his birth.
Originally, as we can see from the beginning of the passage in Isaiah 9:1, it had to do with Zebulon and Naphtali. Those were regions that had been conquered by Tiglath-pileser III of Assyria in 733-732 B.C. But, proclaims our text, those territories would be freed from the yoke of Assyria by a new Davidic king. And probably the passage was applied to King Hezekiah of Judah and used at his coronation. Its promise was that Hezekiah would free the northern territories from their subjection to the yoke of Assyria. That did not happen under Hezekiah, however, and Matthew saw the promise fulfilled, not in Hezekiah's time, but by the ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ. Christ, proclaims Matthew 4:15-16, brings the light, joy, and peace first promised through Isaiah.
So we do not use this text as the Gospel according to Matthew used it, and for that reason verse 1 is omitted from our lectionary lesson. But nevertheless, can you think of a better text from which to preach on Christmas Eve? "Unto us a child is born, to us a son is given." Yes, indeed. A child, the incarnate Son of God has been born into our world, and he has many names appropriate to his human-divine nature.
He is "Wonderful Counselor," teaching us how to walk in this frantic, sin-laden world of ours. Do not be anxious, he tells us. Do not fear. Do not heap up treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and thieves break in and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven. That is, love one another as I have loved you. Forgive one another as you have been forgiven. Serve one another as you have been served. For the ultimate meaning of your life lies with God, and him only are you called to worship and to please.
The name of the child born to us is also Mighty God, isn't it? Because in that child born in Bethlehem of Judea all the power of God lies hidden in the veil of his flesh, the power to break the bonds of sin and to throw wide the closed door of every grave's entombment. In him God, who is beyond all our thoughts and ways, is made known to us. And now in the face of Jesus Christ, we see the very countenance of the deity whom we have sought so long and for whose presence our souls sometimes so terribly, terribly long.
And how does that one true God come to us? As Eternal Father, as the one who created us in the beginning, and the one in whom we shall forever live and move and have our being. He makes himself present to us, not in terrifying judgment on all our weaknesses, but in the mercy and forgiveness of a Father who loves us when we cannot love even ourselves, and who knows all our needs even before we ask.
The Prince of Peace, Isaiah names him, the Ruler who brings not sword and turmoil, but quiet rest and inner security and a comfort that pass all understanding. Through his teaching, his work, his sacrifice, we are united once again with the God from whom we have so often estranged ourselves. And we have peace with God and with one another, in the communion that only Christ can give.
And so this child given to us, this Son born to us, comes bearing gifts with him, doesn't he? We think to be the givers at Christmastime, as the wise men were givers of treasures, but the needful gifts are what Christ brings to each one of us -- light, joy, peace. So says our text.
Did you notice the structure of our passage? Because of the birth of this Wonderful Counselor, this Mighty God, this Eternal Father, this Prince of Peace, we are given light. Now all the dark corners of our lives are illumined, swept out, and done away in an overwhelming forgiveness. The shadow of death across the earth gives way to the light of God's Son, and all of death's fearsome forces must retreat and disappear.
All of that brings joy with it, and three reasons then are stated, each of them beginning with that little, important word "for." We now can be joyful, for Christ has broken the yoke and eased the burden of every power in this world that would hold us captive -- the power of sin, the power of selfishness and greed, the power of death.
But the text goes on. We can now be joyful, for every boot of tramping warrior and every garment rolled in blood -- all the accompaniments of our hatred and warfare -- those will be done away. The battle has been won by the Son of God. He is victorious conqueror. And any warfare in our world today is but the last skirmish before his kingdom comes.
For you see, finally, we can be joyful, for the government will be upon his shoulder. Jesus Christ has been born to begin the rule of God over all the earth. And he will come again to set up that kingdom of good, in which there will be no more sorrow or sighing or pain any more, for the old will have passed away. The Lord God begins his final rule in this child born to us. And he will not rest until every knee bows and every tongue confesses his loving lordship. God will have nothing less for us, nothing less than abundant life in his kingdom. He loves us too much to settle for anything less. No wonder Christmas is a joyous feast. The Savior of the world has been born.
And so it comes to this: After the retail efforts nationwide, in which some businesses do 50 percent of their annual sales at Christmastime, after the shot in the arm that the Christmas shopping season gives to the national economy, the end of the shipping and advertising and stocking and restocking and ordering arrives.
And so it comes to this: Through Advent we have looked for and prepared for the coming of ... what? Well, if we hadn't experienced Christmas before, what would we have prepared for? We have spoken of the waiting and the hoping of Israel, the longing and yearning of people. We have felt the need for redemption and reconciliation for those who are exiled, in whatever form the exile may be, an ancient one in Babylon, or a modern one, perhaps the exile within one's own soul. But what are we looking for? You know you need, but you don't know what you need. In the times of exile, who can know what salvation means? In the midst of darkness who could ever know what the light will look like?
Imagine someone looking at the planet from far away with a powerful telescope and seeing how much effort we put into the celebration. Imagine a telescope so powerful that it could see how much emotional investment we make in the season. What would this extraterrestrial watcher say about what was going on? And then imagine that the telescope was so powerful it could look into the past. What would this watcher say to discover the real event behind all of the fuss we make?
Oh sure, we could offer all kinds of psychological reasons why people have a deep need for a celebration at this time of year, perhaps look at the anthropological reasons that a winter solstice festival meets certain needs of a culture and a people, maybe trace the pagan roots of the Christmas tree in the religion of the Druids. We could do all of that. But none of it would ever really answer the questions of the watcher or of us.
Because what it all comes down to is, of all things, a child being born, in an insignificant Middle Eastern country, an occupied corner of the Roman Empire, in the middle Iron Age, in a small town, under terrible circumstances. The last thing in the world that any of us would expect. God always surprises; who could possibly guess?
In the images of the story are some very surprising things: the strange juxtaposition of angels and a barn, of a savior in a feeding trough, of kings kneeling before a baby born in poverty. But the most surprising thing of all is that the Grace of God turns out to be a baby.
Isaiah 9:2-7
A hymn, a poem, a glorious aria sung in exultation, a chorus of angelic voices praising God. Is it possible to read these words without hearing Handel's Messiah in your mind? How many sermons could be written from these six verses? In a few words, it spans the full range of the gospel: It begins in darkness and it ends with the zeal of the Lord of hosts. And at the center of it is a child.
Historically, this passage almost certainly has roots in an actual event, although what that event was is open to debate. Elizabeth Achtemeier holds, along with many others, that it was to celebrate the coronation of the Judean king Hezekiah. Others suggest Jehoash or Ahaz. Still others believe that it was composed to celebrate the birth of a crown prince. In any case, given its historical setting, what right have we to recite it in connection with the birth of Jesus? This is a central question about prophetic literature and writing: Can it be both a description of, and a hymn about, an actual, historical event, and at the same time be "about" Jesus Christ? The answer is yes, but there is a difference: To assert the former is to make a statement of history; to assert the latter is to make a statement of faith. They are two different realms. God's promises are always open-ended, never completed finally in one fell swoop, always open to further fulfillment in future generations. The promise, though, is steadfast and enduring.
The passage opens with a brief introduction about bringing light into the darkness of people's lives, and their joyous celebration, for among other things, God has "multiplied the nation." It is like the joy of the harvest, and the joy, oddly, of people dividing the plunder.
And why the joy? The passage embarks on a series of three statements, verses 4-6, each beginning with "for." In other words, here are the reasons for the joy:
1. God has broken the oppression that the people have suffered, which the poet compares to Gideon's defeat of the Midianites (Judges 7).
2. God has destroyed the soldiers and their gear, even burning their clothes so there is no remnant.
3. Most important, a child is born.
So let's talk about the child, because he, of course, is how this relates to Christmas and the birth of Jesus. The child is born specifically "for" others. He is one who has authority, whose titles reflect what he will bring to the people. He will have the wisdom of a counselor, the might of God, the eternal care of a father, and he will bring peace. What more could you possibly ask for in a king, or a Messiah? His authority will grow, and peace will reign forever. And then we learn that it will be the throne of David from which this child will rule. And the marks of his kingdom will be justice and righteousness. It would be, if the prophet were to have his way, a complete restoration of David's kingdom.
It is a remarkable vision of how things are to be. But having already picked it apart and looked inside, we must now set that aside and put it back together. More important than its setting and the simple meaning of its words and verses, are the feelings, the mood, the tone behind this piece of poetry. This is a poem, an image, a song. We shouldn't read it; we should sing it, and we should feel it. Feel the joy. Feel the exultation and the triumph. Feel the fulfillment of the promise.
This is prophecy, but it is also joy, Christmas joy. Wrapped up in swaddling cloths.
Titus 2:11-14
Paul's letter to Titus is the third of three so-called Pastoral Epistles, pastoral because they deal with basic matters of the pastoral ministry in a church. The teaching of the letter to Titus is largely advisory and practical. It has to do with administration in the church and how to deal, as a church leader, with various groups of the church.
Pauline authorship is generally in doubt about all three of the pastorals. The letters lack much of what is distinctive in Pauline language and theology. What we see here is the common practice of pseudonymous authorship, using the name of a respected figure to lend authority to another's writing. Strange in our day, it was an accepted convention in the past, as an effort in the young church to interpret the thought of the respected figure.
Verse 11 begins with "for" so we know that what follows will be the explanation for something Paul had said previously. In this case Paul has been giving advice about various groups in the church, advice which, to our modern ears, sounds very offensive, urging wives to be submissive to their husbands and slaves to be submissive to their masters. In general, the advice could be summed up as an injunction not to make waves.
And the reason for that is the salvation in Jesus Christ. The grace of God appeared bringing salvation to all. That grace of God is efficacious, it does something, it produces something in us. It has the effect of changing our behavior, training us in a new way of living. "Training" is a strange usage, but if there is any truth at all to the notion that we are transformed by the grace of God, changed to our core, then training is a part of it.
Even as the author speaks of the grace of God that has already appeared in the world, he jumps ahead in verse 13 to God's further manifestation in Jesus Christ. And the passage ends with a statement of what Jesus Christ has done -- he gave himself to humanity.
This is an overview of Jesus Christ and why he came, a traditional theological statement of Christology. Yet at Christmas, such a grand concept as the grace of God coming down from on high and appearing in the world becomes more common and everyday, more mundane, and still more joyous, in the birth of a child.
Luke 2:1-14 (15-20)
How often have we heard these lines! They come to us every year in Christmas worship, but they also are to be heard in Christmas pageants and Christmas cards. They have even been taken up by the secular society, as we see mangers and stables and stars, shepherds and angels in every magazine, on television, even outside city hall.
Is it that the holiday has lent a sort of retroactive significance to these words, or is it something about these words in themselves that so grabs us and so grabs the world? It's hard to say. But when you read it carefully, again, the story is always surprising, always a shock to the system, always a dramatic reversal on how things ought to be.
There is a clear division in the text. Verses 1-7 are set forth as a straight history, a very particular history. It was during the reign of Caesar Augustus, but also during one particular segment of the reign when Quirinius was governor of Syria. Immediately we run into historical problems. In Luke this is taking place while Herod the Great was king of Judea, but Quirinius was never the governor of Syria during Herod's reign. Further, historians can find no evidence of a census during the reign of Augustus. Luke did his research, however, even if there were a few flaws. In it he maintains his point, which is to establish the birth in a specific historical setting. His concern is also, in verse 4, to make it clear from the beginning that there is a connection between Jesus and David. But otherwise, the first division of our passage is simple and factual. A child is born to poor travelers, who couldn't find a room. Perhaps because we know what's coming, there is a subtle excitement right beneath the surface of the plain narrative. This is something big, but what?
We learn the answer not in the stable but in the field. Verse 8 is still very much about the ordinary things of life -- the shepherds working with the flocks. And into the pastoral night setting, into their simple lives, come a vision and a light and a song. No wonder they were terrified! It is a powerful message that the first ones to hear the news are not the rich and mighty, not the television stations and reporters, not the middle class. No, it's the working people, maybe even the low people on the totem pole. Ordinary people, in ordinary times.
But that's where the ordinary ends. With the angels and the heavenly host we understand that there is nothing ordinary about this birth or about this child. And the message of the angel? The one who was born was not called a king, but a savior, the Lord, the Messiah, the anointed. And through it all we understand in this, the very beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that this Messiah will be vastly different from what people expected a Messiah to be. The sign that the angel mentions is a very strange sign of a Messiah: a child, wrapped in simple pieces of cloth, in a manger. The song of the angels says even more: that this birth is distinctly an act of God, and it is about, among other things, peace for God's people.
And so it is left to the shepherds to tell of the miraculous vision even to the child's parents. And Mary, the Galilean teenager? She held it all very close, pondering, wondering, while the shepherds went away, praising God. And those two things are just about all you can do on such a day as this, with such news as this, and with such meaning as this: You can ponder and wonder, and you can praise God.
Application
We have such strong expectations about how things are going to happen or how they should happen -- our past experience forms and shapes and molds those expectations. And we are usually pretty accurate in them. Much of the time, our experience is a reliable indicator of what's coming next. And so it is that we expect someone who is a savior to be grand and noble, to be high and exalted, to be powerful, impressive, formidable. How much more do we expect such things of the one we call God. The expectations that the Judeans had of a Messiah are not substantially different from our own expectations of people and authorities. We know the place that people should have.
But then comes Christmas, and everything is turned on its ear. Because the one that we understand, with the understanding of faith, to be the Messiah doesn't fit those expectations. Neither high nor powerful, neither noble or grand. Quite the contrary, it is a baby. And that catches us off guard. And not just any baby, but a baby born in poverty, like countless babies born today -- crack babies, babies born with fetal alcohol syndrome, babies whose parents aren't married, babies who face a future of hardship and deprivation. That's the company that our savior enters.
Rejoicing at the birth of a baby is not the surprising part. Parents usually rejoice when new life is born to them. And traditionally royal families and nations always celebrate the birth of the crown prince. The prophet Isaiah speaks of a child born to Israel, a son given for the people and the nation. Isaiah's song was for a child born to royalty, a child of the ruling class. And he would be a good king, wise and caring; he would be the king who brings peace to Israel. Such hopes and dreams wrapped up in a small child. But it wasn't to come to pass, at least not in the way the people of Isaiah's time hoped.
No, the surprising thing is the contrast, between the lowliness of babies in general and this one in particular, on the one side, and the God of all creation who sent him, on the other side. Between the smallness of the baby and the purpose for which God sent this baby. Between the roughness of the barn and the songs of glory and praise that would be sung by multitudes for 2,000 years after this baby was born.
Of course, this whole thing of the Creator God coming into the world and coming into human history is pretty strange anyway. There is something known as the "scandal of particularity." Here's what the author Annie Dillard has to say about it in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "That Christ's incarnation occurred improbably, ridiculously, at such-and-such a time, into such-and-such a place is referred to -- with great sincerity even among believers -- as 'the scandal of particularity.' Well, the 'scandal of particularity' is the only world that I, in particular, know. What use has eternity for light? We're all up to our necks in this particular scandal."
So God became a human being at a certain time and in a certain place in the person of a newborn male Jew born to working-class parents. It is very particular indeed, which is why Luke takes such pains to specify precisely when the thing happened. And yes, in its particularity it is scandalous, it is shocking, it is a surprise. It is also utterly grace filled. Paul tells Titus: "For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all." In a baby.
The thing about a baby is that he is uniquely accessible. He is utterly non-threatening. He is approachable. Which is precisely what God wants to be to us, approachable and non-threatening. We are drawn to a baby, to the innocence and the need and the acceptance. Besides which, a baby is how we all began.
So this is a baby whose name is Jesus, and this is a baby whose purpose is Grace, and that is very, very surprising. And nothing will ever be the same again. Ever.
And thanks be to God.
Alternative Applications
1) Isaiah: The Child that Broke the Yoke: Isaiah writes of the Messianic King to come, and what the names of the king would be: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. And the child would lift the bar from people's shoulders, break the yoke of oppression, and bring light to the darkness of people's lives. We believe that has fulfillment in Jesus Christ. What is the oppression that Christ breaks? What is the darkness of life that he brings light to?
2) Luke: Told about the gospel: The shepherds heard the Good News, of great joy, from the angels. They then went and told Mary about the vision in the field. They then left praising and glorifying God out loud. In some ways they were the first evangelists, those shepherds, because they spread the news. We all are in the position of being told about the gospel, of hearing the Good News from somebody else. It is not transmitted whole into our consciousness by some strange telepathy. We have to hear it, and that also means that we need to continue the noise of the shepherds, praising God and telling the world about the birth and about the child.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 96
This psalm is one of the "enthronement" songs that celebrate the kingship of God. Most of the psalm also appears in 1 Chronicles 16:23-33, where it is one of the hymns sung by Asaph and the official singers once the Ark of the Covenant has been brought to Jerusalem. So why is it also one of the readings for Christmas Eve/Day, and for all three years of lectionary at that? The answer to that leads to the preaching possibilities:
1) Verse 1 calls the congregation of Israel to sing a "new song." The "old song" was the song of Moses and the people at the Red Sea (Exodus 15), a celebration of the mighty deeds of God in delivering the Israelites from the pursuing Egyptians. But by the time of the psalmist, that was old news. The new song was needed to sing the praise of God's current mighty works among the people, and in this case, one of those was that Yahweh was not merely God of Israel, but of "all the earth" (v. 1), and of all "families of the peoples" (v. 7). This, understand, was a giant step forward for Israel, who once thought of Yahweh as their God alone.
In the Book of Revelation, yet another new song is sung by those around the Lamb of God (Revelation 14:3). Thus one connection to Christmas from this psalm is the new song instituted by Jesus' birth.
A way to get into the sermon might be to discuss our difficulty in accepting Advent songs at all and Christmas hymns that are new, preferring instead the old favorites.
2) The God/King will judge the peoples with equity (v. 10) and righteousness (v. 13). While the term "judge" makes us think of those who preside over courtrooms, the older meaning has to do with someone who is helpful and God-sent to solve a crisis in the life of his people. In that sense, Jesus is a judge for us. Obviously, the psalmist could not have been referring specifically to Jesus, but the church's interpretation of the psalm that way is valid nonetheless, for Christ came ("he is coming to judge the earth," v. 13) as an instrument of God's help.
In what ways is the judgment of Christ both redeeming and freeing?
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Isaiah 9:2-7
This passage from the eighth century B.C. prophecies of Isaiah of Jerusalem is the stated Old Testament text for Christmas Eve in all three cycles of the Revised Common Lectionary. And of course it seems very appropriate for Christmas Eve, when the "hopes and fears of all the years" are centered on that little town of Bethlehem of Judea. There, we remember, Mary brought forth her first-born Son and laid him in a cattle manger, because there was no room for her little family in the inn of Bethlehem. The town was full of folk, all come to register in the census decreed by Caesar Augustus when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And so there was no room for a peasant woman to give birth in a warm and lighted inn.
But why, we might ask, do we use this passage so frequently for our Christmas Eve celebrations? It is quoted in the Gospel according to Matthew in 4:15-16, but there it has nothing to do with Jesus' birth. Rather, it is applied to Jesus' stay, after he is grown, in the city of Capernaum on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the northern territory of Israel. John the Baptist has been arrested, according to Matthew, and so Jesus has gone north, very likely to escape a similar fate. And when Jesus heads north, Matthew says the people in the north, there in the territory of the tribes of Zebulon and Naphtali, have a great light and joy and everlasting peace brought to them. So Matthew connects this passage with the beginning of Jesus' ministry, not with his birth.
Originally, as we can see from the beginning of the passage in Isaiah 9:1, it had to do with Zebulon and Naphtali. Those were regions that had been conquered by Tiglath-pileser III of Assyria in 733-732 B.C. But, proclaims our text, those territories would be freed from the yoke of Assyria by a new Davidic king. And probably the passage was applied to King Hezekiah of Judah and used at his coronation. Its promise was that Hezekiah would free the northern territories from their subjection to the yoke of Assyria. That did not happen under Hezekiah, however, and Matthew saw the promise fulfilled, not in Hezekiah's time, but by the ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ. Christ, proclaims Matthew 4:15-16, brings the light, joy, and peace first promised through Isaiah.
So we do not use this text as the Gospel according to Matthew used it, and for that reason verse 1 is omitted from our lectionary lesson. But nevertheless, can you think of a better text from which to preach on Christmas Eve? "Unto us a child is born, to us a son is given." Yes, indeed. A child, the incarnate Son of God has been born into our world, and he has many names appropriate to his human-divine nature.
He is "Wonderful Counselor," teaching us how to walk in this frantic, sin-laden world of ours. Do not be anxious, he tells us. Do not fear. Do not heap up treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and thieves break in and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven. That is, love one another as I have loved you. Forgive one another as you have been forgiven. Serve one another as you have been served. For the ultimate meaning of your life lies with God, and him only are you called to worship and to please.
The name of the child born to us is also Mighty God, isn't it? Because in that child born in Bethlehem of Judea all the power of God lies hidden in the veil of his flesh, the power to break the bonds of sin and to throw wide the closed door of every grave's entombment. In him God, who is beyond all our thoughts and ways, is made known to us. And now in the face of Jesus Christ, we see the very countenance of the deity whom we have sought so long and for whose presence our souls sometimes so terribly, terribly long.
And how does that one true God come to us? As Eternal Father, as the one who created us in the beginning, and the one in whom we shall forever live and move and have our being. He makes himself present to us, not in terrifying judgment on all our weaknesses, but in the mercy and forgiveness of a Father who loves us when we cannot love even ourselves, and who knows all our needs even before we ask.
The Prince of Peace, Isaiah names him, the Ruler who brings not sword and turmoil, but quiet rest and inner security and a comfort that pass all understanding. Through his teaching, his work, his sacrifice, we are united once again with the God from whom we have so often estranged ourselves. And we have peace with God and with one another, in the communion that only Christ can give.
And so this child given to us, this Son born to us, comes bearing gifts with him, doesn't he? We think to be the givers at Christmastime, as the wise men were givers of treasures, but the needful gifts are what Christ brings to each one of us -- light, joy, peace. So says our text.
Did you notice the structure of our passage? Because of the birth of this Wonderful Counselor, this Mighty God, this Eternal Father, this Prince of Peace, we are given light. Now all the dark corners of our lives are illumined, swept out, and done away in an overwhelming forgiveness. The shadow of death across the earth gives way to the light of God's Son, and all of death's fearsome forces must retreat and disappear.
All of that brings joy with it, and three reasons then are stated, each of them beginning with that little, important word "for." We now can be joyful, for Christ has broken the yoke and eased the burden of every power in this world that would hold us captive -- the power of sin, the power of selfishness and greed, the power of death.
But the text goes on. We can now be joyful, for every boot of tramping warrior and every garment rolled in blood -- all the accompaniments of our hatred and warfare -- those will be done away. The battle has been won by the Son of God. He is victorious conqueror. And any warfare in our world today is but the last skirmish before his kingdom comes.
For you see, finally, we can be joyful, for the government will be upon his shoulder. Jesus Christ has been born to begin the rule of God over all the earth. And he will come again to set up that kingdom of good, in which there will be no more sorrow or sighing or pain any more, for the old will have passed away. The Lord God begins his final rule in this child born to us. And he will not rest until every knee bows and every tongue confesses his loving lordship. God will have nothing less for us, nothing less than abundant life in his kingdom. He loves us too much to settle for anything less. No wonder Christmas is a joyous feast. The Savior of the world has been born.
