God's Sneak Attack
Sermon
Sermons On The Gospel Readings
For Sundays In Advent, Christmas, And Epiphany
I think I was eight years old the first time I got to be in a Christmas pageant. I played the part of a shepherd at our church during the Christmas Eve service that year. I didn't have any lines, but I remember that I had to kneel on one knee for a very long time.
The whole chancel area of our sanctuary had been transformed into a living nativity scene. There in the center was the manger, with Mary and Joseph on either side. Then we, the shepherds, came up along on one side. Next, the three gift-bearing wise men came up on the other side. And then, on a kind of balcony overlooking the whole scene, there were sopranos from the church choir appearing as singing angels in the skies overhead.
It was very exciting for me, as a child, to be part of that scene, for it was such a familiar and cherished scene to me. Among the many traditions that were part of the Christmas season in our home were certain decorations that my mother brought out in December of each year. And among those annual decorations was a little cr che that she would set up prominently on a table in the front hallway. It was a little wooden barn filled with ceramic figurines of shepherds and sheep, Wise Men and camels, parents and Child. My mother even had bits of straw that she placed on the floor of the little wooden stable for atmosphere.
That little cr che captured my imagination as a child. I moved the figurines around as a boy to reenact the story. I still vividly remember positioning my face right behind each of the Wise Men and each of the shepherds in order to imagine what they must have seen that night. And so it was very exciting for me, as an eight year old, actually to be a part of that scene on that Christmas Eve.
In the many years since, of course, I have been in several more such Christmas pageants and plays, usually as a shepherd, and once as a wise man carrying myrrh. Each time, the scene has been basically the same: the manger in the middle, Joseph and Mary nearby, and the shepherds, Wise Men, angels, and animals flanking the scene.
That's the way the scene always looks, isn't it? We've all seen it, probably thousands of times. We've seen it depicted on Christmas cards, in churches, on front yards, in paintings, in pageants, and in plays. And every time, the scene is essentially the same: the manger in the middle, surrounded by the parents and all the familiar visitors.
In all of the depictions I have seen through the years, however, I have yet to see a pageant, a play, or a nativity scene that really depicts the whole Christmas story. For, you see, I have never yet seen a card, a painting, or a stage that is big enough to depict the whole Christmas story.
It would require a terribly large stage in order to make the nativity scene look small. And the truth of the matter is that if you really want to portray the whole Christmas story, then you have to make the nativity scene look small. Very small.
Luke tells the Christmas story for us, and he does a nice job of setting the stage -- the whole stage -- for the story. He begins with the headline of the day: "In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered." If there had been newspapers in the ancient Mediterranean world, this would have been the front page headline on every one of them. In Athens, Ephesus, Damascus, Alexandria, and Jerusalem alike, the big news was this decree from the Roman emperor. It would have been the lead story on every news broadcast and the hot topic of each roundtable discussion. It set people in motion all over the Empire, including a certain newly married couple from Nazareth.
See how Luke begins to set the stage for the Christmas story. Rome, not a manger, is at the center of the stage. The Roman Emperor, not a baby, is the star of the show -- or at least the character with the top billing at the start. And the prospect of an Empire-wide tax, not some anonymous birth, is the headline.
Luke goes on to tell how the decree from Caesar Augustus prompted Joseph to travel from Nazareth, where he lived, to Bethlehem, which was his ancestral home. A traditional nativity scene puts the manger in Bethlehem in the middle. Luke's account reminds us, however, that Bethlehem was not only far from the center of the world's stage, it was not even at the center of Joseph's stage. His home was Nazareth, and going to Bethlehem was going out of his way.
Next, Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem, only to find that there is no room for them in the inn. "I'm sorry, the motel is full ... but you're welcome to stay in the parking ramp!" This couple and this birth were not even a big fish in the small pond of Bethlehem. They were pushed off to the side of a town that was itself off to the side of a province that was off to the side of the Empire.
I've never seen the whole Christmas story depicted because I've only ever seen the manger at center stage. But the birth of Jesus was not center stage. Indeed, it practically happened offstage.
So let's reset the nativity scene in our minds. At the center of the stage is not a manger but a throne. It's Caesar's throne -- the seat of the world's power -- and it's in Rome. Off to the far right side of the stage, let's say, is a flat -- a bit of background scenery -- that represents the rather unimportant Roman province of Palestine. If it is portrayed to scale, then it will be little more than a link between Syria and Egypt. Painted on the edge of that flat, perhaps, is a dot barely visible to the audience. The dot represents Bethlehem, a little town that virtually no one outside of Palestine even knew existed. And somewhere out back, away from the main street in that speck of a town, is where we'll find the manger. It is not center stage at all. And that is where God came into the world.
The truth of the Christmas story is that God came into the world backstage. He came practically unnoticed by the world. He came to an unknown and unimportant place, and he came to unknown and unimportant people. He snuck in.
It is mind boggling to consider how God could have made his entrance onto this world's stage: the irresistible spectacle, the unmistakable glory, and the unfathomable power. That is likely how he will make his return (cf. Matthew 24:30, 1 Thessalonians 4:16) some day in the future. But that is not how he chose to make his entrance 2,000 years ago. The truth is that God came into the world backstage.
And yet, wouldn't you know it: God stole the show.
At that time in the Mediterranean world in which Jesus was born, dates were set according to the Roman Emperor -- what year of his particular reign it was. Now, most of the nations of the world set dates according to this backstage Baby's birth -- 2003 A.D., anno domini, the year of the Lord. At that time, Caesar Augustus, Quirinius, and Herod were big names, important men. Now they are just the supporting cast in the bigger story of Christ's birth. At that time, Rome was the most important city in the world, and Bethlehem was just a two-bit town in a conquered country. Now, Bethlehem is one of the most famous, most visited places on earth. And Rome's greatest claim to fame today and through much of Western history is, arguably, the role it plays in Christ's church.
I call Christmas "God's sneak attack" because he didn't come into the world marching through the front door. He didn't come with power or prominence, with influence or importance. He didn't come into the spotlight. God came into the world through the back door. He snuck in. And that continues to be his Christmas strategy. He continues to sneak into our world, into our lives, at Christmas time.
Stores, banks, and malls that wouldn't think twice about playing "Amazing Grace" or "The Old Rugged Cross" over their sound systems during the rest of the year will, at Christmas time, routinely play songs that say, "Let earth receive her King," "God and sinner reconciled," "Let every heart prepare him room," "In thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light," and "O come, let us adore him." He sneaks into our world at Christmas.
I sometimes hear Christians lament the commercialization of Christmas. I wonder, though, if we have underestimated God and how he works. For I suspect that the effect may actually be flowing in the other direction: it is not Christmas that is being commercialized, but rather it is our commercial culture that is annually -- unwittingly -- infiltrated by the gospel.
A neighborhood that would never see a large illuminated cross on their yards will sport a half-dozen nativity scenes all lit up. Folks who pay little or no attention to church for eleven months of the year find themselves instinctively drawn back there during December. And families that practice no other devotional time together will light Advent wreaths and sing songs together as a family during this season of the year.
I suppose nearly every local church pastor knows the experience of looking out at an unusually large congregation each Christmas Eve. The preacher sees people in the pews on that night that he sees in church on no other occasion during the year. In my early days in the ministry, I found myself feeling annoyed by those once-a-year folks. In more recent years, however, my response has softened. I see a certain beauty now when I look out at that Christmas Eve crowd -- not a beauty found in the limitations of some folks' commitment to the church, to be sure, but rather the beauty of God's gentle achievement each Christmas season.
Christmas was -- and continues to be -- God's sneak attack. He sneaks in through songs, through traditions, and through sentiment. He sneaks in through the generosity, the good will, and the festivity of the season. He sneaks in through the excitement that children feel as Christmas approaches, and he sneaks in through the longing that adults feel at that time of the year.
Philips Brooks, in his cherished Christmas carol, expressed the quiet, unassuming way that God worked in Bethlehem, and continues to work in human hearts today. "How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given; so God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven. No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive him, still the dear Christ enters in."
Christmas was God's sneak attack, and Christmas gives us a glimpse of what God is like and what he continues to do. God didn't come marching in through the front door, flexing his muscles, and demanding the spotlight. He could have, but he did not.
The movie star may arrive with his or her entourage. The sports team trots onto the court or field with fanfare, cheers, and applause. The big-name performer receives a standing ovation. And the President, Prime Minister, and Queen are all welcomed by bands, red carpets, and protocol. But the King of the Universe arrived in swaddling cloths, mostly ignored by the world he had created.
And, still today, the Lord does not barge into our lives. Instead, he stands at the door and knocks (Revelation 3:20), and he waits for us to welcome him.
Take a good look at that familiar nativity scene and the elements there: Joseph and Mary, the little town of Bethlehem, a stable, and a manger. At Christmas, the Lord came into the lives of insignificant, common people. That's good news for you and me, for we are assured that he willingly comes into our lives, too. At Christmas, God came into a place that seemed small and unimportant. I'm glad to hear that, for my life and my home are small and unimportant. At Christmas, He came into a place that was dirty and unworthy of him. And that's good news for me, for my heart is dirty and unworthy, yet God comes to reside there.
Here is a God who is marvelously willing and able. He is willing to come in backstage, and then he is able to steal the show.
I have yet to see the whole Christmas story depicted on a stage, for it's hard to find a stage big enough for the job. But I have seen the Christmas story played out again and again in individual lives. It is the story of this God who could come bursting in, but does not. It is the story of this God who comes in gently and unassumingly, perhaps even unnoticed at first. And it is the story of this God who, bit by gracious bit, moves into the spotlight of our lives. He moves toward the center of our stage. And the God who comes into your life and mine backstage, by his mercy, becomes the star of our show.
I was eight years old when I first got to play a part in a Christmas pageant during a Christmas Eve service, and that was my privilege. But it is today my greater privilege -- and yours, too -- to be a year-round nativity scene: a life that depicts both how God comes and how God reigns.
David J. Kalas
The whole chancel area of our sanctuary had been transformed into a living nativity scene. There in the center was the manger, with Mary and Joseph on either side. Then we, the shepherds, came up along on one side. Next, the three gift-bearing wise men came up on the other side. And then, on a kind of balcony overlooking the whole scene, there were sopranos from the church choir appearing as singing angels in the skies overhead.
It was very exciting for me, as a child, to be part of that scene, for it was such a familiar and cherished scene to me. Among the many traditions that were part of the Christmas season in our home were certain decorations that my mother brought out in December of each year. And among those annual decorations was a little cr che that she would set up prominently on a table in the front hallway. It was a little wooden barn filled with ceramic figurines of shepherds and sheep, Wise Men and camels, parents and Child. My mother even had bits of straw that she placed on the floor of the little wooden stable for atmosphere.
That little cr che captured my imagination as a child. I moved the figurines around as a boy to reenact the story. I still vividly remember positioning my face right behind each of the Wise Men and each of the shepherds in order to imagine what they must have seen that night. And so it was very exciting for me, as an eight year old, actually to be a part of that scene on that Christmas Eve.
In the many years since, of course, I have been in several more such Christmas pageants and plays, usually as a shepherd, and once as a wise man carrying myrrh. Each time, the scene has been basically the same: the manger in the middle, Joseph and Mary nearby, and the shepherds, Wise Men, angels, and animals flanking the scene.
That's the way the scene always looks, isn't it? We've all seen it, probably thousands of times. We've seen it depicted on Christmas cards, in churches, on front yards, in paintings, in pageants, and in plays. And every time, the scene is essentially the same: the manger in the middle, surrounded by the parents and all the familiar visitors.
In all of the depictions I have seen through the years, however, I have yet to see a pageant, a play, or a nativity scene that really depicts the whole Christmas story. For, you see, I have never yet seen a card, a painting, or a stage that is big enough to depict the whole Christmas story.
It would require a terribly large stage in order to make the nativity scene look small. And the truth of the matter is that if you really want to portray the whole Christmas story, then you have to make the nativity scene look small. Very small.
Luke tells the Christmas story for us, and he does a nice job of setting the stage -- the whole stage -- for the story. He begins with the headline of the day: "In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered." If there had been newspapers in the ancient Mediterranean world, this would have been the front page headline on every one of them. In Athens, Ephesus, Damascus, Alexandria, and Jerusalem alike, the big news was this decree from the Roman emperor. It would have been the lead story on every news broadcast and the hot topic of each roundtable discussion. It set people in motion all over the Empire, including a certain newly married couple from Nazareth.
See how Luke begins to set the stage for the Christmas story. Rome, not a manger, is at the center of the stage. The Roman Emperor, not a baby, is the star of the show -- or at least the character with the top billing at the start. And the prospect of an Empire-wide tax, not some anonymous birth, is the headline.
Luke goes on to tell how the decree from Caesar Augustus prompted Joseph to travel from Nazareth, where he lived, to Bethlehem, which was his ancestral home. A traditional nativity scene puts the manger in Bethlehem in the middle. Luke's account reminds us, however, that Bethlehem was not only far from the center of the world's stage, it was not even at the center of Joseph's stage. His home was Nazareth, and going to Bethlehem was going out of his way.
Next, Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem, only to find that there is no room for them in the inn. "I'm sorry, the motel is full ... but you're welcome to stay in the parking ramp!" This couple and this birth were not even a big fish in the small pond of Bethlehem. They were pushed off to the side of a town that was itself off to the side of a province that was off to the side of the Empire.
I've never seen the whole Christmas story depicted because I've only ever seen the manger at center stage. But the birth of Jesus was not center stage. Indeed, it practically happened offstage.
So let's reset the nativity scene in our minds. At the center of the stage is not a manger but a throne. It's Caesar's throne -- the seat of the world's power -- and it's in Rome. Off to the far right side of the stage, let's say, is a flat -- a bit of background scenery -- that represents the rather unimportant Roman province of Palestine. If it is portrayed to scale, then it will be little more than a link between Syria and Egypt. Painted on the edge of that flat, perhaps, is a dot barely visible to the audience. The dot represents Bethlehem, a little town that virtually no one outside of Palestine even knew existed. And somewhere out back, away from the main street in that speck of a town, is where we'll find the manger. It is not center stage at all. And that is where God came into the world.
The truth of the Christmas story is that God came into the world backstage. He came practically unnoticed by the world. He came to an unknown and unimportant place, and he came to unknown and unimportant people. He snuck in.
It is mind boggling to consider how God could have made his entrance onto this world's stage: the irresistible spectacle, the unmistakable glory, and the unfathomable power. That is likely how he will make his return (cf. Matthew 24:30, 1 Thessalonians 4:16) some day in the future. But that is not how he chose to make his entrance 2,000 years ago. The truth is that God came into the world backstage.
And yet, wouldn't you know it: God stole the show.
At that time in the Mediterranean world in which Jesus was born, dates were set according to the Roman Emperor -- what year of his particular reign it was. Now, most of the nations of the world set dates according to this backstage Baby's birth -- 2003 A.D., anno domini, the year of the Lord. At that time, Caesar Augustus, Quirinius, and Herod were big names, important men. Now they are just the supporting cast in the bigger story of Christ's birth. At that time, Rome was the most important city in the world, and Bethlehem was just a two-bit town in a conquered country. Now, Bethlehem is one of the most famous, most visited places on earth. And Rome's greatest claim to fame today and through much of Western history is, arguably, the role it plays in Christ's church.
I call Christmas "God's sneak attack" because he didn't come into the world marching through the front door. He didn't come with power or prominence, with influence or importance. He didn't come into the spotlight. God came into the world through the back door. He snuck in. And that continues to be his Christmas strategy. He continues to sneak into our world, into our lives, at Christmas time.
Stores, banks, and malls that wouldn't think twice about playing "Amazing Grace" or "The Old Rugged Cross" over their sound systems during the rest of the year will, at Christmas time, routinely play songs that say, "Let earth receive her King," "God and sinner reconciled," "Let every heart prepare him room," "In thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light," and "O come, let us adore him." He sneaks into our world at Christmas.
I sometimes hear Christians lament the commercialization of Christmas. I wonder, though, if we have underestimated God and how he works. For I suspect that the effect may actually be flowing in the other direction: it is not Christmas that is being commercialized, but rather it is our commercial culture that is annually -- unwittingly -- infiltrated by the gospel.
A neighborhood that would never see a large illuminated cross on their yards will sport a half-dozen nativity scenes all lit up. Folks who pay little or no attention to church for eleven months of the year find themselves instinctively drawn back there during December. And families that practice no other devotional time together will light Advent wreaths and sing songs together as a family during this season of the year.
I suppose nearly every local church pastor knows the experience of looking out at an unusually large congregation each Christmas Eve. The preacher sees people in the pews on that night that he sees in church on no other occasion during the year. In my early days in the ministry, I found myself feeling annoyed by those once-a-year folks. In more recent years, however, my response has softened. I see a certain beauty now when I look out at that Christmas Eve crowd -- not a beauty found in the limitations of some folks' commitment to the church, to be sure, but rather the beauty of God's gentle achievement each Christmas season.
Christmas was -- and continues to be -- God's sneak attack. He sneaks in through songs, through traditions, and through sentiment. He sneaks in through the generosity, the good will, and the festivity of the season. He sneaks in through the excitement that children feel as Christmas approaches, and he sneaks in through the longing that adults feel at that time of the year.
Philips Brooks, in his cherished Christmas carol, expressed the quiet, unassuming way that God worked in Bethlehem, and continues to work in human hearts today. "How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given; so God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heaven. No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive him, still the dear Christ enters in."
Christmas was God's sneak attack, and Christmas gives us a glimpse of what God is like and what he continues to do. God didn't come marching in through the front door, flexing his muscles, and demanding the spotlight. He could have, but he did not.
The movie star may arrive with his or her entourage. The sports team trots onto the court or field with fanfare, cheers, and applause. The big-name performer receives a standing ovation. And the President, Prime Minister, and Queen are all welcomed by bands, red carpets, and protocol. But the King of the Universe arrived in swaddling cloths, mostly ignored by the world he had created.
And, still today, the Lord does not barge into our lives. Instead, he stands at the door and knocks (Revelation 3:20), and he waits for us to welcome him.
Take a good look at that familiar nativity scene and the elements there: Joseph and Mary, the little town of Bethlehem, a stable, and a manger. At Christmas, the Lord came into the lives of insignificant, common people. That's good news for you and me, for we are assured that he willingly comes into our lives, too. At Christmas, God came into a place that seemed small and unimportant. I'm glad to hear that, for my life and my home are small and unimportant. At Christmas, He came into a place that was dirty and unworthy of him. And that's good news for me, for my heart is dirty and unworthy, yet God comes to reside there.
Here is a God who is marvelously willing and able. He is willing to come in backstage, and then he is able to steal the show.
I have yet to see the whole Christmas story depicted on a stage, for it's hard to find a stage big enough for the job. But I have seen the Christmas story played out again and again in individual lives. It is the story of this God who could come bursting in, but does not. It is the story of this God who comes in gently and unassumingly, perhaps even unnoticed at first. And it is the story of this God who, bit by gracious bit, moves into the spotlight of our lives. He moves toward the center of our stage. And the God who comes into your life and mine backstage, by his mercy, becomes the star of our show.
I was eight years old when I first got to play a part in a Christmas pageant during a Christmas Eve service, and that was my privilege. But it is today my greater privilege -- and yours, too -- to be a year-round nativity scene: a life that depicts both how God comes and how God reigns.
David J. Kalas
