and heaven and nature sing . . .

christmas eve meditation

On Christmas Eve there is a time when the pastor offers a mediation. This is mine.

After weeks of hustle and bustle the Christmas season finds pause in the quiet of this night. Without the silence of this eve we would be lost in a sea of noise, exhausted and frustrated by seemingly endless tasks. But we stand still for a moment and hear the silence, as though it were speaking to us, setting us back on the course of the true meaning of it all.

I suppose that it has to come to this quiet, for that is where God most likes to speak to us. His voice refuses to compete with all of the clanging cymbals of commercialism, tradition and activity. He waits until we are ready to receive him, in the silence of a stilled spirit. And so we find exquisite beauty in the silence of this night, when earth receives her king without regal fare. Christmas becomes the antitype of human achievement, stretching our imaginations to understand the full force of this event.

Through the prophet Isaiah, God tells his people that this is precisely the way he will come. He affirms his uniqueness with his word, "Therefore my people will know my name; therefore in that day they will know that it is I who foretold it. Yes, it is I" (Isaiah 52:6). When our otherwise-veiled eyes come to see the salvation of God we will know without doubt that it is his alone.

This is why the silence of this night is so important to us, and why it is so necessary to meditate upon the manger wherein lies divinity wrapped in human life, the most fragile thing in the world (according to Pascal). In this meekness there will emerge strength, through this weakness will come redemption, by this wounding of omnipotence we will be saved. The birth of Jesus is the beginning of God's turning the world completely around, from an upside-down pain-filled existence to a kingdom full of love, justice and righteousness.

The world has seen mighty forces; from one generation to another we have achieved self-domination . . . for a while. We have come to expect greatness to come in power, charisma and force. We often believe that messiahs will come to defeat the sword by being better and living by the sword than everyone else. But none of that has ever brought us hope, or change. It has perpetuated the brokenness of our world and left us each desiring more.

But, as Isaiah would remind us, the coming of YHWH will be unlike all of this. Although we are not guaranteed an entrance of worldly might and splendor, we see that it is quite spectacular in its quiet strength. For this is not the love of power competing with all of the other voices who clamor for rule. It is instead the power of love which enters so quietly into the world, so unexpectedly that most everyone who is consumed with self-achievement and aggrandizement still don't know that it has happened.

This profound, yes, deafening silence speaks so profoundly to our hearts that we know without doubt that it is God himself who has come. And thus, with Isaiah we may respond:

How beautiful on the mountains

are the feet of those who bring good news,

who proclaim peace,

who bring good tidings,

who proclaim salvation,

who say to Zion,

"Your God reigns!"

Listen! Your watchmen lift up their voices;

together they shout for joy.

When the LORD returns to Zion,

they will see it with their own eyes.

Burst into songs of joy together,

you ruins of Jerusalem,

for the LORD has comforted his people,

he has redeemed Jerusalem.

The LORD will lay bare his holy arm

in the sight of all the nations,

and all the ends of the earth will see

the salvation of our God.

nativity: 5

Comfort and Joy.

The most difficult part of the Christmas story, mostly ignored by modern pageantry, is Matthew 2:13-18, which records the slaughter of innocent children on orders from a raging tyrant. It has been figured that Bethlehem's meager size meant that this would have amounted to a small number of children - perhaps one dozen. This might be historically accurate but not comforting at all.

What Matthew does provide for his reader is the reference to Jeremiah 31:15 . . .

"A voice is heard in Ramah,

mourning and great weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children

and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more."

Yes, it makes sense that there would be weeping - even weeping of biblical proportions - at the murder of babies in Bethlehem. But how does this explain how Matthew, along with the rest of Jesus' followers, can refer to this as gospel?

First, we must remember that gospel isn't simply "good news" as though there aren't any painful portions to the story. It is the euangelion of Jesus, the narrative of his coming into reign and rule which is the greatest realized hope for the world. In contrast to the euangelion of other rulers and Caesars, this is the truly significant story that impacts the entire course of the cosmos. So, Matthew is free to tell the story with its painful beginnings and all of its ups and downs along the way.

Second, Matthew can make the claim that this weeping is gospel on the basis of the great story of Rachel's weeping in Ramah, given a hopeful dimension in Jeremiah 31. But Rachel's weeping goes back further still, to Genesis 30, where she is unconsolable in her lack of bearing children for her husband Jacob. She weeps for her inability to play her part in the covenant people, and emerges from this sad state only when she finally gives Jacob a son. She dies during the birth of her second child while on the way to Bethlehem, and is buried along the road near Ramah.

So we have a figure who is noted for her weeping over children, who never makes it home, and who is laid to rest in a town that will repeatedly see the people of Israel taken into captivity. Ramah was north of Jerusalem, and was part of the natural route which exiles would have been forced to march on their way to captivity. And there was Rachel, once more weeping for the lost children of Israel in a city that witnessed and mourned the loss of their own.

The hopeful dimension of this is found in the verses which follow Jeremiah 31:15, where YHWH begins to tell his people Israel to restrain themselves from weeping because of the hope that is coming to them. It culminates in Jeremiah 31:21-22 . . .

"Set up road signs; put up guideposts. Take note of the highway, the road that you take. Return, Virgin Israel, return to your towns. How long will you wander, unfaithful Daughter Israel? The LORD will create a new thing on earth - the woman will return to the man."

Matthew can acknowledge the harsh reality of evil in this world, and still see the hand of God at work in it. This comes from a strong commitment to the covenant promise of God that he would restore his people. And as he looks at the entrance of Messiah into the world he readily identifies the promise of God over the pain of evil. He knows that evil will always respond when God performs a mighty act. The implied question (often answered) throughout the gospel is whether or not God's own people will respond when he performs a mighty act.

The comfort and joy of this child comes not through the absence of conflict when we draw near, but the fulfillment of restoration, establishing a kingdom of justice and righteousness.

rejecting robert's

Perhaps you've heard of them. Maybe you've attended them. (Pray you haven't caused them!) But a few weeks ago I was at a church meeting where we had to drag out Robert's Rules of Order as though it were a divine addendum to holy writ, and commence beating each other into submission while Jesus' summons to love faded quickly into the annals of tradition. Although Qoheleth is certainly right to conclude that nothing is new under the sun, and I am seldom surprised by anything people will or will not do, I continually marvel at the level at which a community built on the precepts of Christ's love and the Spirit's unity will tear itself apart for the purposes of attaining power.

Perhaps I am not the best judge of this level of human behavior, for I can find no empathy within myself for those whose primary desire is to achieve control and influence over a single congregation - a tiny blip on the radar of modern evangelicalism, Christian history and the coming eternity. But there are some that make this their life's work, and capitalize on every opportunity to do so.

Without a doubt, one of the primary weapons in such an arsenal is Robert's Rules of Order, a nice little book which many churchgoers have taken to memorize and implement even more than their Bibles. My suspicion of Robert's was confirmed when I witnessed an otherwise good and healthy dialogue immediately disintegrate when one person (rather loudly) invoked the "proper procedure" according to Robert's Rules of Order. (I found it fascinating that the tone in which this was conveyed did violate a good amount of proper Christian conduct, which was clearly of second-importance.) And once Robert's was on the table, it became a free-for-all with little chance of resetting the course of the discussion.

Interestingly enough, Robert's Rules of Order seems to be based upon one simple premise: that people will not get along when trying to work together. However, the church is built upon a simple premise that believers will be of one accord. Therein lies the problem when we invoke Robert's Rules or any other type of corporate mentality into the church. Too often the interests of this world and the objectives of the kingdom are at odds, structurally speaking. This means that we cannot assume that corporate approaches will align with Scriptural ideals. Sometimes there are intersections, but on the whole the two are vastly different.

In his new book on the church, Charles Swindoll writes, ". . . clear, biblical thinking must override secular planning and a corporate mentality." This coincides with a quote he recognizes from A. W. Tozer, "The world is waiting to hear an authentic voice, a voice from God - not an echo of what others are doing and saying, but an authentic voice."

Whenever you are involved in a church thingy there is potential for something to go incredibly wrong. This is because the church is comprised of people, who are still fundamentally cracked and broken (even though some are working on this). Church thingies often become ridiculous at best, heartbreaking at worst. And, in the interest of full disclosure, our church bylaws never once mention Robert's Rules of Order. In other words, we don't adhere to them. Oh, what we won't do to get the "win" in our own minds.

nativity: 4

Mercy and Manger.

A point which is clearly made in Verlyn Verbrugge's well-written, A Not-So-Silent Night (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2009), is Mary's shame in the narrative of nativity. There are many indicators of this given to us in the Gospels, perhaps many of them coming from the silence of the text. Although I don't often advocate for making an argument from silence or reading too much in-between-the-lines, there are cultural markers that are often found in what these first Christian historians omitted.

One piece that has often bothered modern readers is the traditional "no room for them in the inn" phrase. She's very pregnant and there is nobody willing to give up their space?!? Quite right. But why? The answer is found behind one of history's less-than-accurate translations.

Ever since the KJV it seems that translations have favored Luke 2:7 as something like, "And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn." This is the way we have read it, taught it, played it, statued it, and left it within our pageantry.

The problem?

Bethlehem had no inn.

There is neither archeological evidence for a structure such as an inn in Bethlehem, there would have been no need for a lodging structure in such an insignificant town without any major roadways passing through, and Luke's language is a word that does not typically mean inn. Some people have already pointed these things out, and there is reason for highlighting the difference. Notice the updated NIV's, "She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them."

Typical homes in this period would have been small, fundamentally two-room structures that have a living space for humans and a living space for animals. Some variations exist, and often these homes were built into one another, but that's the gist of it. So, Luke is wanting us to know is that rather than being faced with a rather callous innkeeper, Mary and Joseph are faced with a rather callous extended-family head-of-household. Remember, the census is drawing Joseph back to a place where his family (tribal) was traced. And without inns in Bethlehem, family would have been the only viable option.

It is somewhat clear that Mary and Joseph were not married at the point of Jesus' birth (on this, see Verbrugge, p. 38), but began living together - and traveling to Bethlehem together. Why? Does God suddenly sanction co-habitation? Probably not. The indicators are that Mary's family has disowned her and shamed her out of their household, at which point Joseph takes her until the marriage can be consecrated (see Matthew 1:25). Perhaps this is the only viable reason why a very pregnant Mary would risk travel at such a late stage of her pregnancy.

The apparent problem that they encounter in Bethlehem (remember, this is cultural context reconstructed in the midst of a lot of narrative silence) is that word has already reached Joseph's family of the situation and those who are seeking to be covenantally pure are willing to disown this couple for their sins. Otherwise, we could suppose that a family member (or even a stranger, if this were in fact an inn filled with travelers) would give up their place for the birth of a child. Unless the family felt that this was God's judgment on a sinful act of premarital intercourse.

And there sits a manger. Like so much of our modern perspective, we tend to think of a manger as an unfortunate piece of the story. Yet God leaves it there as a moment of mercy, for this couple is allowed to come in for some shelter and warmth, and there will be a cradle for this child, even if his own would not receive him. The manger is not comfortable, but it is merciful. The comfort which the prophet spoke to the people of God centuries prior to this night now lays in the middle of mercy. Which is the way it has always seemed to be.