nativity: 8

Signs and Salvation.

One particular thread of this story takes its shape, as many stories do, a long time ago in a far and distant land. Although we cannot always go all the way to the very beginnings of this grand story, we do need to look back a long way in order to capture the true meaning of what has been passed on to us today. This piece calls us to step into the ancient city of Jerusalem – a long time before Christ was born.

Here we find the king of the southern nation of Judah, standing alone against the impending armies of Assyria. They had already poured over the nation's borders, but were yet unable to take the city of Jerusalem. Surrounding Zion, it stood there as a stronghold, kept by the promise of God that they would not be overcome by the foreign invaders. And there, in the middle of the city, alone in the palace, was one man – King Ahaz. This was his moment of decision, his pivotal stand in history. So far, he was floundering in the face of this crisis. He was not like his predecessor, Uzziah, who had stood firm in his kingship against the armies that would have destroyed Judah. Instead, Ahaz was presiding over a time of failure of faithfulness of God's people, and hope was struggling to stay alive.

As a second wave of invaders, with new resolve, came rushing across the border, the prophetic voice came to King Ahaz, assuring him that this conflict would not be decided by military might or political cleverness. This battle would rest upon the Lord's people to trust that he would accomplish what he had promised. We find this part of the story in Isaiah 7, where the prophet meets the king at the end of the Upper Pool, an aqueduct that was part of the survival plan for the impending siege on the city.

Those closest to the king wanted him to play politics, to make an alliance with those who were threatening the country – an appeasement. Even to the north, Israel and Ephraim had joined with the Assyrians, and the king's advisors told him that it was time to either join with them or die. Enter Isaiah, who emphatically reminds the king that this is not the path which Israel's God has made for his people. They are to find their security and salvation in him alone, not in their own military power or political gaming. The word of the Lord is that the surrounding nations are nothing more than smoldering stubs – their combined might would soon be stamped out. The issue is not one of politics, but of faith.

In his attempt to persuade Ahaz to do nothing (politically), Isaiah instructs him to ask the Lord for a sign – to look heavenward and see that God is indeed in this moment: Ask for his assurance, to know that the words of the prophet are true. But Ahaz will not do this, claiming that he will not put the Lord to the test. He hides behind religious-sounding language, appearing to understand the stories of Israel. His piety is a politician's show, and God calls him on this and provides a sign even in the face of Ahaz's failed trust. The sign is that a virgin will conceive and give birth to a special child (we have no reason to think that this prediction has anything other than 'natural' means of conception in mind). This child would be special, not because of his mother's circumstances, but because he will be the renewal of David's kingship in Israel – he will be (read on through Isaiah 9) known as Mighty God.

This child will be born into humble circumstances, sharing in the poverty of his people. But, he will rise to great prominence and power, and enact the dominion and dynasty of Israel's covenant and God's kingdom.

Unfortunately this sign does nothing for Ahaz, who continues on with his political gaming, all the way to disaster. He quickly discovered that some people simply will not be appeased, and some enemies are not to be trifled with. He grabs the tiger by the tail and pays the consequences. Nevertheless, God remained true to his word, and to the sign which he gave through Isaiah. He kept a remnant of his people and raised up other kings before Israel finally succumbed to destruction and exile, where they would remain for quite some time.

Into this story Matthew casts the hope for the people of God. He introduces a righteous man named Joseph, who was devout and upright and steadfast in the story of Israel – like his predecessor Ahaz. He was respected and well-known, and thrown into a story of disgrace and shame. Lying in bed that one night it the angel of the Lord who reminds him of the sign that was given to the people of God. Our very-familiar thought of virgin conception must have been overwhelming the first time he had to consider Mary's circumstance. In realizing that God's fulfillment of his promises is always greater than our expectation, Joseph remembers the significance of salvation that comes from this God-given sign, and the importance of trusting in the God who spoke it.

He embraces the story, and Matthew wishes for us to embrace the magnitude of what is happening. This is why he recalls the ancient words spoken by the Upper Pool in Jerusalem's time of distress – the virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel (which means 'God with us').

This is more than a nice religious bumper sticker or kitschy holiday art pointing us to the interestingness of Jesus' birth. This is the long-awaited sign from heaven, given to a people in great distress and uncertainty, that God would be faithful to this promises – he will guide and guard his people. Centuries of reading Isaiah never quite expected this child to be divine (at least, not in this sense). But this is the work of God in the world doing incredibly more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.

This child is Emmanuel. God with us. And this is how God came to be with us, breaking heaven into earth in a strange and powerful new way. This God with us enables us to approach the throne of God with great boldness, accepting the forgiveness of sins, and become children of God ourselves. The sign that has come has become the salvation of the world.

nativity: 7

Cradle and Cross.

There is a reason for the child who has come to bring peace upon the earth.  As the nativity story reveals throughout its telling, the Incarnation was not a simple once-for-all conquering of all things evil for the immediate reign of God's kingdom.  Mary is told that she would have a sword pierce her own soul, and this child is said to be cause of many who would fall in Israel.  The gospel which follows is complete with sacrifice, both in the teachings of Jesus and the life he himself surrendered.  The story of Christmas requires great sacrifice among those who choose to accept its call even to this day.

We must accept the challenge of Christmas if it is to have any impact on our world today.  Winning cultural battles over plastic nativity scenes, or being able to publicly say "Merry Christmas," or have pageantry which (rightly) connects Christmas with Jesus (imagine the shock!) will not change the real problem with our world.  The solution is not found in our traditions of commemorating the event of Christ's birth, but in the birth itself!

The challenge of Christmas is, ultimately, a summons to discipleship - the long obedience in the same direction, as Eugene Peterson defines it.  There is no significance to this child in a manger without the savior hanging lifeless upon the cross.  The ultimate goal of this story is resurrection to new life, which can only come through death.  Here is a relatively unpopular, but quite significant, piece of the Christmas story.  This is not a wintry celebration of all things new and innocent, but the beginning of the long road to renewing heaven and earth.  Anything short misses the gospel message.

The reason why we must sacrifice our own lives in this story is because God has suffered, beginning with the Incarnation, on our behalf.  Becoming a part of the human story is not something which the Divine begrudges, but one that is a certain amount of suffering on the part of the godhead nonetheless.  Jesus' teaching shows us how to participate in this new kingdom, and his self-humbling unto death makes a path to new life for all the world.  God's reign could have come with all of the power and prestige that we expect of a kingdom, but that would not accomplish the necessary redemption of creation.  In order to restore heaven and earth its very DNA had to be altered, and the human piece is no exception to this.

The cradle is overshadowed by the cross, and it would be good for us as modern believers to keep the ultimate aim in our Christmas observance, and the magical wonder of new life in our Easter celebrations.  The two are not to be divorced.  But, truth be told, their divorce has indeed happened to a certain degree, with a great detriment to the church's ability to be a witness for the gospel during this season of the year.  Once more, the gospel is not winning the right to publicly wish someone a Christmas greeting that probably isn't very sincere in the first place.  For us, Christmas observance is the participation in God's kingdom as a means of announcing its arrival.  Quite Isaianic of us (and the grown-up baby) if you think about it.

nativity: 6

Joy and Sorrow.

Mary and Joseph bring their newborn child to the temple because of their devotion to law and sacrifice.  They remain faithful to their god, even when their situation (being pregnant and unwed) requires that they be ostracized because of the very law which they seek to fulfill in this scene.  It is a lesson in itself that we are to listen always to the one who stands behind the law over and above our own application of the law.  God has brought this salvation to his people - of this they are aware - even though many in Israel will reject it - of this they are learning.  When they encounter Simeon they receive a blessing and confirmation of the special quality this child possesses, but they also learn of the difficult path which will be required of them for the sake of the gospel.

"What Mary heard from Simeon stunned her.  Everything she had so far heard form angels and Joseph and relatives and shepherds and the Gentile magi suggested a victorious kind of Messiah, the sort of Messiah everyone embraced as God's hope for Israel.  Mary's son would be king of Israel, Simeon predicted,  Yet, this king-son of hers would also be rejected and maligned and made a center of controversy.  Mary was the mother of the Messiah.  Yes, but a 'sword' would pierce her soul" (McKnight, The Real Mary, 48).

The way of suffering is not popular, neither in Mary's world or in ours.  But it is necessary for those who choose to walk along the path of the gospel and receive God's kingdom of salvation.  The cross overshadows the nativity scene, and it overshadows our lives as well.  We must be mindful of that which is required of us, lest we fall away and prove to be faithless.  We need to remember, even amidst all of the joyous fanfare of Christmas celebration, that the Incarnation stands much bigger than our pageantry often realizes.  This is what Simeon gives to Mary, that she might know and understand the challenges which will be before her within the kingdom of God.

Mary is a woman of Joy, for she knows how to treasure these things in her heart (Luke 2:51).  She has the temperament to accept the laughter along with the pain and know that it is all working out as God's story.  This is how she could be so willing and accepting of this fateful journey when an angel told her of this incredible plan.  And this is how she hears Simeon and knows, deep within, that even the work of joy can be burdensome.  Mary must know that joy is not simple happiness, but that it carries sorrow and sacrifice.  It is not an emotional response, but a heavenly perspective of viewing the world.  That joy is the believer taking their place within God's very story, and treasuring all these things in their heart.

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.

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.

nativity: 3

Covenant and Spirit.

If Zechariah deserves any sort of contempt regarding his failure to accept the word from heaven as a wise and learned priest within Israel's tradition, then Simeon deserves a great deal of praise for his moment of understanding when faced, not with an angel speaking words of victory, but with a helpless child in the Temple. Whereas Zechariah balked in the face of God's promise, Simeon receives God's activity. That which we can see in this old man's final moment of waiting is the convergence of God's covenant and Spirit.

When the infant Jesus is born, he is to be presented at the Temple. This is to fulfill the covenantal law for the people Israel, both for consecrating the child and for purifying the mother.

It is debated whether or not Simeon is a priest in the Temple, and since Luke does not mention this specifically it is most likely that this is a fervent watchman and not part of the formalized levitical order. (He is described in every way that one would expect for a priest, but is not specifically mentioned as such, which would be rather odd if he were.) Further, this is not the scene of circumcision as is sometimes assumed, for Mary is still present which indicates the context of this moment is found in the outer courts of the Temple where women would be admitted.

We are told that he comes to this place in the Temple at this particular moment because he was 'moved by the Spirit' to do so. So, quite literally, this is the moment at which Law and Spirit come together around Jesus - it is summarized in Luke 2:27. But this is more than a physical or geographic description, it is a theological assertion that this child represents the coming together of covenant and Spirit - the latter giving fulfillment to the former. As such, it is why Simeon's waiting is completed and his dismissal now appropriate.

His eyes have seen God's salvation, which is happening in the site of all nations. This promise is being fulfilled in the face of tyrannical rule and foreign occupation of their holy nation. It is taking down the oppressors and bringing in the outsiders as God's glory comes through his chosen nation. It will not be without pain and sacrifice, and it will reveal the hearts and motives of many.

From this moment through two millennia this rings true. For, in our world we can still welcome the still, small voice of God in the midst of the earthquakes, winds and destruction of the evil which storms around us.

nativity: 2

Weakness and Grace.

The third week of Christian Advent centers on the motif of joy, and is often known as a time to think about Mary (specifically, Mary's joy). Interestingly, there is little mention of her joy in Scripture. There is, however, specific mention at her being troubled and confused by the situation. Perhaps two of the most telling verses of Mary's character are found in Luke 1:28-29. Two things happen here: 1) the angel tells her that she is highly favored and that the Lord is with her, 2) her immediate response is that she is greatly troubled and confused. Why? Because she is wise enough to know that getting involved with God is messy and risky. She wouldn't be wrong.

On this peasant girl a tremendous amount of pressure would be placed, more than most of us could probably endure if given the same set of circumstances. While we have the luxury of viewing this story as sacred pageant, solemnly reciting and pondering the covenant promises of David's lineage, Mary had to endure real life where families were dishonored and unfaithful brides were stoned. The promise of eternal kingship might be true and holy, but it is not always convincing.

Yet her only question comes from her confusion, she has nothing to compare such an unprecedented act of the divine. Her statement reveals her weakness: she does not have the present means to accomplish this. It is not in her mind for a moment that she might conceive by promiscuity, her faith has kept her within the righteousness of the covenant. She is not married and cannot envision breaking the law which governed the engagement process. Mary sees herself as 'weak' in accomplishing this task . . . to which God comes in his grace to be sufficient for her position.

"The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most high will overshadow you . . ." is the description of the fusion which will occur inside of Mary. Again, in our high theological pageantry we refer to this as Incarnation. This young girl saw it as the climax of her deeply held and passionate faith. Before she could ponder on the meaning of this - the cultural fallout or the christological definitions - she commits herself to the will of the Lord, because she is his servant.

That is all that we know about this scene, and it is all that we need to know. For we ourselves struggle with the pageantry of our faith - the clinging to promises found within Scripture - without ever allowing this Word to encounter real life. Too often we find ourselves questioning the implications of our devotion, or thinking that we cannot move until we get all of our doctrine and theology worked out. All the while we could be demonstrating the commitment of our faith, if it truly is deeply held and passionate. The acknowledgement of our weakness allows God's grace to rush into our present situation, giving us power and guidance for the journey ahead.

But the requirement is the initial 'yes' to his summons.

nativity: 1

Hope and Certainty.

The story of Jesus' advent begins with hope, expressed through the sacred writings and held deep within the hearts of all God's people. Hope was not defined as simply a means to get whatever it is we want as individuals, as it so often is misconstrued in our modern world. Rather, this type of hope was rooted in the covenant tradition of Israel which spoke of a coming Messiah who would establish God's throne over all of the rebellious nations and powers at work in the world. It was a hope which sprang from the community expectation of God's coming action; it was grounded upon his unfailing activity throughout many generations in the past.

The hope of Israel was shared by prophet and peasant alike, for all were considered as God's people, chosen and called to the work of redemption in this world. Worship of God centered not only on the past and present, but also on the guaranteed future that was coming to those who held fast to this covenant. And so it is unsurprisingly shocking that Zechariah, the old priest standing alone before the heavenly messenger, would dare doubt the words which had just been given to him.

It is shocking because of the absurdity of the situation: an aged (and supposedly wise) priest was leading the people of Israel in a simultaneous expression of thanksgiving and hope, now questioning whether or not this could possibly happen. All of the prayers, recitations, sacrifices, readings, pondering, teaching have been forgotten in this single moment of human stuttering. Yet, it is unsurprising in that this is what we always do; humans typically find ways to doubt the reality of things we were so certain of in theory. Quite shocking that anyone within Second Temple Judaism would raise such a doubt, quite unsurprising in that most of us wouldn't have done any better.

Zechariah is met with a consequence for his flinching faith - he is made silent until the fulfillment of the promise given to him. We would do well to notice here that this is no coercion of his faith; nobody is going to force Zechariah to believe. He simply asked for a way to be sure of all of this, and he was given one. The faith that he will later show us must come from his own desire to accept the grace of God working in his life, and his covenant community.

Sometimes even the leaders, teachers and preachers forget that faith is certain. Too often we get caught up in the wide definitions and expectations of hope that we overlook the fulfillment of our heart's truest desire. Maybe we're struck silent, or for a while we lose our opportunity to influence others with our faith. Maybe its the voice of the church which fades away from the public square because we didn't keep our message clear and gospel, to which we wait for our ability to accept it returns to us.

In our preparatory silence before the advent of our Lord, whether we reflect upon his first coming, greatly anticipate his second coming, or meditate upon the continual coming of his kingdom through is church, let us learn from those who still hold to hope and certainty: ". . . In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people."