Necessity

Luke 2:41-52 is the only story of Jesus as an older child in any of the four canonical gospels. Neither Mark nor John tell us anything of Jesus’ life prior to his public ministry. After the birth narrative and the visit from the Magi, Matthew skips from the flight to and return from Egypt to the ministry of John the Baptist. In Luke, only a brief summary statement about Jesus’ growth and this story of Jesus at the age of 12 intervene between Jesus’ infancy and his ministry as an adult.

It seems that in telling this story of Jesus in the temple at a young age, Luke is giving us an indication of the greatness that is to come in the story of Jesus’ life. It was a common tactic in Greco-Roman literature of the first century to narrate some remarkable story from a hero’s early life that was an indication of the great things they would later accomplish. To some degree, this is not uncommon in the biographies of our own day as well. If we are going to hear the stories of successful people, we often want to know about their “roots”. Where did they come from? What made them who they are? Were there signs of their success early on?

This episode serves a similar function in Luke’s gospel. We learn that Jesus comes from a pious and devout family for they journey to Jerusalem for the Passover festival every year. But we also learn that Jesus is not merely the typical product of a devout family. At only 12 years old, Jesus is found sitting among the teachers in the temple, listening to them and asking questions that cause all those who hear him to be amazed at his understanding. Clearly, Luke wishes us to see that Jesus is maturing into one who can fulfill the remarkable promises that surrounded his birth.

What may be just as remarkable, however, is the restraint with which Luke accomplishes this. Although this is the only story of Jesus’ childhood in the canonical gospels, there are a number of stories about Jesus’ childhood in the many writings about his life not included in our Scripture. These other writings were deemed to not be faithful witnesses to Jesus and so were not included in the Christian canon of Scripture. Nevertheless, they make for an interesting comparison since most of them include stories which are almost comical in their miraculous content. In one a young Jesus molds doves from the mud he is playing in and then breathes on them to bring them to life. In another a childhood playmate stomps through the puddles in which Jesus is playing with the result that Jesus strikes him dead but will later raise him back to life after being reprimanded by Joseph. In yet another it is not Jesus’ power but his superior intellect which is on display when he lectures the tutor Joseph has hired for me him about how little he knows.

Compare those stories with the one Luke tells. This story from Luke’s gospel contains no miracles or signs. And while the people do marvel at Jesus’ wisdom, Luke says that he was listening and asking questions, not lecturing anyone. Although Jesus is presented as remarkable, the story ends with his submissive obedience to his parents. In contrast to the overly dramatic childhood stories of the non-canonical gospels, Luke’s presentation of 12 year old Jesus is almost mundane.

But there is power in this more subtle presentation of Jesus for it communicates what is most remarkable about him.  When Mary finally finds Jesus, she asks “Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been searching for you in great distress.” Jesus responds by saying “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” The word translated as “must” is the Greek word dei; a word that communicates necessity. There is a driving necessity in Jesus’ life to be about his father’s work and it is this necessity; this commitment to his Father’s will, more so than even his miracles or his wisdom, which makes him remarkable. This overwhelming necessity in Jesus’ life to do his Father’s will is the one thing we must not miss about Jesus in this passage of Scripture.

But there is something else we might notice here as well. Often we think of faith and family as two things that go hand in hand; one reinforcing the other. In fact, “family values” are sometimes spoken of in our culture as if they were completely interchangeable with Christian faith. In this passage, we certainly see that Jesus’ family is instrumental in shaping his own obedience to God. But we also see that Jesus’ obedience puts a strain on his family. Mary is clearly upset with Jesus when she finally finds him and Luke tells us that Mary and Joseph fail to understand what Jesus said to them about being in his Father’s house. Later in the gospels, Jesus speaks of his kingdom dividing families and in another place he declares his disciples to be his brothers and sisters over and above his actual mother and siblings. As important as family is, even as important as it is in the formation of faith, Jesus refuses to allow it to detract from the one overwhelming necessity of his life.

In our lives today, family continues to be important. For many people, it is the primary means of discipleship in their life. Godly parents and grandparents can often do much more to disciple children than a pastor or Sunday School teacher ever could in the one or two hours we get each week. But family values are not faith and having a happy and healthy family is not the same thing as being about our Father’s work in this world. The kingdom that Jesus proclaims relativizes every other allegiance in our lives; including our allegiance to our family. When we are baptized, we become a part of the family of God first and our biological family second. When we are plunged beneath those waters, we become a part of a people whose life consists of a driving necessity to be about our Father’s work and it is that necessity which defines us as a people. 

With Us To Emmaus

Two disciples are journeying from Jerusalem to the town of Emmaus. On the way, they discuss the terrible things that have happened in recent days. They have seen the one they thought was Israel's messiah handed over to the Romans; beaten, and crucified by the very powers they thought he would defeat. They have seen their hopes and dreams for God's redemptive work in the world nailed to a cross and buried in the ground.

One who appears to them as a stranger begins to journey with them and asks what they are discussing. They are surprised by this question for everyone knows what happened in Jerusalem. They speak of Jesus' death as one of those incidents where people are saying "Did you hear about..." and they don't have to finish the sentence because there is only one tragic event about which everyone is talking and of which they are trying to make sense. Nevertheless, the two disciples inform their fellow traveler about Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet mighty in word and deed. You can hear their pain and disappointment bleeding through the pages of Luke's gospel. "But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel."

"We had hoped..."

Had. Past Tense. No longer. There is no hope now. Jesus is dead. For all his power, he was unable to prevent this tragedy of all tragedies. When his followers needed a miracle most, Jesus failed to come through.

This stranger who journeys with them has a different perspective. They thought the Messiah was one who would prevent these terrible things from happening. He points them to Scripture they had never considered to be speaking about the Messiah. He argues that rather than being a conquering warrior the Messiah was always meant to be a servant who would suffer with those who are hurting; one who would win his victory by weakness rather than strength.

As the three travelers near the village, the two disciples urge their new traveling companion to stay with them. He agrees and they sit down at table together. There, he blesses the bread, breaks it, and gives it to them. It is only then, in this act of hospitality, this table fellowship, and the breaking of the bread, that they realize it has been Jesus himself who has been journeying with them all along.

This is not the text from which I had planned to preach this Sunday. It is one more often associated with Easter than the Sunday before Christmas. Nevertheless, I find it to be an appropriate word for the final Sunday of Advent. For in this season we remember that Christ has come but that his kingdom is not yet. In Advent, we are reminded that Jesus was the long-awaited prophet, mighty in word and deed. But we are also reminded that we are still waiting. That our hope has not yet been fulfilled. That our world is far from being filled with the peace and justice of God's reign.

Most of the Christian life is walked on that road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. We've placed our trust in Jesus. We've pinned our hopes for God's redemptive purposes in the world on Jesus. We've confessed that he was the one who could deliver our world. But then a 20 year old man walks into a school and takes the lives of 20 children and 6 adults after killing his own mother. And our confession threatens to become past tense. We had hoped that he was the one but what can stand up against this kind of evil? This kind of brokenness? We thought Jesus was supposed to put a stop to precisely this kind of madness. If in all of God's power and might, he failed to act in this most critical of times, this time when his intervention was needed most, this time when 6 and 7 years old were crying out to him for help, then perhaps he does not deserve our hope, our trust, or our faith. Perhaps we are best served by giving up on the idea that this world can ever change.

There are no answers in these times. There are no explanations that can make things better. Explanations don't bring children back from the dead.

But I do believe that in the midst of our darkest tragedies, Jesus walks that road from Jerusalem to Emmaus with us. I believe that when it seems that God is dead and powerless, he is actually walking right beside us. In all likelihood, we will not be able to see that it is Jesus who walks with us. The pain and tragedy are real; blindingly real. But Jesus isn't put off by our inability to see him. He keeps walking with us. He lovingly listens as we tell him about the tragedy, about why we've lost all hope and faith in him. And he keeps walking with us. He tries to show us that God is one who suffers with those who suffer. And he keeps walking with us.

And because he keeps walking with us, I do not believe that our blindness to his presence will last forever. If, in the time of our deepest tragedy, the time when we question our hope for God's redemption of our world, we can manage to show hospitality to a stranger...  If we can continue to enjoy table fellowship together... If, despite all the reasons to give up hope, we can continue to break bread together then our eyes will eventually be opened and we will realize that Jesus is far from dead. He has, in fact, been traveling with us all along. And though we may not be able to say it now, we will eventually be able to say of this time "Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked with us on the road?" even when we didn't recognize the one who spoke with us.

Then we will be a people who proclaim an Easter hope in a Good Friday world. Not because everything is OK. Not because there is no tragedy. Not because we are blindly optimistic. But because the resurrected Jesus, the God who suffers with the suffering, walks with us. Because God's love for us is so great that he took on our flesh; the weak and vulnerable flesh of Charlotte, Daniel, Olivia, Josephine, Ana, Dylan, Madeleine, Catherine, Chase, James, Jesse, Grace, Emilie, Jack, Noah, Caroline, Jessica, Benjamin, Avielle, and Allison. Because death is not the end of God's redemptive purposes in the world. Because he is present with us in the breaking of the bread until his kingdom comes.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

Intimacy, Mary, and Uninvited Guests

The birth of a child is typically a supremely intimate and family oriented event.  You can almost imagine concentric circles surrounding the birth of a child that indicate just how close those in each circle are to the new born child.  Of course, the first circle includes really only the child and mother, as they have already been connected for months but very close to this circle is the one that also includes the father.  Then the next circle might include siblings of the new born child and proud grandparents.  In many instances, these may be followed by aunts and uncles and other extended family.  It is usually only after this that very close friends of the family are allowed to see the child.  Of course, not every birth works out just this way.  The birth of my own children did not since we are so far from so much of our family.  But even in the endless variations on this scenario, there is a strong sense that one must be invited into this intimate circle to see this new life and it would be considered very odd if a mere acquaintance showed up uninvited during this intimate family occasion.

Enter the shepherds.  Can you imagine?!  You've just welcomed your first child into the world, you are still gazing into the child's eyes, amazed at the wonder of this new life.  You are still adjusting to this new reality that has been gifted to you.  You want nothing other than to remain undisturbed, memorizing every feature of this child's face, responding to every little movement or noise.  This is a still, quiet moment; peaceful in the deepest sense of that word.  And all of a sudden a gang of smelly shepherds....SHEPHERDS!... straight from the field bust in and ruin the moment.  And they are loud!  They won't stop going on about some vision they've seen.  They just keep yammering about how amazing it is!  Then they come over and want to see the child; with their nasty, been working with animals all night hands and their ragged, dirty clothes, they want to see YOUR BABY; your weak, precious, helpless, fragile, new born baby.  As if that's not enough, they start telling YOU how great YOUR new kid is going to be.  THE AUDACITY!  "I know how great he is, he's MY kid after all, thank you very much."  Then they leave just as noisily as they came, still talking about the angels they saw and how excited they are about the birth of your child.

These shepherds are outsiders.  They don't belong here.  Don't they know they aren't part of the family?  Don't they know they weren't invited?  They've broken into a circle far more intimate than is their place.

But rather than rejecting the shepherds and having Joseph send them away, "Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart."

The truth is this was not the first and would not be the last time that someone would speak to Mary about her son in this way.  Before Jesus was born, Mary's relative Elizabeth said "Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb!".  Upon Jesus' presentation in the Temple, Simeon tells Mary "this child is appointed for the falling and rising of many in Israel."  The same day, the prophetess Anna speaks about Jesus to those who were waiting for the redemption of Israel.  One would normally assume that a mother is the expert on her own children but apparently there is much that Mary needs to hear about her son from others that barely know him.

In many ways, this is a foreshadowing of a larger theme that runs throughout the Gospel of Luke.  Repeatedly, those we would not expect to find in those inner circles of intimacy with Jesus and his kingdom are precisely the ones who come bursting in and Jesus does not turn them away.  In the parable of the banquet, those who were invited to the party refuse to come, so the lame, blind, and crippled are invited in their place.  In the parable of the good Samaritan, the priest and the Levite who should be examples of holiness make their way to the other side of the road avoiding the man in need while a Samaritan (read: hated outsider) acts with the kind of compassion Jesus calls neighborly.  In the parable of the prodigal son, it is the younger son who has lived foolishly and squandered his father's wealth whose return is celebrated in love while his older brother stands out in the field, filled with contempt.  When Jesus heals ten lepers, it is only (yet another hated) Samaritan who returns to give thanks for what Jesus has done for him.  This scenario plays out so frequently in the Gospel of Luke that one could argue these should not even be seen as anomalies or exceptions but the rule itself.  Its not that a few outsiders happened to sneak in with the rest by accident but that the very way of God's kingdom is to make the outsider an insider.  This is what grace is, after all; finding ourselves in a far more intimate circle than we deserve.

This should humble us in a couple of ways.  First, we should be reminded of what we easily forget after 2000 years of Christianity; that as gentiles, we are all outsiders in the story of Jesus.  We are the Samaritan, the younger son, the shepherds.  We do not belong in this very Jewish story.  We are only a part of this family because Jesus has graciously made room for us in his circle.

But now that the grace of Christ has provided a way in for us, we should remember a second thing; that just because we are now "in" doesn't mean that this kingdom has stopped being for those who are "out".  To put it frankly, the temptation for any of us who have been Christians for very long is to see ourselves as closer to Jesus than others who are newer at church or don't do all the pious things we do or etc, etc.  Then the next temptation is to let them know it; to let them know, however subtly, that we are spiritually superior, that they really don't belong in this intimate circle with Jesus like we do, and that they need to get in line and pay their dues before they can be a part of this family.  But if Luke is right about Jesus and his kingdom, it would seem the exact opposite is true.  It is the paradox of this kingdom that we find ourselves closest to Jesus when we are closest to those who seem furthest from him.

So we find once again that Mary is a superb model for us of what it means to participate in this kingdom.  In a very significant sense we can say that no one has ever been closer, more intimate with Jesus than Mary.  There is no human being who has a more rightful claim to being in the inner-most circle with Jesus than his own mother, no one who can presume to know Jesus better.  Yet when lowly shepherds who know nothing of her or her family or her new born boy show up uninvited in her first intimate moments with her son, she does not shew them away but listens to the message they claim was spoken by angels and treasures up their words, pondering them in her heart.

Of course, most churches today don't shew away visitors.  But many do a pretty good job of letting them know where they stand.  We greet people with an enthusiastic welcome, inviting them back next week and all is great until they do something a little different that intrudes on our intimate time with Jesus and changes what has made this place comfortable for us.  Then we let them know (often subtly and unintentionally but sometimes bluntly) that this this is our church, that we are the ones who know how things are done around here, that we are the ones with the gospel answers, and they can conform or leave.  What if instead we recognized that Jesus wants us to make room for them (which may make things a little less comfortable for us) just as Jesus made room for us?  What if we considered that they might be able to tell us something about Jesus just as those shepherds did for Mary?  Maybe rather than seeing them as intruding on our intimate time with Jesus we could treasure them, not merely as an addition to our church but as people, and ponder what it is that Jesus might be teaching us through them.

Two Kingdoms

In Matthew 2:13-23, we are given a story that none of the other gospel writers tells.  It is the story of Jesus, Joseph, and Mary fleeing to Egypt and it gives a unique window into Matthew's understanding of Jesus right at the beginning of his gospel.

Matthew tells us that an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and told Joseph to flee to Egypt because king Herod was about to search for Jesus to destroy him.  Joseph obediently follows the command and flees to Egypt and remained there until the death of Herod.  Matthew then adds the comment that "This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet 'Out of Egypt I called my son.'"

This quotation comes from Hosea 11 and in that context has nothing to do with Jesus or the expected Messiah.  In fact, the "son" that God speaks of in Hosea is Israel whom God delivered from Egypt in the Exodus.  In Hosea 11, God speaks through the prophet about how he delivered these people and how he loved them.  God loved Israel like his own child but the more that he loved them the more they turned away from him.  In fact, they kept turning away from God so much that just like a father would discipline a child he loves so God also has to discipline Israel to get their attention.  So God allows them to be defeated by Assyria and to be made slaves once again.

Not coincidentally, the other Old Testament quotation in this passage in Matthew comes from precisely that time period in Israel's history.  Jeremiah 31:15 speaks about the people of Israel weeping over the destruction of their land and their families.  They have been laid waste by Assyria and Babylon.  All God's people have been taken into captivity and they face a hopelessness in their exile, a fear that they will cease to exist as a people.  And in that circumstance, God comforts them and says that he will one day restore them and not only that but he will one day make a new covenant with them where he will write his law on their hearts so that they won't be rebellious any more.

And Matthew tells us that this prophesy from Jeremiah was fulfilled when Herod ordered all the children in Bethlehem under the age of two to be murdered.  We can see in both the quotations from Hosea and Jeremiah that Matthew does not use these prophecies in a merely predictive way.  Matthew is not saying that Jesus meets some kind of prophetic checklist for what it means to be Messiah.  Instead, he is saying "Look, this story is like that story.  What God is doing in Jesus is like what God did in those times."  In other words, by telling us that Jesus' family fled to Egypt and that God called his Son out of Egypt, Matthew wants us to see a parallel between the Exodus, the great deliverance of Israel, and what God is going to do in this child Jesus.  And by quoting Jeremiah's words about the exile, words which are followed by God's promise of deliverance from that exile, Matthew wants us to see a parallel between what God did in the deliverance of Israel from exile in Babylon and what God is going to do in this boy Jesus.  Matthew is hinting to us right here at the beginning of his story that this new born child is going to deliver Israel from its slavery just as God did in the Exodus and the return from Exile.  This infant is going to be the new king of a new Israel.  

There is just one problem with all of that.  There is already a king in Israel.  His name is Herod and he doesn't think Israel needs delivering.  In fact, he is quite happy with the way things are since he is the one in power and he would like to keep it that way.  The last thing Herod needs is some upstart kid trying to step in on the power that he has worked so hard to gain and keep.  Herod will do whatever is necessary to hold on to the power that he has... even ordering every male child in the little town of Bethlehem to be murdered in cold blood.  In fact, other historical records tells us that Herod even had three of his own sons killed so as to insure his continued reign as king.  Of course, Herod was not especially unusual for his time.  Many in the Roman Empire acted this way, doing whatever they had to in order to insure that they kept the power they had.

And so, right here only two chapters into Matthew's gospel, before Jesus has even had a chance to grow up, we find that his kingdom is already in conflict with, already threatening the kingdoms of this world.  Matthew presents to us these two kingdoms and we must choose one or the other.  On the one hand, we have Jesus and his kingdom which stands for all of those things that we talk about this time of year; peace, love, joy, hope.  And all that sounds very nice and appealing to us.  But on the other hand, we see that there is this other kingdom.  The kingdom of Herod, the kingdom of this world.  Matthew lays bare for us that this kingdom is built on nothing other than fear, violence, greed, and power lust.  This kingdom is built on the murder of innocent children.  We are repulsed by this kingdom and yet part of us finds it necessary, pragmatic, realistic, whatever you want to call it because we can see that this kingdom holds all the weapons, all the power, all the influence.  So we are confronted with a choice: the kingdom of the helpless infant or the kingdom of the savage Herod?

From any rational, human perspective, it seems absurd to pledge or allegiance to anything other than the Herod kingdom.  As much as we are repulsed by its method, we know that it holds all the power in this world.  After all, how can you possibly build any kind of kingdom on an infant who himself is fleeing from Herod?  In fact, I think John describes the situation well for us in Revelation 12.  There John describes a sign he sees in heaven: a pregnant woman giving birth to a male child, "one who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron".  And there standing before the woman is a great dragon who is waiting to devour the child the moment the woman gives birth.  Undoubtedly, this imagery in Revelation is multifaceted in its meaning but at the very least we can hear the parallel between the dragon who wishes to devour this woman's child and Herod who hopes to devour Jesus by the sword.

John and the churches to which he was writing knew this tension between these two kingdoms well because they constantly lived in the war between them.  They had pledged their allegiance to Jesus, to the kingdom built on this male child who would rule the nations but on the other hand they had to continue to make a living in that other kingdom, the Roman Empire with its Herods and Red Dragons and all the violence they could create.  I'm sure there were times when these early Christians felt like they were the child about to be swallowed by the great red dragon; that Israel their mother had given birth to the Church only to have them gobbled up by the power of the Roman empire.

The truth is, we face the same dilemma, the same tension.  While we may not face the persecution that John's church's faced, we certainly face the same pressure to compromise with the kingdoms of this world.  We see the kingdom of Jesus and we want to follow that way.  Maybe we have even pledged our allegiance to it but then we see all the power that Herod and his kingdom hold and we feel like our faith is about to be devoured by a great red dragon.

Or to bring it back to our story in Matthew, we find ourselves in a position like that of Joseph.  I have to imagine that Joseph must have said "You want me to what?!" more than once to the messenger of the Lord that appeared to him repeatedly.  It wasn't enough that Joseph was instructed to take responsibility for a child that he knew wasn't his own, now he had to flee all the way to Egypt to protect it and he could only come back when God told him it was safe?  Have you ever thought about how differently this story could have gone?  Joseph could have reasoned this wasn't his kid anyway, taken him to one of Herod's men, said here is the one you are looking for, just take him and you don't have to kill all the other male children in Bethlehem.  Not only would Joseph no longer have the social stigma of having a child that everyone else thought was illegitimate, he would also have the continuing gratitude of all the other mothers in Bethlehem for saving their sons and maybe Herod would have even thrown him some kind of reward for being such a loyal subject.  Instead, Joseph repeatedly trusts God even when it sets him at odds with the vast might of the Roman Empire.  Joseph chooses the kingdom of this helpless little boy over the kingdom of this world.  God calls us to this same radical trust.  He calls us to pledge our allegiance to the kingdom built on Jesus even while the Herods of the world do all the destruction and violence they can.  As I said before, from a merely human perspective this call will always seems like a foolish and naive one.  But in the rest of Revelation 12, John gives us the heavenly perspective on the matter.  There John tells the churches of Asia Minor and tells us that the dragon and his angels have already been defeated.  A loud voice in heaven proclaims

"Now the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God.  And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death."

John goes on to tell us that when the dragon saw that he had been thrown down to the earth he pursued the woman who gave birth to the child and when he is unable to capture her he goes off to make war against the rest of her offspring, "on those who keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus."  John acknowledges that in this world the dragon has power to inflict all kinds of pain and violence on the saints of God but John is in essence telling us that all the pain and violence Satan can bring is actually good news for us.  It is good news because it represents the death throes of his kingdom.  Satan thrashes about so violently in our world because he knows he has been defeated and wants to inflict whatever damage he can in the short time that he has left.  In John's view, things like Herod's slaughter of innocent children, things like the holocaust, things like the genocides of Rwanda, Congo, and the Sudan, tragedies like Haiti, the pain we feel in our bodies, the illnesses and deaths of loved ones that we so painfully mourn, while undeniably tragic are also sure signs of Satan's defeat.  They are signs that the days of the dragon, of the Herods, of the kingdoms of this world are numbered because the kingdom of that baby boy born in a manger has already prevailed.

Celebrating Advent

I'm sure I am not the first and won't be the last preacher to lament the status of this time of year in our culture.  Nevertheless, as I reflected on the reading from Isaiah this week, I couldn't help but think (again) about how little our practices in these December weeks have anything to do with the things we claim to value as the Church.  On Sunday, we are hearing about a savior who will bring a peace to our world so radical and complete that it will render weapons so useless and void of value that they will be melted down to be used in farm equipment.  And we celebrate and anticipate that peace with more shopping/consuming/stress/materialism/busyness/obligation?  Sounds like the opposite of peace to me.  Anyway, here are few practices, however small,  I thought might help us anticipate the radical peace that our scriptures promise during this Advent season at our church.  It's not a comprehensive list by any means.  I'd be interested in hearing any ideas you might add to the list.

·        Schedule moments of silent reflection throughout the month of December

·        Agree with a loved one to forgo giving each other another gift that neither of you really needs and give the money you would have spent to a charitable organization

·        Give your time to someone who may be lonely this holiday season

·        Read a chapter of the Gospel of Luke with your family every day in December.  If you start on Dec. 1 and read a chapter a day you will finish on Christmas Eve. 

·        Sign up to ring the bell for the Salvation Army on Saturday, Dec. 4.

·        Figure up the amount of money you spent on your largest shopping day and add that amount to your tithe one week in December. 

·        If stress and busyness are a problem for you this time of year, then commit now to saying no to at least one social obligation this holiday season.

·        Spend at least 15 minutes praying for peace and justice in our world for every hour that you spend shopping. 

·        In place of giving a gift to the pastor and his family (who already know how much you love them) give a gift to a child or teen in our church you don’t know very well (so that they will know they are loved as well). 

·        Don’t use a credit card for your holiday shopping.  If you can’t afford it now, then don’t buy it.  

·        Ask others for a Nazarene Compassionate Ministries Gift Card as their Christmas gift to you.  

Sentimental Does Not Equal Sacred

Sometimes I wonder if sentimentality contributes to a misunderstanding of the gospel more than just about anything else. We turn this cross-bearing way of life into an idyllic portrait of Jesus laughing and playing with little children and somehow the hope of all creation becomes nothing more than a Precious Moments figurine or a Thomas Kincaid painting or whatever other way we can find to turn the revolutionary message of Jesus into something that will stir our emotions and makes us feel more religious or good or spiritual for the moment.

Nowhere is this way of thinking more evident than during the Christmas season. We have these idealized versions of the birth of Jesus running through our heads (if we are even thinking about Jesus rather than the shopping we need to get done) where Joseph and Mary find a place to stay (after being turned away by the heartless innkeeper) just in time for her to give the world's cleanest and least painful birth to a child who "no crying he makes". Meanwhile, "the cattle are lowing", "the ox and the lamb kept time" while a little boy plays his drum, and "the ox and ass before him bow" (this must be a pretty gifted ox, bowing and tapping its foot in rhythm at the same time). Soon after the shepherds and wise men show up and the star which the wise men followed kindly serves as a spotlight on Jesus for a climactic end to the whole production. It's a little surprising we haven't found a way to get Santa himself into the story somehow. Perhaps his reindeer were pulling a sleigh filled with the wise men's gifts.

It's not surprising then that we try to make our own Christmas celebrations correspond in perfection to the idealized perfection we imagine encompassed that first Christmas. The tree, the gifts, the Christmas cards, the pictures, the dinner, must also be just as perfect as the perfect baby in the perfect manger or we'll have missed out on something. If the whole day doesn't culminate in some cataclysmic level of joy and absolute bliss, then it becomes a disappointment rather than a celebration.

But this all bears very little resemblance to the way Luke actually tells the story of Jesus' birth...or any birth story that has ever been told for that matter. Have we forgotten that this is an actual birth story of a real human baby?

The births

of my two children are two of the bloodiest, messiest, and most awkward experiences of my entire life and I wasn't even the one doing the birthing. If Jesus was indeed fully human as orthodox Christian faith claims, then why would we imagine that his birth would be any different? In fact, it seems that contrasting Jesus' kingly nature with the ordinary and even lowly nature of his birth is precisely part of the point that Luke is making in the way that he tells the story.

Luke begins the story of Jesus' birth by giving us some context. He tells us that it was in the days when Caesar Augustus had ordered a census to be taken of the whole Roman Empire. This was the first census taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria and everyone had to return to their hometown to be registered. So Joseph went with Mary to his hometown of Bethlehem. In telling us these things, Luke is giving us some historical background and setting the scene like the professional story teller that he is but he is also doing much more than that. When I talk about the birth of my son, I usually don't bother to mention that he was born during the Obama administration when Pat Quinn was governor of Illinois. That's because those details seem completely irrelevant to something as personal as the birth of my own child. For Luke, however, it is relevant to place the birth of Jesus in the context of the world powers of his day. This is because Luke wants us to see right away that this is not the birth of just another Jewish boy. It is not merely a personal, family event but one that has significance for the whole world. In fact, when many in the Roman Empire spoke about Caesar Augustus, they used words like savior and Lord. Augustus was known as the one who had brought peace to the empire. So when the angels proclaim to the shepherds that a savior had been born in the city of David who was Christ the Lord and they proclaimed peace on earth, this is no mere coincidence. Luke is saying in story form what all the early Christians believed; that even though Caesar was widely known as Lord and savior of the whole world, it was really only Jesus, a descendant of the great King David, who was the true Lord, savior, and prince of peace.

Of course, we might expect that if Jesus were the next world ruler then his birth would be announced in the capital city of Rome or at least at the Temple in Jerusalem and there would be trumpets and streamers and royal feasts with all of the most important people in attendance. Instead, he is born in a tiny village in the part of the house where animals slept. (This image of Mary being turned away by a heartless innkeeper even while she is having birth pangs in the middle of the night is reading a lot into the story that isn't there. Luke simply says "While they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth" so they could have already been in Bethlehem for a while when it was time. Furthermore, the word often translated as "inn", the place where there was no room, is probably better translated as family room or guest room (as it is in Luke 22:11). Most ancient houses had an attached but somewhat separate room where the animals slept which is probably where Mary and Joseph were. It is likely that there simply wasn't enough room for the birthing process in the main room of the house with many other relatives staying there for the census.) Additionally, Jesus' birth is not announced to VIPs and heads of state. It is announced to lowly, unimportant shepherds in the fields nearby.

The one true king, lord, savior, and prince of peace is born among smelly animals, laid in the box where those animals ate, and worshiped by unnamed, lowly shepherds. This is our gospel, our good news; that the king of all did not cling to his kingly status and use it against us but humbled himself to our lowly position so that we might be a part of his kingdom. We only cheapen this magnificent reality when we turn it into a sentimental, feel good, greeting card kind of idea that we celebrate once a year by gorging ourselves on shopping and food. God calls us to humble ourselves as well; to lower ourselves to the position of those in need, to learn what it is like to live in their flesh because that is what God did for us...and not just in December, but everyday, as a way of life. Only then do we truly honor Jesus as Lord.

Finally...Some Christmas Pictures

I've been wanting to post some Christmas pictures for quite some time but things have been busy and we just got internet and phone hooked up at our house today. The picture above is probably my favorite from Christmas this year even if it is a bit blurry from the lack of lighting. Below are a few more pictures from our Christmas in Ohio as well as some pictures of Hannah's first time playing in the snow.

The Word Made Flesh

The Christmas season (which does not end with Christmas day but continues until the Epiphany on January 6th) is a time to ponder the glory of the incarnation. There are few passages of scripture that can help us contemplate this mystery better than John 1:1-18. This passage serves as a prologue or a kind of overture to John's gospel as he alludes here to many of the major themes on which he will elaborate in the chapters that follow.

Of course, as a gospel, one of the book's major themes is christology; that is, to explain who Jesus is. John wastes no time in doing exactly that. Immediately, he introduces Jesus as "the Word" or "logos" in Greek. This term was used extensively in both Greek and Jewish philosophical discussions about God leading up to the time of John's writing. While scholars debate which, if any, of those philosophical notions John is drawing upon here to describe Christ, it can at least be said that John wishes to make the point that Christ is the one who reveals the one true God just as God's word had been his revelation to Israel in the past. Therefore, by designating Jesus as "the Word", John is proclaiming that Jesus is now the revelation of God.

However, John also wishes to make clear that Jesus does not reveal God in the same way that the Law or the prophets revealed God. Jesus is not simply a messenger sent by God. John proclaimes that Jesus is God himself by saying that he existed from the beginning and was always with God and is himself, God (v.1). John has simultaneously distinguished Jesus from God by designating him as "the Word" rather than simply as God but has also resolutely identified Jesus with God by saying that "the Word was God". Therefore, this first verse in the Gospel of John is a forerunner to the doctrine of the Trinity which the Church would not completely spell out until 321 A.D. at the Council of Nicea.

However, even this nuanced statement about "the Word" does not capture everything John wishes to tell us about Jesus. John says in v.14 that this Word also became flesh and dwelt among us. This is perhaps the most remarkable statement of all. The word translated in this verse as "dwelt" is the same root word that the Greek Old Testament (also known as the Septuagint) uses to describe the tabernacle (or tent) in which God traveled with the Israelites before Solomon built the Temple in Jerusalem. Therefore, John is saying that in Jesus God has tabernacled among us. God has made human flesh his dwelling place in the way that the tabernacle and the Temple had previously been. Jesus is the full revelation of the God who has made himself present among us.

John uses other metaphors in this prologue that will extend throughout his Gospel as well; primarily those of light and life. Of course, it is fitting to think of these metaphors along with the incarnation of God in human flesh for wherever God's presence goes there darkness will be driven away, what was previously hidden will be exposed to the light, and life will reign. Despite the presence of God's light in the world, John tells us that not everyone recognized Jesus as the light. In fact, many people, even his own people rejected him.

Scattered throughout this intense theological discussion of light and life and the God who has become flesh are intermittent references to John the baptist. In some ways this is to be expected since the other three gospels also mention John near the beginning of the story. However, these mentions of John in v.6-7 and v.15 seem out of place to me. It seems like this passage would read much more smoothly and coherently if these references to the baptist were simply taken out and placed somewhere after v. 19.

Nevertheless, I have to imagine that John the gospel writer had some reason to include these snippets about John the baptist where he did. If nothing else, perhaps these references are placed within the discussion about the Word just to draw a sharper contrast between them. Maybe John wants to proclaim as distinctly as he can that even though John and Jesus are both prophets from God, they are in no way equal. Although Jesus was truly human, there is some sense in which John and Jesus do not exist on the same plane of existence. Both historically and as a literary device in the Gospel of John, John the baptist serves only as a witness to the light. He is not the light himself.

In this way, John the baptist probably serves as a much needed model for the Church today. We likely need to repeat this mantra to ourselves: "We are not the light. We are witnesses to the light." Too often, churches today exist soley for themselves and don't witness or point to anything other than their own growth. Instead, we should have a prophetic voice like John's which constantly points people to the one who is greater than we are. The Church is not going to solve all the world's problems or enforce God's will in the world. We were never meant to do that. We are only meant to be an icon, an embodied witness to the God who loves us so intensely that he took on our own flesh and dwelt among us.

Garments of Salvation

Trying to enter into this week's sermon text (Isaiah 61:10-62:3) is like going back to visit the rapidly changing city where I grew up after having been gone for a while; everything looks familiar but it's surprisingly difficult to find my way around and make sense of it all. The words of this passage are ones used throughout scripture (salvation, righteousness, praise) but they are used in odd ways. The prophet speaks of being clothed in garments of salvation and a robe of righteousness. What exactly does that mean?

Of course, the language here is relatively poetic in nature and therefore, to some degree, refuses to be pinned down to any precise meaning. Instead, this prophetic poetry invites the listeners to expand their concepts of these important biblical words to include a variety of meanings that may not have been considered previously.

In this passage, Isaiah creatively invites his audience to envision salvation and righteousness as clothes that an engaged couple would wear on their wedding day. This is an interesting metaphor considering what follows because those wedding clothes are a symbol of the new reality that will soon exist for that couple. Similiarly, Isaiah says that he has been clothed with salvation and righteousness "For...the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations." The prophet's message, perhaps even his own calling and presence as God's messenger, is a precursor of the salvation that God is about to accomplish. As a result, the prophet can not keep silent until God has established his righteousness and Israel becomes a symbol of God's royalty.

In the context of this passage, this salvation and righteousness has to do with God's deliverance of Israel from exile. Although 62:1 says that it is "her righteousness" and "her salvation", referring to Jerusalem, the context indicates that this has little to do with anything that Israel possesses. Instead, it has everything to do with God's glory which will be revealed when Israel is delivered from captivity. The nations will see Israel's righteousness and glory (62:2) but ultimately this is all to God's glory. It is not Israel's moral qualities that are on display but rather God's ability to deliver.

We too, simultaneously proclaim God's deliverance in Jesus Christ while awaiting that final deliverance upon his return. What might it mean for the Chuch today to raise it's prophetic voice and put on the "garments of salvation"? How might we adorn ourselves in preparation for and proclamation of our day of deliverance? How might our life togheter become a royal diadem in the hand of our God? To answer those questions sincerely will probably mean that we have to think of salvation and righteousness in broader terms, as the prophet invites us to do in this passage.

What's in a house?

In 2 Samuel 7, King David desires to build a house for God. This desire seems reasonable enough. It even seems good and holy on David's part. After all, the passage says that God has given David rest from all of his enemies and David himself dwells in a luxurious palace. So it only seems right that David would want to honor God in some way and one of the normal things a king could do in the ancient world in order to honor a god was to build that god a temple. We often speak with similar language today, believing that the honor we show to our church buildings, which we sometimes refer to as God's house, is one reflection of how highly we honor God. Even the prophet Nathan seems to agree that this is a good idea. God has been with David in everything else he has done so why wouldn't God approve of a pious action like this one? It seems that David can do no wrong.

But then the passage tells us that on that very same night God told Nathan to say to David "Are you the one who should build Me a house to dwell in?" God reminds David through Nathan that he has dwelt in a tent ever since he miraculously delivered the people from their oppression in Egypt and never once did he ask anyone to build a house for him. Furthermore, God is the one who has built up David. Why does David now think that he can build up God? God seems almost angry with David for having even considered the idea of building a house for God. Why does something that appeared to be such a holy and pious act now appear to be almost offensive to God?

Consider what a house represents: permanence, stability, settling down. Jess and I will become home owners tomorrow morning and when we do our fate as a family will be that much more closely tied to the fate of this community. Owning a home is a very physical and financial demonstration that we intend to be here for a while and that the problems and prosperity of Clinton, IL will be our problems and prosperity. We already had a vested interest in this town but now we will in an even more immediate and intimate way.

David knows of all this when he proclaims that he is going to build a house for God. David knows that if he can build a temple for Yahweh in his capital city then this will in some way bind God's honor with the level of peace and prosperity that exists in Israel. What may appear to be a purely sacrificial act to the glory and honor of God may, in fact, be an attempt to tie God down, to bind God's fate with the fate of David's kingdom, even to legitimate David's reign. And God sees right through it. On the one hand, this passage portrays Yahweh as a radically free God who refuses to be limited by a building.

On the other hand, in this passage God practically gives back with one hand what he has taken with the other. God repudiates David for even a hint of trying to manipulate God by building a temple. But even as God says that he will not be held captive by a temple, he makes David another promise. God tells David that he will build a house for David, meaning not a physical structure but a dynasty of descendants who will rule over David's kingdom forever. God has turned the tables on David and instead of allowing David to build a house for God, God is going to build a house for David. Furthermore, God promises that his loving-kindness will never depart from David's descendants. The irony is that in many ways, this promise to David may be just as or even more binding on God than if David had built a temple for God. All in the same word to Nathan, God refuses to be limited by a building but promises to be eternally bound to a people.

Certainly, this is one of the most beautiful realities of the incarnation, of the Christmas story. It is so much more than an adorable little story about a new born in a manger. It is the reality that the almighty God of everything has chosen to be limited by human flesh, to be forever bound to the fate of his creation by becoming one of us. Our radically free God who is capable and free to do whatever he wants, who refuses even the hint of manipulation by his own anointed king, who will not and can not be limited by any power other than his own free choice, freely chooses to be forever constrained by the birth of this child 2000 years ago. The boundless God has forever bound himself to the fate of his people.

What can we say?

other than a humble

"Thanks be to God!"