The following is the opening portion of a Christmas letter I wrote at the end of 2024. I’ve been meaning to post it, but haven’t gotten around to it…until now. So, here are some random musings from yours truly. If they hit and serve you; I’m glad. If not, leave them behind; I would never want you to be burdened by my own “stuff”.
Christmas 2024
“Therefore, Pilate said to him, ‘So then, you are a king?’ Jesus answered, ‘You, you say that I am a king. For this I, I have been born and for this I have come into the cosmos, so that I may witness to the truth; everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.’ Pilot said to him, ‘What is truth?’” (Jn. 18:37-38)
Truth seems a tricky beast to get a hold of, like grasping at oil or sand. There’s a brief moment when I feel like I’ve got it in hand and then…what I thought was mine is now no longer mine as it spills out from a fist clenched with desperation. I’ve always considered our human travels through time on this rock as the way we accumulate more truth (like coins in a jar). But, looking around here at the end of 2024, I’m not so sure that’s the case. I feel no closer to the truth today than I did in January. Sadly, I feel further from it this year than years before. It seems our information landscape is a veritable wasteland of dis- and misinformation; a minefield to navigate with alertness and wakefulness that only ends up producing existential fatigue. I have no choice but to echo Pilate with weak lips, What is truth?
I have a hard time asking this question aloud because it’s often met with scientific, intellectual, philosophical, theological, and party-political pat responses. But truth isn’t fact strictly, and it certainly isn’t dogma or human-made ideology. These are all things drawn from the truth because human beings are eager to make sense of their environments and place in history. Facts and ideologies are material manifestations of the truth that (eventually) become captive to space, decay with time, and will (if we allow them to) die. But truth can’t be confused for these things no matter how comforting that may be; truth refuses capture and denies us the ability to mount it on our wall like a trophy.
If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that truth isn’t a thing; it’s a summons, a disruption, it’s what liberates us from the captivity of what was. It’s the thing that gets us to turn our heads towards the future while standing in the present and remembering what was rather than clinging to it; truth beckons us to let go of what we have known and receive something new. So, this is why I dragged Easter into Christmas. Advent is our time of waiting for the arrival of God in our moment; our eager expectation to be flat-out and totally ruptured from what was and is (the status quo). God promises to show up and bring God’s reign; in the nativity of Jesus Christ God does show up. The birth of Christ is a great and heavenly fracture of geological time and space. But it’s the beginning; the story doesn’t stop there. Behind the manger looms the cross, and it’s in the cross and resurrection event (whether you believe them to be fact and real or not) where the world will never truly be able to go about its business as if something didn’t just happen, as if the earth didn’t just shake, as if the illuminating light of God didn’t stream forth and expose all those who witness it (literally or spiritually, historically and currently).
The birth of Christ is not a light that only shines backward illuminating the past (woe to me a sinner); rather, it’s a beacon that shines forward, illuminating our path forward (surely this man is God). Herein lies truth. Jesus says that he came into the world to witness to the truth of God; this means nothing less than to witness to God’s reign and mission of love, life, and liberation in the world. Wherever there is indifference, the truth will beckon us to bring God’s love; wherever there is death, the truth will beckon us to bring God’s life; wherever there is captivity, the truth will call us to fight for divine liberation of God’s beloved. According to Jesus at the penultimate Good Friday moment, truth is a voice calling out, summoning me to drop my nets and follow God not backward toward what is familiar and known, but to be ruptured from what was, to go forward, follow Christ and step into the unknown. Dorothee Sölle (German Lutheran Liberation Theologian)writes,
“Christ’s truth is concrete.…By concrete we mean changeable according to the situation and according to human needs; able itself to change a situation and liberate from oppression. This kind of truth must be realized and so it can be experienced but it cannot be known in advance. It can be made but not determined.”[1]
The divine summons of Advent is into this truth of the reign of God defined by love, life, and liberation.
Psalm 96:11-13 Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea thunder and all that is in it; let the field be joyful and all that is therein. Then shall all the trees of the wood shout for joy before God when God comes, when God comes to judge the earth. Abba God will judge the world with righteousness and the peoples with Abba God’s truth.
Luke 2:1-20
Our gospel passage opens up with, Now it happened in those days a decree came out from Emperor Augustus to take a census of all the state (v.1). Luke further clarifies that this first census occurred while Quirinius was governor of Syria (v.2); this is Luke locating this very, very, very old story within the history of the kingdom of humanity.[1] We’re also told that all the people were going to give [their] names for registration [the census] each in their own cities (v.3) because that is what the census demanded. So, a (very, very, very) pregnant Mary (v.5) is traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem by donkey with her husband to-be, Joseph, who was of the lineage of David (v.4) (and this is why he’s going to Bethlehem, because it’s also the “City of David”). Mary’s physical situation wasn’t considered as a valid reason to opt out of the journey because oppression, adverse to mercy, knows no limits, and trickles down from on high and disrupts and disturbs the everyday lives of the least of these—no one is excluded from the impact of this oppression no matter how much one might be deluded by false identification with the powerful. [2] And, considering Mary’s very pregnant situation and arriving in Bethlehem, Luke tells us, Now it happened while being there the days of [Mary’s] begetting completed, and she brought forth her first born son, and she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him down in a manger because there was not a place for them in the inn (vv.6-7).
There it is, the Christmas story; the one we are all here to celebrate, the one we are all very familiar with. But Luke has more to share because he believes we need to hear a bit more of the story. So, he goes on. Luke shifts the scene: we go from the stable and manger, and find ourselves among the shepherds and their sheep, in the cool night air under a blanket of stars. And shepherds were in that region living in the fields and watching over their flock keeping guard through the night (v. 8). Luke’s language is brief, but his point is anything but.[3] Remember that reference back in vv.1-2 about Augustus, Quirinius, and the census? Well, turns out that’s a bit more than a location in history; it’s a commentary on the oppressive political regime[4] that was about to become even more oppressive once this exploitative[5] census finished. This census wasn’t just a tally of who is who and who is where, but a way for the government to dip oppressive hands deeper into the livelihoods of all the people from the wealthiest to the poorest, the poorest being most impacted by the results of the census. [6] Luke sends us to the shepherds because it is these humble tenders of livestock who are looking for more than literal wolves out hunting for a quick late night meal—wolves they could and were trained to fight off. No, the shepherds on this night feared bigger wolves who were on the prowl in bipedal fashion;[7] against these they could not fight and if they did (or if they even spoke of it) it would be considered subversive and thus rebellion or insurrection and punishable.[8] These shepherds stayed awake to stay on guard and keep watch; they stayed awake because they were angry, scared, and terrified about what was coming.[9] The existing darkness of the night doubled as the shroud of socio-political darkness rolled in.
And it is to these scared, anxious, tired, poor, powerless shepherds[10] an angel of God comes. Luke tells us that in the blink of an eye the darkness surrounding the shepherds is obliterated by the glory of God shining around them, and an angel of God stood among them (v. 9). The shepherds go from hidden to suddenly exposed,[11] from the least significant[12] to the most important, and they are terrified.[13] So, the angel of God says, “Do not be afraid, for behold! I proclaim good news to you, a great joy whichsoever will be for all the people! Today a savior who is Christ the Lord was born for you in the city of David! And this [will be] a sign to you: you will find a newborn child having been wrapped in swaddling clothes and being laid in a manger!” (vv. 10-11). The shepherds may have not been the most erudite of the people, but they knew that the coming of the savior indicated liberation. As the darkness of the decree from the kingdom of humanity goes out over the land threatening increased captivity, indifference, and death, in this moment in the intersection of celestial and earthly realms it collides head-on with the light of the word of God, the Savior Messiah, now born and lying in a manger promising to bring spiritual and political love, life, and liberation.[14]
Luke tells us further that suddenly it happened a great army of heaven was praising God with the angel, saying, “Glory to God Most High and upon earth peace among humanity of [God’s] favor!” (vv. 13-14). And as fast as the angel and their folx showed up, they left(v. 15a). Here something interesting happens. As the angels leave, the shepherds talk to one another (v. 15b). What did they discuss? Luke tells us: “Indeed, let us travel until Bethlehem and let us see this word which has happened which God declared to us!” (v. 15c). Luke then tells us, And they hastened and found Mary and Joseph and the new born child being laid in the manger” (v. 16). Did you catch it? They left their fields and their sheep and hastened to find Mary and the baby, the savior, the Christ, the one who is the long-awaited fulfillment of the promise of God’s liberation, the promise fulfilled now wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a dirty manger, the ancient of days, the great counselor, Immanuel. They dropped everything and went—everything that defined them, sustained them, comforted them. In that moment, they left it all behind to pursue the sign of the fulfilled promise of divine liberation come down low, to earth, to them. Good news does that; whereas the bad news of the census of the kingdom of humanity drove them deeper into darkness, the good news of Messiah and of the coming reign of God summoned them into light. On this night, they left; they left, and when they came back from visiting with Mary and sharing their story (vv. 17-18), they were new people, with a new word, with a new vision, with a new hope, with a new song to rejoice!
Conclusion
I don’t know about you, but I want (need?) this story to be true and real right about now. I want to have God intercept this world and intervene, to come here and show up. I want the reign of God to literally break into the kingdom of humanity, right the wrongs, establish justice, and bring real, tangible peace. I want the night sky to part and the light of the celestial realm to stream through. I want to turn and see the Christ in the manger, the long-awaited promise fulfilled. I want angels to show up and proclaim actual good news to; I want them to tell me to go and see so I have proof. But here I am, just regular me in this regular church telling a regular story to some regular people. As far as I can tell, there has been no divine intervention; I can’t help it, I find myself asking, where, oh where is God…? As I celebrate and remember the birth of the Christ, where is God now, tonight?
And then I realize, this is Luke’s point. We think this story is solely about the birth of Christ and about God coming low to save us. And while it is very much about that, stopping there truncates the story Luke is telling Theophilus and, thus, telling us. Just remembering the birth of Christ and not also the oppressed shepherds met in the middle of the night in fields adjacent to Bethlehem places the emphasis on the wrong syllable of the narrative. This story isn’t solely about the birth of Christ, it is also about the rebirth of the shepherds. Tonight, in remembering the nativity of the Christ, we are also asked to recall the shepherds who were summoned and sent, who were reoriented toward something completely different and completely new. We need to see that this is the story about far-off, isolated and alienated, terrified and anxious shepherds who are afraid of what the future holds, who doubt, who are afraid, who feel abandoned, who very well may have been wondering where is God, tonight? And it’s these same shepherds who are not only met but also summoned to go (as they are!) and greet the newborn ruler of the reign of God, the one who will take on the empire of the kingdom of humanity, the one who will bring life where there is death, love where there is indifference, and liberation where there is captivity.
In the divine calling of the shepherds, we hear our own summons. Tonight, as the angel comes to proclaim good news to the shepherds, we, too, are receiving that very same news.[15] Tonight, as the shepherds are sent, so are we. Tonight, as the shepherds encounter God swaddled, we are encountered by God in the proclamation of this good news from the angel to the shepherds, of the shepherds meeting and marveling at the first-born baby of Mary.
Like the shepherds before us, we are exposed by the light of heaven and summoned from what was and sent toward something new, something different, something better. Amid our fear, our doubt, our desperations while being submerged in a world that is dead set on burning itself down, we, through this story, come face to face with God, born to a single woman of color, swaddled and laid in a manger. Tonight, if but for a moment, we dare to have hope, seek peace, grasp love, and risk having joy. Tonight, along with the shepherds we harken to the divine summons and embrace the truth of the reign of God defined by love, life, and liberation. Tonight, the Christ is born anew among us, in our heart, for us. Breathe deep, rest, be comforted, and rejoice. Again, I say, Rejoice.
[1] Justo L. Gonzalez, Luke, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible, eds. Amy Plantinga Pauw and William C. Placher (Louisville: WJK, 2010), 32-33. “It is characteristic of Luke, for it does not appear in any of the other Gospels…[and] indicates Luke’s interest in placing his story within the context of world history”
[2] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “For a period before the advent of the Roman Empire, the Jews had been struggling against Syrian domination. Now their land was ruled from Syria by a governor appointed by Rome. Whatever the actual chronology may have been, the political structure is clear: the Jews have a puppet government under Syrian and Roman power. As usual, oppression is not a merely political matter, the concern only of those directly involved in politics. It also reaches the every day lives of people, as is seen in the very fact that Joseph and Mary have to travel to Bethlehem even though she is about to give birth.”
[3] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “This is not a mellow, bucolic story about some shepherds tending their sheep with little or no care beyond the possibility of a wandering wolf. That is not the setting in which Luke presents the story.”
[4] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “The setting is rather that of people living under and oppressive regime. The mention of Augustus and Quirinius…is politically charged.”
[5] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “A census usually announced grater poverty and exploitation. It was as welcome among subjects of the Roman Empire as undocumented immigrants in industrialized nations welcome a census today.”
[6] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “A census had sinister implications. It was not just counting people in order to see how many there were, and what population trends were. In ancient times, and long thereafter, a census was in fact an inventory of all the wealth of a region—its people, its animals, and its crops—so that the government could be able to tax people to the maximum.”
[7] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “Given those circumstances, the setting of the shepherds keeping their flocks at night is much less tranquil and romantic. They live out in the fields, suffer all kinds of deprivations and even dangers, in order to protect their flocks. But the census threatens a new danger, a wolf more dangerous than any four-legged beast, a wolf that will probably decimate their flocks, and whom they cannot fight, for it is too powerful.”
[8] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “It is not difficult to imagine what would be the talk of such shepherds as they sought to remain awake through the night. In that sort of circumstances, people vent their anger, frustration, and fear in what is at once idle and dangerous talk—talk that does not necessarily lead to rebellion, but that in itself is subversive and the authorities will consider it rebellious and punishable.”
[9] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “…the setting itself was one of fear and oppression.”
[10]Ernesto Cardenal, The Gospel in Solentiname, translated by Donald D. Walsh (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2010), 26. “Felipe: ‘The angel came to them because they were working men, and I find this is very important for us. Because they were poor little people who were working. They were watching over their sheep which is like taking care of cattle today. They were workers, laborers, poor people. The angel of God could have gone to the king’s palace and said them: “The Savior has been born.” But the angel didn’t go where the king was but where the poor people were, which means that this message is not for the big shots but for the poor little guys, which means the. oppressed, which means us.”
[11] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “One of the ways in which the ‘little people’ manage to survive under oppressive regimes is not to call attention to themselves. …Now these shepherds are literally in the limelight, and an obviously powerful personage confronts them.”
[12] Cardenal, Solentiname, 26. “I: ‘It was really the shepherds who were at the bottom of the social scale in Israel…’”
[13] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “It is in that scene, perhaps silent, but not as peaceful as we tend to depict it, that an angel suddenly appears before the shepherds and they are terrified. Their fear is not surprising…Suddenly there is a bright light, and an unknown person stands before them. It is not surprising that they would be terrified.”
[14] Gonzalez, Luke, 35-36. “The good news that the angel announces is the birth of a child, ‘a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.’ This is the only text in the entire New Testament where these three titles appear together. The title ‘Savior’ (sōtēr) was employed in the Septuagint….to refer both to God and to those whom God sends to liberate Israel. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the function of such liberators is neither purely religious nor purely political. Actually, this is a distinction that people in ancient times would find difficult to understand…The ‘saviors’ in the Hebrew Scriptures liberate Israel from its political oppressors so that the people may be free to serve and obey God…The child who has been born will free the people form bondage—bondage both to their sins and to their oppressors.”
[15] Cardenal, Solentiname, 28. “I: ‘….At this very moment you are receiving the same news from the angel that the shepherds received.’”
Psalm 96:1-3, 11 Sing to God a new song; sing to Abba God, all the whole earth. Sing to God and bless God’s Name; proclaim the good news of Abba God’s salvation from day to day. Declare God’s glory among the nations and wonders among all peoples. Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea thunder and all that is in it; let the field be joyful and all that is therein.
Introduction
The Psalmist exhorts their audience, “Sing! Sing to God a new song! Sing to Abba God, all the whole earth! Proclaim the good news! Declare God’s glory! Rejoice!” These words beckon cheer and joy, soliciting from the intended audience a response that joins in with the earthly and celestial symphony affirming God’s goodness and greatness. The psalmist beseeches help from the heavens, the seas, the fields, the trees and woods to join in this chorus of praise for God’s glory, power, might, honor, majesty, splendor, and beauty. The psalmist—caught up in the majestic splendor of God’s goodness, righteousness, and truthfulness—invites the cosmos into their celebration, from the peaks of the mountains to the depths of the seas everything is summoned to this banquet and feast of praise and worship.
The psalmist offers us a truly glorious invitation to join in the festivities surrounding God; we are invited to sing a new song. And the only thing I can muster in reply is: in this economy?! Days in and days out, one foot in front of the other, walking slow and steady through a myriad of troubling and disturbing events marking the land and the world…how can I find language for a new song when I’ve lost the language of the old song? Exhaustion wearies the soul and fatigue wearies the bones. So many of us are fighting our overworked nervous systems and rampant anxiety, we’ve run out of energy to make dinner most nights let alone craft a new song. I don’t want this invitation from the psalmist; I don’t have the stamina for such celebration and festivities. In my heart I decline, No, thank you. In my body, I stay home: turn off the lights and bury myself deep into my comforters and try to sleep. I want silence, darkness, stillness; I want to care less, to be less close to despair, to be numb. Sorry, Psalmist, I cannot sing with you; I cannot sing an old song and definitely not a new song.
Then, in the midst of that stillness, the silence, that darkness, succumbing to heavy sleep a still small voice penetrates through it all: oh, dear one, I was not asking you to sing but to listen to a new song…for you…
Luke 2:1-14(15-20)
Now, Shepherds were in that same land living in the fields and guarding over their flocks keeping night guard. And then an angel of the lord stood by them, and the glory of the lord shone around them, and they were afraid with a great fear. And then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! For, Behold!, I proclaim good news to you of great joy that will be for all people: today a savior is begotten for you in the city of David who is Christ the Lord. This is a sign for you, you will find a newborn child having been wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” And suddenly a great host of angels of heaven appeared with the angel, praising God, and [singing], ‘Glory to God most high and upon earth peace among humanity of [God’s] good pleasure!’”[1]
Luke 2:8-14
Luke begins by telling us a familiar story of Joseph and Mary traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem to fulfill the demand of a census from Caesar Augustus. We know this story. They are both tired; Mary is very pregnant. They come to the town of David, to Bethlehem, and there’s not one available room for the unwed young couple expecting their first child. Without a room available, the couple finds comfort among animals, straw and hay, and an empty manger. According to Luke, Mary gives birth soon after arriving in the stable.
The birth of the Christ into the world is God coming low to be further in the world. God did not go to palaces and castles; rather God went so low as to be born into meager and rather desperate circumstances. Nothing about Joseph and Mary was particularly unique; they were not married yet, they were not wealthy, they were not royalty, and they were not powerful and privileged. They were simple people in meager circumstances pulling together the bare necessities for their son who was coming into the world, the long promised divine savior of God.[2] I think we forget this part of the story when it’s told year after year; God made God’s self known in flesh, vulnerable and soft flesh, in a stable, in the dirt, among the lowly, among the animals and the poor.
That story is remarkable on its own. But Luke doesn’t stop pressing home his point. The next seen brings us to fields at night and into the world of the shepherds keeping watch over their sheep at night, guarding their flock from predators—both wolves that walked on four legs, and those masquerading as humans walking about on two.[3] These shepherds were downright oppressed under an oppressive regime; this census wasn’t merely about tallying up how many people there were, but, rather, about finding out how much wealth was in the region with an eye to maximize taxes.[4] Thus, this census would create financial havoc for the everyday lives of the shepherds already living (barely) from one day to the next.[5]
So, here they are, the shepherds, cloaked by night and alert for fear of wolves; they are unseen and worried. And then Luke tells us that suddenly! An angel of the lord appeared and brought with them a glory of the lord that engulfed in bright light the field in which they were standing. These humble shepherds froze in fear. But then the angelic visitor spoke, Do not be afraid! For, Behold!, I proclaim to you good news: a savior is begotten for you in the city of David who is Christ the lord! And this announcement wasn’t only a proclamation of good news, but an invitation to come in, come closer, to enter the realm of God’s glory come down low and take hold of the good news. And as if that wasn’t enough, the angel is (suddenly!) accompanied by a great host of heaven who sing to these tired and anxious shepherds,
Glory to God in the highest and peace upon earth among humanity of God’s good pleasure!
The whole host of heaven came to these dirty and poor, worried and anxious shepherds dwelling in the dark and on the boarders of despair.[6] Those who were unseen were now seen—seen by the host of heaven. They were drafted into the divine limelight by God[7] to receive the good news and to go. Go and see the savior, the one who will liberate—from sin and oppression[8]—the people, the shepherds, the poor, those meagerly surviving day to day, those shoved off to the fringes of society, those exhausted in soul and fatigued in body, those without a song.
Conclusion
And they went. Luke tells us that as the host of heaven returned to celestial heights, the shepherds, turning one to another, spoke, “Let us go until we reach Bethlehem and see this word that has come into being that the Lord made known to us.” The shepherds dared to go, to obey God, to go into the stable, to see the unwed woman of color who is the mother of God, Jesus the Christ, God come low, Immanuel, God with us. These unknown shepherds were beckoned into the luminescent glory of God and dared to be seen and known by God. They came close, Luke tells us, they found Mary and Joseph, and they saw the infant wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger. Those who were once too dirty to be in God’s presence now not only stood in God’s presence but could reach out and touch God as they were.
Rather than being far off and distant, on Christmas, in the nativity of the Christ, God came low, born a baby, held by the arms of the poor, embraced by the oppressed, surrounded by animals, and resting atop hay, straw, and dirt. God came low on Christmas for no other reason than to bring love and life to God’s beloved, the people of God’s good pleasure, to liberate them from sin and oppression. On Christmas God came low to hang out with those who had lost all their words to give them a new song, to sing over them.
And here we sit, peering over shepherd shoulders, tippy-toe, eager to see the scene displayed before us. We are a part of those gathered to gaze upon the newborn babe, the Christ, and his mother, Mary. We stand among the menagerie of animals; we stand with the humble shepherds finding their words again for the first time. In them we see ourselves. And, in time, as we listen again and again, as we listen anew to this old, old story, we find our words, too—new words, lifegiving words, love filled words, liberating words. This is God for us, heaven singing over us, God come low to be with us, where we are, as weare.
God comes to us to sing over us tonight, amid our darkness, as we try to numb out the chaos and tumult of a world on fire, as we try to forget the pain of our loss and grief (those far off or gone), and as we collapse in our exhaustion and fatigue. Here, we are taken up into that ancient celestial song of ancient days, interrupted long enough to lift our heads and dare to have hope, faith, joy, and peace. Tonight, the Christ is born anew among us, in our heart, for us. Breathe deep, rest, be comforted, and rejoice. Again, I say, Rejoice.
[3] Gonzalez, Luke, 33-34. “Given those circumstances, the setting of the shepherds keeping their flocks at night is much less tranquil and romantic. They live out in the fields, suffer all kinds of deprivations and even dangers, in order to protect their flocks. But the census threatens a new danger, a wolf more dangerous than nay four-legged beast, a wolf that will probably decimate their flocks, and whom they cannot fight, for it is too powerful It is not difficult to imagine what would be the talk of such shepherds as they sought to remain awake through the night…the setting itself was one of fear and oppression.”
[4] Gonzalez, Luke, 33. “A census had sinister implications. It was not just counting people in order to see how many they were, and what population trends were. In ancient times, and long thereafter, a census was in fact an inventory of all the wealth of a region—its people, its animals, and its crops—so that the government would be able to tax people to the maximum. A census usually announced greater poverty and exploitation.”
[5] Justo L. Gonzalez, Luke, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible Eds Amy Plantinga Pauw and William C. Placher. Louisville: WJK, 2010. 33. “That is not the setting in which Luke presents the story. The setting is rather that of people living under an oppressive regime…As usual, oppression is not a merely political matter, the concern only of those directly involved in politics. It also reaches the everyday lives of people, as is seen in the very fact that Joseph and Mary have to travel to Bethlehem even though she is about to give birth.”
[6] Cardenal, Solentiname, 26. “Felipe: ‘But the angel didn’t go where the kings was but where the poor people were…’”
[7] Gonzalez, Luke, 34. “One of the ways in which the ‘little people’ manage to survive under oppressive regimes is not to call attention to themselves. They seek to go on with their lives unnoticed by the powerful, who could easily crush them. Now these shepherds are literally in the limelight, and an obviously powerful personage confronts them.”
[8] Gonzalez, Luke, 36. “The ‘saviors’ in the Hebrew Scriptures liberate Israel from its political oppressors so that the people may be free to serve and obey God…But the title ‘Savior’ was also used by rulers who claimed special powers over their subjects…Thus when the angel announces Jesus as ‘Savior,’ his declaration has both political and religious overtones. The child who has been born will free the people from bondage—bondage both to their sins and to their oppressors.”
[1]Psalm 96: 11-13 Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea thunder and all that is in it; let the field be joyful and all that is therein.
A New Hope
Mary was very pregnant that night. She probably looked as she felt…exhausted. As far along as she was, everything ached. I imagine her deep and profound desire to lie down and rest. There wasn’t anything special emanating from her. She was just another pregnant person. How many other pregnant people were seen that night? How many other babies were born that night? How many children born before this one? No one in Bethlehem felt the urgency to make sure she was well cared for; no one had the time or the space to make room for her. That night, there wasn’t anything to be done but to offer up some meager space among dirty animals, trampled hay, and dirt, in crisp air of a Bethlehem night. Is this all there is for me and my baby? Exhausted eyes survey the meager estate. Nascent maternal guilt blossoms in hope’s absence, mom whispers her first I’m sorry to her enwombed beloved. I wish I could give you more…
When the contractions started, Mary gave herself over to them; she had no choice, she was now in service to life. As she labored on earth, the host of heaven was still. The entirety of the divine residence of angels and archangels watched with bated breath as this woman did a regular thing: bear her first child, a son… But what the host of heaven knew was this: this regular body and this regular act of birth were bringing for this not-so-regular child…the son of God, the prince of peace, the one of ancient of days, the humble judge, the embodiment of divine love, and a new story for the world. For this child, heaven held its breath as Mary brought him forth out of darkness into light so he would be the light going into the darkness, the word piercing the silence, the divine reply to ages of human longing stuck in sorrow, pain, suffering, and captivity, those who cried out through clenched teeth and broken hearts: is there something more? Is there something better than this!? Those too exhausted to hope.
God chose this body and this regularity of being born to enter the world and identify with the depth of the pain of the human predicament. God could’ve shown up and skipped this banal and regular step; God could have come in glory and not in precarious vulnerability. However, God chose not to skip it but to embrace it, to experience it, to identify with God’s beloved from the beginning of life unto the end. It is this divine child born of Mary, this one who is God of very God, who will stand in solidarity with humanity and change the trajectory of everything with a new Word.
That night, as Mary labored, a new story was born and with it, hope.
A New Peace
Mary wasn’t alone that night, walking steadily into that event, one step at a time. Joseph was with her. This regular guy was going about his regular life before God intervened and shuffled everything. Now he was moving along with Mary, the one who was to bear the son of God into the world and he…trusted? Somehow, this was all the work of God, yet he questioned everything. But, even still, he walked with Mary. He walked with this mother of this child that was not his. Will God actually show up, like the Angel promised? Anxiety simmering pushing out peace.
The many closed doors to decent lodging didn’t help things. He was eager to get this very pregnant Mary to security, to a place where she could rest[2]…she looks so tired. When the option for the humble estate of wood, straw, and animals came, it was a stroke of fortune even if not ideal. Provision. We’ll make this work, at least for tonight. He breathed. But not for long. When the contractions started, Joseph knew he must do one thing: find a midwife. (So goes another telling of the birth of Jesus.[3])
Then something altogether new and different happened while he sought this Bethlehemite midwife. Joseph was momentarily disentangled from everything, suspended in time and space as the cosmos seemed to come to a screeching halt, as if God was slowing it all down in order to set the whole thing in a completely different direction.
“And I, Joseph, was walking, and yet I was not walking. And I looked up to the vault of heaven and saw it standing still, and in the air, I saw the air seized in amazement, and the birds of heaven were at rest. And I looked down to the earth and I saw a bowl laid there and workers lying around it, with their hands in the bowl. But the ones chewing were not chewing; and the ones lifting up something to eat were not lifting it up; and the ones putting food in their mouths were not putting food into their mouths. But all their faces were looking upward. And I saw sheep being driven along, but the sheep stood still. And the shepherd raised his hand to strike them, but his hand was still raised. And I looked down upon the winter-flowing river and I saw some goat-kids with their mouths over the water but they were not drinking. Then all at once everything returned to its course.”[4]
When God steps into our timeline and into our space things do not keep moving as if it’s all normal. Everything stops. Time is slowed down and space is parted from itself making room for more and bigger and better. God doesn’t break into our realm like a thief. Rather, God takes our realm into God’s self, disrupts us, gives us new ground to stand on; God’s people are ruptured from death’s grip and ushered into the life of God’s reign, into something new, given a different story, and a different way of living in the world.
That night, as Joseph sought the midwife, a new story was born and with it, peace.
A New Joy
That dark night was no different than the other nights. Here they were, once again, tending and guarding their flocks of sheep, chatting here and there to stay awake.[5] This life was quiet, even if deprived and rather dangerous…keeping the flock safe took a lot of work and strength and risk.[6] The census going on caused additional anxiety, fear, and made that heavy blanket of oppression draped over these humble shepherds seem a bit heavier.[7] How many more sheep would they lose from their flocks when the census was over?[8] Against this evil empire they were helpless, more helpless than against a vicious and voracious wolf.[9] Spirits were low that dark night; joy was nowhere to be found.
Then the angle showed up, out of nowhere. The shepherds were rightly terrified. Here they were, in the dark of night, doing their job, minding their own business and then: FLASH! They were enveloped in the heavenly glory of the Lord. In seconds they went from no ones to some ones, illuminated by a great light, and being addressed by one from the host of heaven…who were they to warrant such attention?[10]
And the Angel said to them,
“Do not be terrified! For behold, I herald good tidings to you of great delight for all people! A savior is brought forth for you today in the city of David who is Christ the Lord! And this will be the sign for you, you will find a newborn child having been wrapped in swaddling clothes and being laid in a manger!”[11]
Before the shepherds found their voices, they were greeted by an army of the host of heaven who joined the angel and praised God, saying: Glory in the highest to God and upon earth peace with humanity of good pleasure! And then, like it began, it was over.
The shepherds were summoned by God to come into this event, into this space…and, that night, they went. The unclean were called; the oppressed were summoned; the meek were beckoned to come and see how good God is, how much God was for them, how much God loved them. When they arrived, they found Mary and Joseph, and the divine newborn child was, as the Angel said, lying in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes. Here, these unclean shepherds stood in the direct presence of God without having to change, become pure, clean, or right. There was no shame, no condemnation, no guilt, no offerings had to be made, no rituals performed; they just came, looked, and touched the very small and vulnerable foot of God. And here the audacity of joy on a dark night bubbled forth in the space given to them to rejoice.
That night, when the shepherds arrived, a new story was born, and with it, joy.
Conclusion
All that had been was now coming undone; the savior, the son of God, was born, surrounded by wood, straw, dirt, animals, an exhausted woman of color, a humbled man, and dirty shepherds. On that night God showed up and Love claimed Love’s land and did the only thing Love knows to do: seek those who are cast off and call those who thought they were too far off to hear, too unloved to be desired, too nothing to be something…It’s here where we enter the story. As we listen in and look on, we step into that menagerie of humans and animals gazing upon the newborn child. We become a part of those also loved and summoned to witness this divine event of love in the world and to encounter God on this night. Tonight, we are invited to experience the divine disruption of a new word, a new story pointing to something better, giving us hope. Tonight, we are disentangled from what was by this new story and liberated into the realm of peace. Tonight, we are given time and space to have joy and to dare to rejoice. Tonight—by this new story, by this new word—we are found on Love’s land wrapped up in the lap of Love.
That night, as Mary labored, a new story was born and with it hope. That night, as Joseph sought the midwife, a new story was born and with it, peace. That night, when the shepherds arrived, a new story was born, and with it, joy. Because—on that night—Love showed up and changed everything forever.
[5] Justo L. Gonzalez Luke Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible. Amy Plantinga Pauw and William C. Placher, eds. (Louisville, KY: WJK, 2010). 34
Christmas is over and now we are thrust into the day to day of regular life. Entering the second week of school, it can feel as if we never had Christmas break. Everything picks up where it seems to have left off. Even for me. Even though I’ve an entirely new grade of students sitting at my desks, it’s as if they were always there. Humans are quite remarkable that way: resilient. New becomes normal quickly.
But yet, the events of Christmas did happen. The baby was born. As someone who has had a baby (or a few), I know for a fact that life does *not* just go back to normal within in a day or two. It changes. Forever. And in light of Christmas, the life of the world changes. And yet we seem to skip right over it like we’re in some cosmic competitive game of religious hopscotch.
Our liturgical calendar doesn’t help us either. Liturgically, we moved from the epiphany—the affirmation of Jesus as God incarnate, the long-awaited Christ—to the baptism of Jesus–the affirmation of the affirmation, if you will. So, it would seem we’ve all just moved on from Christmas and are thrust headlong into the descent to Good Friday.
But there’s still Christmas work to be done. This is exactly what happens as Jesus is baptized. As Jesus is baptized and he is affirmed in his divine sonship and belovedness, he leaves the Jordan and will proceed with his ministry. For Jesus, there is Christmas work to be done—it isn’t strictly about getting to the cross as fast as possible. That event will happen and in its own time. But first, there’s healing, feeding, finding, and releasing that needs to be done. African American pastor, author, civil-rights activist, and theologian, Howard Thurman,[1] writes,
The Work of Christmas
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among others,
To make music in the heart.[2]
However, I want to highlight something that isn’t in the text: I want to add a pause for a moment before we all head out of the Jordan and out of Christmas. Before we do anything, we have to find our footing in Christmas. Before we can even begin to appreciate and understand Easter, we have to locate ourselves in the event of faith in the encounter with God in the season of Christmas. To become substantial actors and doers of the work of Christmas, we must find ourselves encountered by God in Christ born a baby in a manager; we must be encountered in a way that undoes the very fabric of our preconceived notions of the world and of ourselves. Because it is in this encounter where we are brought to the end of the selves we think we are in a world we think we know and ushered into the selves we are but didn’t know in a world we hadn’t seen but see clearly now. We must first lose ourselves in order to find ourselves. We are of no earthly good unless we come to terms with who and what we are; we can’t pull someone else up if we don’t have our own good footing in our known strength and ability.
And in order to do this, we need a moment. We need a pause. And there’s no better week than this week—a week dedicated to your wellness. Take these next few days to just be, to just exist; to feel the sensations of the miracle of breathing, the exhilaration of physical existence, and the weight of emotional life. Take time to look and see, listen and hear, touch and feel; take time to notice the beauty of your friends and of your own wonderful and absolutely amazing creation.
Slow everything down. Live. Take that deep and much needed inhale and release a slow exhale. Be present. Receive and give. Rest. Press into being. Lean. Be aware of your mind and body. Be embodied. And remember you are loved. Beloved.
*I don’t believe in Bible reading plans, but I do read my bible every day—a chapter on some days, a small passage on others. I take my time and meditate on what I’m reading as I go. One cold, winter morning, back in Colorado, my attention was particularly pricked as I was reading through a part of text from the prophet Ezekiel. The book of Ezekiel of the Old Testament is full of mysterious imagery and prophecy of Israel’s exile and destruction. While there is a word of hope of restoration, the bulk of the book is rather troubling. But none of that caused me to stop and contemplate. It was a portion about a tree planted on a mountain that snapped me out of my early morning mental fog.
I lived in the high desert, so maybe the idea of a great big cedar providing shade and comfort from the burning sun of the summertime or the cold wind and snow of winter sounded good to me. Or, maybe the idea of anything green and verdant appealed to me considering it was the middle of a white Colorado winter. Whatever it was, this tree caught my eye.
In this portion of our passage, God is promising to plant a great and “noble cedar” from a sprig God is going to break off from another. And God will plant this sprig, this tender one on a high mountain, so that it will become a “noble cedar.”
You know what grows on the top of a high mountain? Nothing. Well, nothing substantial, nothing qualifying as “noble.” The top of a mountain is typically bald because the environment is too frigid and the conditions too treacherous for foliage to grow let alone allow for a transplanted cutting to take root and grow and become mighty. What caught my attention that morning was God promising to plant a “tender one” on the top of a mountain; certainly, this is sure death for a cedar sapling. What a precarious thing for God to do.
In the midst of a book that is primarily [1] comprised of prophetic utterances of judgment against the current, corrupt, oppressive, militaristic, and hopeless monarchy of Jerusalem and Israel, [2] why prophesy about a great cedar on a mountaintop planted and grown from a sprig?
Birds of every kind will nest in it; they will find shelter in the shade of its branches. All the trees of the forest will know that I the Lord bring down the tall tree and make the low tree grow tall. I dry up the green tree and make the dry tree flourish.
Because the tree is the word of hope in this passage—not for the leadership of Israel but for those who are suffering under the leadership.
The tree will be so mighty in stature that winged creatures of all kinds will be able to find shelter in its boughs. Cedars protect those creatures who find shelter in them from harsh and inclement weather—they are the perfect safe-haven from cold winds and bitter precipitation. This particular cedar planted and nourished by God will be a beacon of hope to all who look upon it, and they will know that God is still active, that God’s power is still magnificent, and that God hears the deep cries and intimately knows the suffering and oppression of God’s people (Exodus 2:25; Acts 9:4-5).[3]
This cedar will stand as the promise of an answer to the repeated cries of the troubled, downtrodden, and the broken hearted. But even more than being a static symbol of hope for the people of Israel and Jerusalem, it’s a dynamic word for the people: God is on the move. This great tree is on a collision course with God.
That God so loved the world he sent his son into it as a vulnerable baby: a baby conceived by the Holy Spirit was born of a virgin woman; the fully divine and fully human Christ would enter the world defenseless, naked, and tender. What a precarious thing for God to do.
And just as God promised that the sprig in Ezekiel would become a great and mighty cedar, so too will this baby grow to be great, becoming the Son of the Most-High God (Luke 1:32). Through his life, death, resurrection, and ascension the cosmos receives her loving messiah, her merciful king, her faithful high-priest.
The sprig of the high mountain top and the baby of Christmas have the same fate in Easter: to be the final answer to all of humanity’s pain and suffering, to bear the weight of sin and bear life into the world, to break down strongholds and redefine justice. For this great man, Jesus, who is God, will carry this great cedar to the top of a high mountain. He will climb upon this great cedar, and this great cedar will bear the entire weight of Christ as he bears the entire weight of our sin and the brokenness of the world succumbed to the powers of sin and death; and this cedar will holdfast those three nails.
Like the winged creatures mentioned by Ezekiel in our passage, in the boughs of the cross and the limbs of our crucified and resurrected Christ, we receive our comfort and the fulfillment of our hope, it’s in the safe and protective shade of the Cross where we hear the divine “it is finished” to our pain and suffering, to our grief and fear–where the rejected are accepted, counted as God’s own, children and heirs of the long awaited great king; where the captives are set free, the oppressed relieved, the hopeless are hopeful, the voiceless have a voice, and the refugee finds refuge.
1 “Ezekiel” The Jewish Study BibleTanakh Translation Eds. Adele Berlin and Marc ZviBrettler JPS Oxford: OUP, 2004.
2 Walther Eichrodt,Theology of the Old Testament Vol. 1 Trans. J.A. Baker. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1961. “Jeremiah and Ezekiel look from the monarchy of their own day, for which they can see no future, to a new order established by Yahweh himself, in which the ruler appointed by him will have become a theocractic official very different from the contemporary political and military king…This opinion on the part of the prophets was certainly strengthened by the fact that in despots like Ahaz, Manasseh and Jehoiakim they saw on the throne particularly blatant examples of human self-will in hostility to Yahweh” (Eichrodt 451)
3“The cedar, the grandest of trees, will tower over all the other trees, and all will see the power of God, who is responsible for the fall and rise of Judah” (Jewish Study Bible).
*A longer version of this homily was given at The Cathedral Advent. Birmingham, AL, in 2017.
Nothing makes me prouder to be a Christian during the Christmas season than the Santa Wars. One group decrying Santa and all that is associated with him; the other group eagerly pointing out the benefits of Santa for the religious cause. Each group burdening each other with blog posts, newspaper/magazine articles, scientific data, personal experiences/confessions and the like that either attest to or detract from embracing the myth of Santa. It’s beautiful, really; judgment and defensiveness whirling about like the snow in December. Ahhh…The weather outside is frightful…
I typically just stand back and watch the battle play out. It’s got an expiration date: 12/26. So, the Santa Wars are limited and last, typically, no longer than thanksgiving to Christmas.
So why get involved? I’m 8 years into this parenting/Christmas/Santa thing and I’m just getting around to saying something now? Why?
Because, I’m a slow thinker and I’ve finally gathered my thoughts about it. Also, because I’m tired of seeing Christian v. Christian over a mythical figure. Arguing never really gets us anywhere, but I do think there are other things that have more substance that might be a bit more worth our time to argue over (if you have to argue that is…)
So here are my thoughts…the things I’d like to say:
1. We don’t do the “Santa Thing”
I think it’s important to first reveal what “side” I’m on: we don’t do the Santa thing. Why? For one main reason:
I am the worst at lying.
Like: BAD. B.A.D. BADBADBAD I have this strict moral code (one I can’t seem to do away with) that drives me to tell the truth. Trust me, it’s not a “i’m-so-righteous” thing, I actually hate it. This is the “thing” that gets me into horrible conversations with people, because I just want them to have the full truth, and I spend time either spinning my wheels in the conversation or desperately trying to pull out of death spin. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten a little bit better about this conviction, but it requires me to say nothing at all and just nod. Case in point: I met someone recently who was explaining to me that since they were Messianic Jewish they were obviously Kosher. And my inner theologian was screaming at the top of her lungs: WHAT ABOUT JESUS APPEARING TO PETER?!?! But I just stood there: “Hm, mm…I see…”
So, you can see how the Santa tradition would be a hard one for me.
I’m also lazy. I don’t have the energy to even begin to perpetuate the myth and stand in lines to see him, and talk about him, and build the suspense.
The other influential decision is this: my husband and I decided that we just didn’t want to offer anything false around something that is true and is by far the hardest thing to wrap your mind around. An Arch Angel with a prophesy to a young, single woman? God being born? Almighty God now a vulnerable infant? There’s nothing “unmagical” about that story that we felt we needed to add other aspects. The story of the incarnation of Christ demands A LOT of trust; we just didn’t want to have to deal with: oh yeah, we lied about Santa, but NOT JESUS WE ARE TOTALLY SERIOUS ABOUT JESUS! So, early on we just decided we wouldn’t do Santa.
2. Both of our boys believed in Santa at one point or another
At some point, both boys, typically when they were in Kindergarten, came home and professed their belief in Santa. I loved it. They were pint-sized Santavangelists. Part of me–when I wasn’t panicking about how I was going to deal with their new found “faith” considering I’m a rotten liar–was impressed with them. They would come to the dinner table and explain why and how Santa was real. Oh really? We would say. Yes! They would reply, and they would go on and on. When I stepped back from the event and looked at what they were doing I some some really cool things: 1. they felt free to come to us and talk to us about their belief in Santa even though they knew we didn’t believe in like they did. 2. they were firm and held-fast to their beliefs. Zooming ahead 18 years, I saw two young men standing for their faith; I saw two young men feeling the freedom to talk about different ideas that they have from their parents; I saw a family discussing ideas and concepts, all of us having different twists and takes on those ideas and concepts; I saw a family interacting in the framework that is created by the freedom of the Gospel.
It was really cool.
3. I don’t think Santa is Evil
I think at this point you might be thinking that I look down on those (Christian) parents who do do Santa…Well I don’t. I don’t think Santa is evil nor are you “bad” for doing the Santa thing. I don’t think your child will be scarred when they find out that Santa isn’t real and that you’ve been playing along and so they wind up rejecting the Christian story; but I also don’t think that your child will have an easier go at believing the Christian story than mine. Case in point: both my brother and I were raised with Santa; I’m a Christian and he’s an Atheist–possibly the most “unspiritual” person I know. Faith has no correlation to potential receptivity of abstract myths; faith is a gift (period) From God (period) Received through the hearing of the proclamation of the gospel and not because one believed the Santa myth or because one’s parent’s never lied to them about Santa. The only thing we can do to help our children *toward* faith is to both (fervently) pray for them and keep telling them the old, old, good, good story.
4. So, HAVE FUN!
I think Christians forget that one of the hallmarks of the Christian life is joy. I don’t mean some sort of church mouse joy where we confuse contentment for joy. I mean JOY! FUN! LAUGHTER! The doctrine of the justification of sinners by faith alone ceases the every present desire to self-actualize (read: defend why I do or don’t do the Santa thing). We don’t have to spend (read: waste) time defending ourselves and our actions because our self is no longer tied up with our actions and is determined (actualized) in the declaration from Christ: forgiven, brother/sister. When we embrace the need to defend why we do or do not do Santa, we are looking for how our choices, our works justify us. (I’m doing the right thing, I’m making the right choice, so I’m good, right?) So, joy in life is a tangible manifestation of the working out (or the working in) of your justification by faith, of your *real* freedom.
So, if you do the Santa tradition, DO IT! You are free to have fun and enjoy the whole aspect that is the Santa Tradition. You are free to talk of the hooves on the roof that woke you from your slumber with your son the next morning. You are free to remember fondly waiting to sit with Santa at the mall, and enjoy when you see your daughter’s face light up as she, with the same awe and admiration you had at her age, slowly walks up to the jolly man, dressed all in red, who is waiting to hear her heart’s desires. When she looks back at you, enter in with her. And I dare someone (anyone?!!?) to give their kids coal addressed from Santa and then become the heroes of your own story as you unload present upon present on your children: good thing we love you unconditionally, just as Jesus loved us! I mean, seriously, this would be an amazing L/G moment for the whole family. Have memory building fun!
For those of us who don’t do the Santa Tradition, let us have fun, too! Have unrestrained, unlimited fun! It is the season for Joy. True and abounding joy: for Emmanuel has come and has ransomed captive Israel!
LaurenRELarkin.com 