Speaker: Caleb Schrock-Hurst
Bible Passages: Luke 2
Summary: Today, just as in Jesus’s day, the political world would like us to believe that all the power in the world lies with the rich and powerful — but Jesus’ birth to a poor family in need shows us that God is on the side of the poor and the needy, and that God is with us in our simple acts of faithfulness, with our family and friends.
In those days a decree went out from the all-wise, all-merciful, all-knowing, son of God, Emperor Augustus, that all his children, Romans near and far, must be registered so that they could be taxed. In the troublesome province of Judea their religion forbids the taking of a census — but Caesar’s word was law, and so it would be done, no matter what “God’s law” said. Caesar’s power, and the power of his chosen minion — a well-bred, young ambitious Latin, Quirinius — was such that resistance was futile, and so, to be registered, Augustus’ many angry, grumbling children went.
Caesar, God amongst men, stood unchallenged — taking what he wanted, when he wanted; with legions beyond counting, with riches beyond knowing, with an empire too big to fail, nothing was beyond him. He could claim to be God — and who could say otherwise? He could force people to worship him — and why would anyone object? His word was more than law — it was divinely inspired, infallible — it was what life was all about. He was the very image of what a king should be.
Far from his palaces, hundreds of thousands of families, disappointed that they would face even more taxes on top of the 60% of their incomes that they already paid to their conquerors, did what they had to do to survive — they packed the little spare food and money they had, put their well-worn sandals on, and started walking.
And as they walked, they asked: how can this be? If we’re God’s chosen people, why are we serving these heathens? When will God set things right in the world?
As they walked, they cursed their Roman conquers; but they also prayed, and talked, of the Messiah: the one whom even the Romans could not stop from bringing hope back into the world, the one whom would loose the chains of injustice and put the one true God back at the center of society, where the Emperor now claimed to sit. When they prayed the words of Isaiah, they prayed them with the frustration and burned-out desperation of a people who were at the ends of their ropes, moving from tragedy to tragedy, with no idea what would come next.
They prayed, despite the odds, for the Messiah, saying:
The government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
Among these hundreds of thousands of families was one particular couple, down on their luck. Joseph was, in Greek, a tecton, perhaps a carpenter, but more correctly a builder; a handyman, who made his living working on vacation homes for the Romans in the next village over from Nazareth. He had left Bethlehem, where he had been born, though we don’t know why: but here he was, walking back there so that yet more of his hard-earned money could flow upward to the rich.
He walked south with his fiance — he liked her, but now there was a baby that wasn’t his…how can this be? Amid his doubt and fear and frustration, he trusted God — and so, he would take this girl to be his wife, and this child to be his son. He, too, prayed for a messiah, so that his son’s life would not be as hard as his own, but this too, seemed impossible, so he asked: how can this be? How can I raise a child in this country, at this time?
And of course Mary asked this question, too. Not only from a conquered people, not only too young to be taken seriously, not only mourning the departure from her family to the house of this strange outsider Joseph, not only a woman in a patriarchal society that despised women, but carrying a baby out of wedlock — a miraculous baby from God. If this was a blessing, then she didn’t want to see what a curse looked like. She, too, asked: how can this be?
They had plenty of time to discuss these things during their week of walking south; their journey was disrupted with Roman checkpoints, threats by bandits and thieves, and worst of all, some long, uncomfortable silences. But they made it, in the end, to Bethlehem — but no one, among Joseph friends, and neighbors, and cousins had a private room for them to stay in, for the baby to be born in some privacy and dignity. There was only the lowest of rooms available, with the cows, and sheep, and an unknown number of opinionated cousins standing around telling Mary how a birth should go.
And then, the miracle — Despite the fear, the poverty, the oppression, the doubt and an unknown future, a baby is born — to two normal, messed up people. He’s small, he’s sticky, he’s loud, and he’s the instantly the biggest joy in their young lives. They don’t have much, but they can keep him warm — they wrap him tightly and they lay him down to sleep in the manger — and soon some random shepherds show up to make a strange scene even more chaotic.
When Mary was told she’d had a baby, she’d asked: how can this be? How much more so, as she had that baby, the king of the world, with no midwife, or cradle, did she ask again — how can this be? How can this be that the true God, the God who made the world that Caesar thinks is his, has come among us in the form of a child? Can it be because God is not distant, just another tyrant on a throne? Is God, instead, a servant, here to show us that love can indeed win, that hope will indeed flourish, that power does not lie with armies, but among the cows and sheep and a simple family just trying to do their best?
Friends — we face a choice, here at Christmas. Which son of God will we follow — Caesar, commander of armies? Caesar, rich and well connected? Or Jesus, son of Mary, friend of sinners, hope for the downtrodden, gift to the needy?
When Caesar calls, do we answer, with words of worship and our lives? Do we do his bidding willingly, hating and killing our brothers and sisters so that more money can flow to the top?
Or, do we serve Mary’s son? Do we proclaim this baby in the manger, this miracle, this breaker of barriers and overturner of expectations, the king we’re going to follow? Do we do as he did, loving the orphan and the widow? Do we teach as he taught — love your enemies, do good to them that curse you? Love has come to us as a child — so now we’ll give love back: even to our captors, our competitors, and our compatriots with strange ideas. We have a new king, who reigns forever — and he comes to be with us in the most real, and most human of ways: as a powerless baby who needs our help; a baby on whom history turns, bringing light to the darkness, bringing hope to the hopeless.
This has been a hard year — wars continue in Ukraine, and Gaza; tragedies and deaths strike close to home; our polarized country lurches one way, and then the other. How can this be? How can our country, far richer even than Rome, discard so many as homeless, and poor? How can our world, with new technology that makes barriers of time and space and language nearly the things of the past, be more divided and angry than ever? How can all this be?
God never said there wouldn’t be evil in the world — but he did promise that the light still shines against that evil, and that evil will not overcome it. It didn’t overcome Mary and Joseph; it will not overcome us, because there is love: between God and us; between brother and sister, husband and wife, mother and child. When we embrace this love, and the love of Jesus birth, we celebrate — our king has been born, our God has come to us and sent us out to love, and to be loved in return.
Many have not heard, and many have forgotten, that indeed the messiah has come, not to be the Caesar of the Caesars, but instead to be a little child; precious, vulnerable, and full of love. It is good that we remember, once again, our Messiah — Jesus, the child in the manger.
Friends — God is with us; may we, like Mary, treasure these things in our hearts: and may we, like Mary, not sit idly by, but roll up our sleeves and be like Jesus to others — giving, receiving, and living, with hope and joy. May this Jesus, this child of the poor, be our light in the darkness: today, tomorrow, and forever more. Amen.
