Scripture Luke 2:1-20
(Tr: Wilda Gafney, A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church: Year A)
Now it happened in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered (for taxation). This was the first registration and occurred while Quirinius was the governor of Syria. So all went to be registered, each to their own towns. Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth into Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, for he was from the house and heritage of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was betrothed and who was pregnant. So it was, that, while they were there, the time came for her to birth her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and swaddled him, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
Shepherds were in that region there staying in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Most High God came upon them, and the glory of the Living God shone around them, and they were greatly terrified. But the angel said to them, “Fear not. Look! For I proclaim to you good news of great joy for all the people: For there is born to you this day a Savior who is the Messiah, the Sovereign God, in the city of David. This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby swaddled and lying in a manger. And immediately there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly array, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among peoples whom God favors!”
And it happened when the angels had departed from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to be, which the Sovereign God has made known to us.” So they came hurrying and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. Now seeing this. they made known what had been spoken to them about this child. And all who heard marveled at what was spoken by the shepherds to them. But Mary preserved all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen; it was just as it had been told them.
Sermon The Birth of Hope
Have you ever wondered why a story begins, the way it begins?
“Call me Ishmael…” Moby Dick, by Herman Melville.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.
‘“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.’ Little Women, by Lousia May Alcott.
Every writer begins their story with something essential. A name. An opinion. A situation. Immediate insight into a main character. Whatever it is, it is something the writer wants you to know.
The gospels are no different. They give the hearer or reader essential pieces of information, so that we will fully understand the story being told. Our passage from Luke’s gospel—such a familiar passage, so beloved—begins, oddly enough, with the names of some politicians. Luke locates the story in time and place for us, telling us that Caesar Augustus is the emperor of the mighty Roman Empire, and that one of his lieutenants, the one who is requiring this trip of Mary and Joseph, is Quirinius, the governor of Syria.
Why does the writer tell us this? Why should we care? If we turn to the true main characters, we begin to understand why. A husband and wife, Mary and Joseph, are taking this trip and it is truly a hardship for them. The donkey is a nice thought, but it’s much more likely that Mary, heavily pregnant, is walking the 80 or so miles between Nazareth and Bethlehem, right alongside her spouse. The Empire does not care that this is anything from an inconvenience to a real risk for the young mother. The Empire wants both its citizens and the persons who are living under their occupation to take part in a census so that they can be properly taxed, and so they move their bodies around like checkers. The health and comfort of those people is of no concern, either to Augustus or Quirinius.
And yes, Mary gives birth, not in a familiar home, with her mother or sister to hold her hand and encourage her and wipe sweat from her brow, but far away, if she’s lucky, with some distant relatives of Joseph who are willing to stand in. (They are, bless them. Ancient Middle Eastern hospitality is almost miraculous.)
This is the time and place into which God has chosen to come. God could have chosen to enter this world already a prince, born in a palace, to become king when the time was right. But that is not what God chose. God chose a couple from a backwater town on nobody’s radar, still reeling, no doubt, from the surprise of the pregnancy and all its implications. God chose to come to people who were vulnerable by virtue of being under occupation. God chose to come to nobodies, who were away from their home, and who, unknown to them, would not return to that home for years. After Herod tells his army to kill all male children, two and under, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus become immigrants, refugees to Egypt.
God chose the first witnesses to this birth to be a bunch of shepherds, shocked out of their drowsy state by glory—an angelic announcement, a roaring chorus of divine celebration lighting up the sky and no doubt scaring the sheep. The shepherds, too, are filled, first, with fear, and then wonder, and then a contagious joy they could not keep to themselves, because they get it. They get the significance of a Messiah who is one of the people, not well-positioned or aristocratic. They get the significance of their own presence: shepherds, humble, but also exalted as models of leadership and tender, loving care. God is compared to a shepherd in one of our favorite psalms. The shepherds see the angels, they hear the message, and they believe.
And where do the angels say all this is taking place? Not under the Augustus’ brutal grip, or under the watch of Quirinius’ legion of Roman guards: It is taking place in the city of David, Bethlehem, a name which means, “House of Bread.” The angels don’t name the bureaucrats everyone thinks are in power. They name Jesus’ ancestor David, because Jesus, too, is born to be a king—but a king unlike any who ever existed.
And what, specifically, do the angels say? They announce “Good News of Great Joy for All the People!” Why, that’s the exact language Caesar Augustus uses to announce great victories in battle, the taking of lands and peoples. They call Jesus “Savior,” and also, “God.” These are also titles taken by Augustus—he, too, is called Savior, and god, and Son of god.
What are the angels doing, exactly? They are putting the empire in its place. Our passage begins with a nod to those who believe their power will ultimately overtake the entire world. But the child born this night is literally the love of God poured out for the entire world. There is no contest.
Born of the infinite love God has for humankind, Jesus comes to live among us—not among the rich and powerful, but the regular people. Jesus comes, and he is the son of a woman who sang these words after she was ready to celebrate her pregnancy:
Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name;
indeed, God’s mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
God has shown strength with his arm,
and has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty. ~Luke 1:48-53
Luke tells us this story very carefully. He wants us to understand the intentions of this savior, who comes to live with, heal, and lift up the poor, the oppressed, and the vulnerable; who is here for the sick, the hungry, the thirsty, the prisoner, and the stranger (aka, the immigrant), and asks us to be here for them, too.
Love came down at Christmas, pure love, from a God who has loved us from the beginning of all time. The kind of love that finds us where we are, seeks us out, and never lets us go. The kind of love we call, “God-With-Us.” The kind of love that caused Mary to sing, “You have come to the aid of your children.” The kind of love that tells us, hope has been born.
Hope had been elusive among Mary and Joseph’s people for something like half a millennium. Now, hope has been born. Like love, this was hope in the flesh. Like love, this was another sign of “God-With-Us”
Merry Christmas to you. May the love of God and the hope of the Prince of Peace fill your hearts this night, and may they never let you go.
Thanks be to God. Amen.