Joel D. Kline
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
December 19, 2004
The Fourth Sunday of Advent
Sojourners editor Jim Wallis tells the story of being in South Africa in the time when racial apartheid was the order of the day. An anti-apartheid political rally had just been cancelled by the white-controlled government, so Archbishop Desmond Tutu called for a worship service to be held instead, inside the beautiful St. George’s Cathedral in Cape Town. The power of apartheid was fearfully evident, as hordes of riot police and armed soldiers gathered outside the cathedral, while inside, circling the inner walls of the sanctuary, additional police officers stood, openly taping and writing down every comment spoken from the pulpit. By the time Archbishop Tutu rose to speak, the atmosphere was rife with tension. Tutu nevertheless proclaimed that the evil and oppression of the apartheid system cannot prevail. And then, pointing his finger at the police who were recording his every word, Tutu cried out, “You may be powerful, indeed very powerful, but you are not God!” The God whom we serve, continued Tutu, “cannot be mocked!” And then the archbishop thundered at the police, “You have already lost!”
Softening his voice, Tutu smiled at the police and continued, “We are inviting you to come and join the winning side!” The congregation erupted in jubilation, cheering and dancing, while the police scurried to leave. At a time when all evidence was to the contrary, Archbishop Tutu dared to trust that something new was in the works, that the era of oppression and racism and fear and division could indeed come to an end, replaced by a reign of justice and peace.
Hope, asserts Jim Wallis, “is believing in spite of the evidence, then watching the evidence change.” In those days when the system of racial apartheid was so firmly entrenched in South Africa, Desmond Tutu was one of only a few lonely voices daring to envision that day when injustice and oppression would be replaced with a new order. But in the crowded cathedral that day, others caught the vision as well.
Luke’s Gospel presents the story of the birth of Jesus from the perspective of Mary, the young mother-to-be jolted by the announcement of the angel that she shall give birth to a son named Jesus, the Son of the Most High. Mary’s fear and wonder give way to obedience, as she willingly asserts, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said” (Luke 1:38 NIV). Matthew, on the other hand, tells the story from the perspective of a confounded Joseph, discovering that his fiancée, Mary, is pregnant. Where the two divergent stories come close is at the point at which Gabriel says to Mary and an unnamed angel says to Joseph, “Do not be afraid.”
Fear not. For it is fear that keeps us from embracing new possibilities; it is fear that blinds us to that “something new” that God has in store for us. When Joseph lets go of his fear—his fear of embarrassment and shame and disgrace for both Mary and himself, his fear of public scandal, his fear of tarnished reputation and what that will mean for his future—when Joseph is no longer controlled by fear of what others might think, he is able to embrace the remarkable task of guiding and guarding the infant Son of God, the one who shall become the Redeemer of life, the light of the world.
Peter Gomes, pastor of Memorial Church at Harvard University, preaching about Joseph, makes this assertion:
The miracle of Christmas (dare I say it?) is not the virgin birth of the creeds. The miracle to which our attention should be drawn at this holy season is the fact that Joseph believes what he hears and acts upon it…. The miracle here is that a sensible, reasonable, pragmatic, and good man, a man named Joseph, the miracle is that he acts contrary to the evidence that surrounds him on every hand. He sees the evidence. He understands it. He knows its implications, and he acts contrary to it.
Faith is not life lived in the absence of evidence. Faith is life lived contrary to the evidence on every hand. The evidence on every hand is that people are nasty, brutish, and short; most of them are anyway. The evidence on every hand is that they will do you in. The evidence on every hand is that good guys and good gals come in second, or third, or fifth. And yet the gospel tells us that we love our neighbors, that we pray for those who despitefully use us, that we hope for peace in the middle of a war, that we believe that peoples’ better natures will overcome their lesser natures. That is faith contrary to all the evidences surrounding you. That then is why this is an example of faith: life lived contrary to the evidence. And, when Joseph could have cut and run he stayed and he played. And, it was as an active participant in the great drama of the incarnation that he played.
You and I are called to be active participants as well in the unfolding Christmas story—to live in the conviction that the coming of Christ into our hearts and into the world makes a marked difference in the quality of our living. We are active participants, not just in our singing and celebrating and praising as Christmas Day approaches, but even more in the manner of our living. Joseph was an ordinary man who embraces the extraordinary demands of the gospel, and that is our calling as well—to live in such a way that the remarkable story of God’s gracious love and compassion, God’s kindness and mercy, God’s reign of justice and peace—all this becomes planted in the hearts and lives of those around us.
Matthew offers two names for this holy child who comes to play such a unique role in the world. The first name is Jesus, the Hellenized version of Joshua, a popular boys’ name of that day that literally means God saves. The second name comes from a rather obscure passage in Isaiah, chapter seven.
Centuries before the birth of Jesus the prophet Isaiah offers words of challenge and promise to King Ahaz of Judea, a king noted for his worship of foreign gods rather than for loyalty to the God of Israel. Ahaz goes so far as to revive the practice of child sacrifice, even burning one of his own sons as an offering. The goal of Ahaz is to appease the angry gods, and Isaiah’s message of a God of love, a God who yearns for us to experience forgiveness and grace and peace—such a message makes little sense to Ahaz the king. And so the king rejects the prophet’s assertion that God has something new in store for Ahaz and the people of Judah, that God has new possibilities in mind for the people.
While Isaiah urges Ahaz to place his trust in the goodness of God, the king chooses instead the ways of political intrigue and entangling alliances. Fearful of the intentions of several neighboring kings, Ahaz plots against them by seeking alliance with the powerful Assyrians. In an effort to convince Ahaz to go a different direction, Isaiah dares the king to name the one thing that would most convince Ahaz of the truth of God’s word. The king replies rather pompously, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.” To which the prophet quickly responds, saying in effect, “You say you will not test God, but you will flout God’s will and deny God’s power, so much so that God’s patience is coming to an end.” And then, even in the face of the king’s unfaithfulness, Isaiah offers a sign of God’s tenacious, never-ending love. A young woman, perhaps a woman the prophet sees as he is addressing the king, perhaps the very wife of Ahaz, perhaps the prophet’s wife—this young woman will give birth to a son who shall follow in God’s ways, one whose very name Immanuel carries a critical message—God is with us.
Matthew adopts this verse to speak of the coming of Jesus as one who embodies the promise of Immanuel, God with us. God is present in human life, and God acts, albeit with some frequency in remarkably unexpected ways, so that we might come to know how broad and how deep, how wide and how long, is the love of our God for all creation—a love that redeems and transforms us.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German church leader imprisoned because of his outspoken resistance to the Nazi movement, preached a sermon in the 1930s entitled “Those Who Go to the Manger will be Transformed.” Included are these words:
If God chooses Mary [and Joseph] as God’s instruments,
if God himself wants to come into this world
in the manger at Bethlehem,
that is no idyllic family affair,
but the beginning of a complete turnaround,
a reordering of everything on this earth.
If we wish to take part in this Advent and Christmas event,
then we cannot simply be bystanders or onlookers,
as if we were at the theater,
enjoying all the cheerful images.
No, we ourselves are swept up in the action there,
into this conversion of all things.
We have to play our part too on this stage,
for the spectator
is already an actor.
We cannot withdraw.What part, then, do we play?
Pious shepherds, on bended knee?
Kings who come bearing gifts?
What sort of play is this, where Mary becomes the Mother of God?
Where God enters the world in the lowliness of the manger?
The judgment of the world and its redemption— that is taking place here.And the Christ child in the manger is himself the one
who pronounces the judgment and the redemption of the world.
Jesus repels the great and the powerful.
Jesus puts down the mighty from their thrones.
Jesus humbles the arrogant,
his arm overpowers all the proud and the strong,
he raises what is lowly and makes it great and splendid in his compassion.
Therefore we cannot approach the manger
as if it were the cradle of any other child.
Those who wish to come to his manger
find that something is happening within them.
With Joseph and Mary, perhaps what is happening within them—and within us—is that we find the courage to move beyond our fears, to place our trust in the God who promises to be with us, the God who envisions the very re-creation of the world, the God who urges us to walk in the ways of faith and hope that include living contrary to the evidence. In a world that continues to know far more of the ways of violence and brokenness and fear and suspicion and pain, the Christ child comes, inviting us to embrace a new perspective on life, a new way of seeing and experiencing life—praying and working for peace in the very midst of war, loving all our neighbors, going the extra mile in relationships, praying for our enemies, becoming servants to a world in need.
Sisters and brothers, come. Come not as spectators, but as actors. Come, even when all outward evidence would urge us to go another way. Come to the manger and behold the gift of Immanuel, God with us—the gift of Love incarnate. Amen.
Holy and gracious God, in your love you envision something markedly new for all creation. You choose to come and dwell among us, to take on life as one of us, entering fully into our hurts and our hopes, our fears and our yearnings.
God, grant us eyes to see your many comings—not just in a manger
in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, but your coming among us
in
a sister or brother in need,
in a spark of hope in a world of confusion and despair,
in a lonely voice for
peace in a world hell-bent on warfare and destruction,
in voices of joy and celebration
raised in song, anticipating the gift of
Jesus,
in random acts of kindness,
in the gift of love that binds us together in harmony.
God of all creation, grant us eyes to see your comings, ears to hear the song of peace in the air, courage to embrace the ways of self-giving love and servanthood. We ask your forgiveness for those times when our eyes are closed and our hearts grow cold to the wonders of your goodness. We ask your forgiveness when we relate to you as a God out to “get” us, rather than the God who yearns for us to grow into your loving image. Forgive us and renew us, O God; deepen our faith; heal our spiritual blindness; guide us in paths of peace and joy.
Hear us now, loving God, as we remember those in special need of your healing touch. In this time of wintry cold we especially remember the poor, the homeless, those struggling with loneliness and pain. And we hold before you those in need of physical healing….
O God who stands with us in all the changing experiences of life, we thank you for the promise of loving relationships. In this season of joy we give thanks for caring families, even as we seek to be mindful of those experiencing brokenness in family relationships.
O God of grace and peace, hear our deep yearnings for peace—for peace in our hearts that fills us with courage to pray and work and act for justice and peace in the world around us. Grant us eyes of faith to see new possibilities, to serve the Savior who came proclaiming the way of peace, reaching out to the broken, the hurting, the forgotten, and to ordinary people such as us. Hear these prayers, holy God, offered in the name and Spirit of Christ Jesus the Redeemer. Amen.