WedDec242008
Title: In Those Days
Text: Luke 2:8-20
(Luke 2:1-3 NRSV) In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered....[and] all went to their own towns to be registered.
It’s an astounding story, when you think about it – the story read a few moments ago by [Rachel/Bryan]. Luke begins it with a little prepositional phrase, in those days.
What happened in those days?
In those days a decree went out from the Emperor Augustus: Luke is the only Gospel writer who relates the birth of Jesus to well-known historical events. It happened when Caesar Augustus was head of the Roman Empire and Quirinius was governor of Syria.
The decree said that all citizens should return to their home towns to be registered. For most citizens that meant registering for two things: taxes and military service. Jewish citizens were not required to serve in the Roman military. They had an exemption. When it came to taxes, however, they had no exemption. So Joseph was required to return to his ancestral home. For Joseph, who lived in Nazareth at the time, that meant returning to Bethlehem.
In addition, Mary, the young woman to whom he was engaged was more than a little pregnant. Like many other young couples before and since, they were long on courage and short on wisdom (or were they just long on hope and faith?). You be the judge. At any rate, they chose to make the 40-mile journey together from Nazareth in the north to Bethlehem, down near Jerusalem in the southern part of Israel.
And in those days, the time came for Mary to give birth and she did. She gave birth to her first born while they were spending the night in a barn – the only accommodations they could find.
If Joseph had only called ahead a few days earlier and charged a room on his VISA or American Express or, you know, “for everything else, there’s . . . that other card.” But like many other young couples, they were long on love and short on common sense.
So in those days Jesus was born to a young unwed mother in a little out of the way town in the middle of nowhere. And he was born, not in Bethlehem General Hospital or the local medical clinic or even the comfort of someone’s home; rather he was born in the middle of the night in a stable, a shelter for animals.
And in those days, an angel visited a group of shepherds at work in the hills outside of Bethlehem and informed them of the aforementioned birth. And the angel said, “Do not be afraid.”
In these days, with our country at war on two fronts and the U.S. and World economy in shambles, we could easily spend all of our time this evening thinking about that little gem–do not be afraid.
It must wait for another time, however. “Do not be afraid,” the angel messenger said and then continued, “Go to a stable in Bethlehem and you will find wrapped in swaths of cloth and lying in a cattle feeding trough, a newborn baby, the Savior of the world.” A newborn baby, the Savior of the world, in a cattle feeding trough in a stable? Is there something in this story that does not compute?
But in those days, the shepherds left their flocks and went to Bethlehem and did indeed find the infant about whom they had been told. They were overcome with a sense of awe and couldn’t keep quiet about what they had heard and whom they had seen and how great God was.
What does it all mean, the event which happened in those days so many years ago, the event which brings us and millions like us around the world together on this day?
When the angel visited Joseph before Jesus was born and informed him of Mary’s pregnancy, he was told that the child she would bear would be called Emmanuel, which of course means “God is with us.” Among other things, the story of Jesus’ birth means God is with us.
It reminds us that we do not live in a random, mechanical, uncaring universe, even in those times when things seem to be careening out of control – when the bottom drops out of the stock market, or a job is lost because of a “workforce reduction,” or we get an unwanted diagnosis from the doctor or a call comes in the middle of the night, informing us that a beloved family member is near death.
God did not create the universe, wind it up and then retreat to some distant place, until it winds down or wears out or malfunctions in some sort of cataclysmic explosion.
I. There are basically two things I want to say tonight. The first is, if the Christmas story, if what happened in those days means anything, it means Emmanuel–God is with us.
When God’s Truth came to us in its purest form, it was not shouted from some distant place on the other side of the universe – “Let me tell you how to live your life.” Rather, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”
In those days when Herod was a little puppet ruler trying to be important in Judea, and Caesar Augustus headed the mighty Roman Empire–in those days, a seemingly insignificant birth occurred in a little out-of-the-way place, to a poor, young, uneducated couple. And the course of human history was altered.
What does it all mean, this quaint little, perhaps overly romanticized, Christmas story from Luke? I am convinced that, among other things, it means that even when we cannot see or feel or seem to touch the divine, God is with us.
When we are not tall enough to reach God, or wise enough to seek God, or strong enough to make our way to God, God comes to us where we are. The Christmas story means “God is with us.”
II. There is a second bit of meaning I find in the Christmas story. It is that God uses, not the able, or the capable, but the available.
Why was Jesus not born in the palace in Jerusalem to the king, or, better yet, in the lavish residence of the Emperor in Rome, the center of the civilized world at the time? Why did the most important message ever delivered to humankind come initially to some common, everyday, run-of-the-mill, working class folks while they were working?
And why was it that some aristocrats from a country and religion, both of which were distant, found out about this phenomenal event before people of his own realm and religious faith?
Alan Peterson, a Christian writer and pastoral counselor, gave a talk a few years ago at Lake Avenue Congregational Church in Pasadena, California. In the talk he made this statement: “God takes little people, gives them a great big job to do, and then stretches them out to fit the job.” I like that. I think what Peterson is saying is that what matters most is not our ability, but our availability.
Could it be that sometimes our vast knowledge, or our abundance of material possessions or the important work we do, or even our devout religious faith, renders us deaf and blind to the message God would communicate to us?
Perhaps the reason the important political leaders and the important religious leaders and the important scholars missed this most important birth was because they were too caught up in their own importance. “God takes little people, gives them a great big job to do, and then stretches them out to fit the job.”
In a story entitled, “A Gift I’ll Never Forget,” teacher Linda Hummel tells of Daniel, a student in her fifth grade class: He entered my life 20 years ago, she writes, leaning against the doorjamb of Room 202, where I taught fifth grade. He wore sneakers three sizes too large and checkered pants ripped at the knees.
Daniel, as I'll call him, though that was not his real name, made this undistinguished entrance in the school of a quaint lakeside village known for its old money, white colonial homes and brass mailboxes. He told me his last school had been in a neighboring county. "We were picking'' fruit," he said matter-of-factly.
I suspected this friendly, scruffy, smiling boy from a migrant family had no idea he had been thrown into a den of fifth-grade lions, who had never before seen torn pants. If he noticed snickering, he didn't let on. There was no chip on his shoulder.
Twenty-five children eyed Daniel suspiciously until the kickball game that afternoon. Then he led off the first inning with a home run. With it came a bit of respect from the wardrobe critics of Room 202.
Next was Charle's turn. Charles was the least athletic, most overweight child in the history of fifth grade. After his second strike, amid the rolled eyes and groans of the class, Daniel edged up and spoke quietly to Charle's dejected back. "Forget them, kid. You can do it."
Charles warmed, smiled, stood taller . . . and promptly struck out anyway. But at that precise moment, defying the social order of this jungle he had entered, Daniel had gently begun to change things--and us.
By autumn's end, we had all gravitated toward him. He taught us all kinds of lessons. How to call a wild turkey. How to tell whether fruit is ripe before that first bite. How to treat others, even Charles. Especially Charles. He never did use our names, calling me "Miss" and the students "kid."
The day before Christmas vacation, the students always brought gifts for the teacher. It was a ritual--opening each department-store box, surveying the expensive perfume or scarf or leather wallet, and thanking the child.
That afternoon, Daniel walked to my desk and bent close to my ear. "Our packing boxes came out last night," he said without emotion. "We're leavin' tomorrow."
As I grasped the news, my eyes filled with tears. He countered the awkward silence by telling me about the move. Then as I regained my composure, he pulled a gray rock from his pocket. Deliberately and with great style, he pushed it gently across my desk.
I sensed this was something remarkable, but all my practice with perfume and silk had left me pitifully unprepared to respond. "It's for you," he said, fixing his eyes on mine. "I polished it up special."
I've never forgotten that moment.
Years have passed since then. Each Christmas my daughter asks me to tell this story. It always begins after she has picked up the small polished rock that sits on my desk and nestles herself in my lap. The first words of the story never vary. "The last time I ever saw Daniel, he gave me this rock as a gift and told me about his boxes. That was a long time ago, even before you were born.
"He's a grownup now," I finish. Together we wonder where he is and what he has become.
"Someone good I bet," my daughter says. Then she adds, "Do the end of the story."
I know what she wants to hear--the lesson of love and caring learned by a teacher from a boy with nothing--and everything--to give. A boy who lived out of boxes. I touch the rock, remembering.
"Hi kid," I say softly. "This is Miss. I hope you no longer need the packing boxes. And Merry Christmas, wherever you are."
God has chosen what is foolish to confound the wise, what is weak to confound the strong, the Apostle Paul wrote to first century Christians. Indeed!
In those days, 2000 years ago, Jesus was born in the middle of the night in a little out-of-the-way village to young, uneducated, poverty-stricken parents, and the good news tonight is that God is with us, and can work through us in unusual and unexpected ways, if we’ll just keep open and available.
(Luke 2:1-20 NRSV) In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. {2} This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. {3} All went to their own towns to be registered. {4} Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. {5} He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.
{6} While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. {7} And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
{8} In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. {9} Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. {10} But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: {11} to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. {12} This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." {13} And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, {14} "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!"
{15} When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." {16} So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.
{17} When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; {18} and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. {19} But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. {20} The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.