In the City of David (Luke 2:1-10)

 Throughout Advent, we’ve been “On the way to Bethlehem.” Today, we finally made it. We’ve arrived. We’re in Bethlehem, the city of David. 

It’s not much of a city, really. It’s more of a town, or village. Not much bigger than Nazareth, at the time of Jesus’ birth. 

But there is one important difference between Bethlehem and Nazareth: Bethlehem is the city of David…

David, the most revered king in Israel’s history. David, who united Israel and Judah. David, who is remembered as establishing justice and maintaining freedom.

So unlike Nazareth, Bethlehem had a historical and symbolic significance, even if it was just a little town.

And people had heard of Bethlehem. It was small, but it was not insignificant. It was… the city of David.

Today we hear the story of Christ’s birth as presented in Luke’s gospel. It takes place in Bethlehem, the city of David. It takes place when the Israelites long for a king like David. 

Currently, they are under Roman rule. Their rights are limited. The fear and threat of Roman harassment is constant. And much of their income is taxed, and sent to Rome, for the maintenance of the empire.

You may recall that that’s what this whole census business is all about. Caesar wants to count all the people—and all the livestock, too—to know who and what he could tax, how much money he could extract. He wanted every last coin.

The Roman government is not “of the people, by the people, for the people.” The Roman government is all about using the people, and taking from them as much wealth as possible, for the sake of those at the top of the pyramid: the powerful and the wealthy.

Everyone else suffered the oppression of living in an Empire that only answered to those at the top.

Which is why the people long for a new king like David. It’s why they maintain hope that God will send a messiah, in the line of David, to restore their nation and bring peace—true peace, a peace without fear or intimidation. 

And it’s why, according to Luke, Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the city of David.

If this were a movie, and Luke the director, the camera would start with a view of the room or stable, dimly lit, with Mary and Joseph and the animals; and then the camera would slowly zoom in, until all we see is the manger, with the baby Jesus lying there, wrapped in bands of cloth.

But then the camera would zoom back out. We’d see the whole room, and then the exterior of the building. (Some think the manger was in a cave, but I think it was a room used for animals on the side of a house or across the courtyard from the house.)

The camera would zoom back further still, until we see the neighboring buildings, and then the whole village, dimly lit by a few lamps scattered about, beneath a starry sky.

Then the camera would begin zooming in again, but not on the village. The camera is now bringing us closer to something in the darkness outside the village, something we can’t quite see. 

It looks like we’re heading into the countryside out beyond the town’s edge. It’s very hard to make out what’s there, in the darkness, but finally, we’re able to discern shadowy figures. Shepherds! They’re murmuring, whispering; and a few soft, “baas” let us know that their sheep are nearby.

The shepherds are grateful for the darkness. And the quiet. It gives them cover, and helps them avoid harassment.

Shepherds often face harassment, or worse, because they don’t have land of their own. They take their sheep, and wander over land owned by others, moving from place to place, searching for good pasture for their flocks.

The landowners resent this. They often chase the shepherds off their land, or they summon Roman soldiers to chase the shepherds off their land…

They do this, even though shepherds are what we would call “essential workers.”  Even the landowners who despise the shepherds rely on them. They rely on the shepherds for sheep, for wool, for food…for so many things they need.

 But just because they depend on the shepherds doesn’t mean they respect the shepherds, or that they offer them any dignity or respect. The shepherds are looked down upon. Despised. And poorly treated.

So the shepherds like the night. They like the darkness. And, they like the quiet. It all helps them remain unnoticed, and if they can avoid notice, maybe they can avoid harassment.

But tonight… tonight, the quiet murmuring of this group of shepherds is interrupted. As this group of shepherds, just outside of Bethlehem, keeps watch over their silent flocks, at night, in the dark… suddenly, throughout the heavens, there shines a holy light. And an angel chorus rings out: a multitude of the heavenly host, singing: “Glory to God in the highest!”

Which means that, all of a sudden, there is a lot of noise, and a lot of light! Which leaves the shepherds afraid and terrified. Afraid of attracting the unwanted attention of landowners and soldiers and others who might want to harass them… but even more afraid of this awesome spectacle before them; this supernatural display of light and sound and glory and power!

But the angel—the first one they see—says to them: “Do not be afraid… Do not be afraid! for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. 

“This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.”

And before they leave, the angels also proclaim a message of “peace on earth; peace to those on whom God’s favor rests.”

And the shepherds know that the peace the angels talk about is real peace, not the uneasy peace of Rome. Even with the peace of Rome, one is always afraid of hearing the sound of soldiers’ footsteps, heading your way. You’d hear a sound in the night, and wake with a start, your heart racing, until you were sure that it was just an animal, and not soldiers marching.

But this peace, the peace the angels are talking about—this is real peace; and this is good news. 

It means no more fearing the sounds at night. It means no more harassment during the day. It’s a peace that allows you to sleep undisturbed at night and laugh with joy during the day.

That peace washes over the shepherds. That peace washes over them when the angels appear and proclaim their message, and that peace fills them when they go and see the newborn baby with their own eyes; when they see him, wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger, just as the angels said.

And when they return to their sheep, they rejoice, and they praise and glorify God as they go. They’re not so worried about being quiet and hidden in the shadows now. 

Yes, the soldiers are still out there, and yes, the soldiers still have the power to harass them, but now the shepherds know that God is on their side, that God is on the side of all those who are oppressed, despised, looked down upon; God is on the side of all those who have been abused, forgotten, or exploited; God is on the side of all those who grieve or who are in despair.

As the prophet wrote: “There is no gloom for those who were in anguish. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.”

We are not afraid of the light. And we’re not afraid of the dark, either. Because God is on our side. 

When we are faithful, when we live according to what Jesus taught…

When we proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed…

When we love all people, without exception…when we refuse to commit acts of violence, or speak words of violence…

When we give food to those who are hungry, and water to those who are thirsty; when we welcome strangers; when we clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit those in need of companionship…

Basically, when we love and care for all those who are vulnerable in our world, just as Jesus was vulnerable when he was born to Mary and Joseph…

Then we need not fear, for God is on our side, and we are on God’s side.

We will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult…

We will not fear.

When the nations are in an uproar, and kingdoms totter…

We will not fear

For God is with us. God is with the vulnerable. God is with those who are poor. God is with those who mourn. God is with the meek. God is with those who hunger and thirst for what is right. God is with those who show mercy. God is with those who are pure in heart. God is with those who work on behalf of peace in this world.

God is with those who fear the darkness, or who fear the light, or who fear armies and empires.

And this, we know, because God came to earth not with the power to oppress or cause harm, but with all the vulnerability and weakness and innocence of a newborn child. 

If we weren’t so familiar with this story, it would blow our minds. A baby, weak and vulnerable and defenseless, is God’s secret weapon, God’s secret power.

Because in God’s kingdom, power is found in weakness. Greatness is found in humility. And the strength to overcome is found in love.

Nothing in this world is greater, or more powerful, than love. Nothing outlasts love.

Love is with us. Always has been. Always will be.

And that is why we light our candles at this darkest time of year, and why we sing angel choruses on silent nights: 

Because in this world of darkness, there is light. And in this world of sadness, there is joy. In this world of ugliness, there is beauty. In this world of hate, there is love.

And it’s all because of Jesus, the savior, who is the messiah, born this day in the city of David.

At the Temple (Luke 2:22-40)

Let’s go for a walk. Are you ready?

I enjoy a good walk. I’ve taken some walks around downtown this past month, getting to know our immediate neighborhood, as well as some walks—and runs—in the neighborhood where I live.

For me, walks are enjoyable, and they’re good exercise, too. I don’t know about you, but I have consumed an above-average amount of calories these past few weeks, so exercise is especially important right now.

So come on, let’s go for a walk. 

In fact, let’s walk with Mary and Joseph and their now 5 ½ week-old baby Jesus. They are walking to Jerusalem – it’s a long walk. It’s gonna take several days.

You may ask why anyone with a 5 ½ week-old baby would take such a journey. Why don’t they just wait? 

The answer to that is found in the ancient book of Leviticus.

Leviticus, chapter 12, states: eight days after the birth of a male child, the child is to be circumcised. Then, 33 days after that, the woman’s days of purification will be complete. At that time, she shall bring to the priest in the temple a lamb in its first year, and a pigeon or turtledove, for an offering. 

If she cannot afford a lamb, then two pigeons or two turtledoves will suffice.

Joseph and Mary could not afford a lamb. A lamb was way beyond what they could afford. So when they arrive at the temple, they will go to the sellers in the temple courtyard, and buy two pigeons, or two turtledoves; even that is a stretch for their budget.

But they will go to the temple, and they will make their offering, even though it is a big sacrifice for them, because they are faithful and devout.

But we’re not at the temple yet; we’re still several miles away, so let’s keep walking.

If you look up ahead, you can already see the temple, rising up into the sky. The massive structure was built atop a hill; the walls are 150 feet high, all made of gleaming, polished, green and white marble.

The area within the walls is as big as 14 football fields. The walls mark the perimeter of a massive building… and on what could be called the roof of this massive building are more walls surrounding multiple courtyards.

In the center of these courtyards is the Holy Place, a two-room sanctuary used by the priests, which rises up even higher into the sky.

This is the largest human-made structure on earth! It was built by Herod, for the Jews, but mostly for himself, as a way to draw attention to his own might and authority. Herod called himself the king of the Jews, and the building of the temple was his way of saying to the Jews: look what I did for you; now, what are you going to do for me?

As we journey to Jerusalem with Joseph and Mary, the temple, rising ahead of us, reaching up the sky, is truly magnificent. 

For Mary and Joseph, what a difference this is from that dark, dank, drafty, smelly stable where Jesus was born…

We’re almost there; let’s keep walking. The road here is busy and well-worn. If a legion of Roman soldiers comes our way, be sure to stand aside and keep your eyes down until they pass…

Finally we approach the outer wall of the temple, and we can’t help but reach out with our hands and touch the massive carved rock, and we can’t help but lean our heads back and look up. It makes one dizzy, to look at something so tall; it’s even higher than the birds in flight!

We start up the outer stairs. They lead to a doorway located about halfway up the wall. There, we enter the opening.

Our eyes adjust to the darkness, and we see a large passageway… and more stairs.

We take those stairs up, and up, and up… all the way to the top, and we emerge onto the outer courtyard, the Court of Gentiles.

This courtyard is huge. It is surrounded by massive porticos.

The Court of Gentiles is where the vendors were located. In fact, this outer court was like a giant bazaar. There, vendors sold the lambs and pigeons and turtledoves that weary travelers required in order to make their offerings. 

These vendors wouldn’t accept just any money, however. Roman money bearing the likeness of Caesar was forbidden for temple transactions; so, alongside the vendors there were also money changers. You could give your Roman money to them, and they would give you temple money.

Every time money was exchanged, taxes were levied and profits were made. It was quite a racket. You exchange your Roman money for Jewish coins, and you lose some to taxes and to the money changers profit. Then you make a purchase from the vendor, but you lose some more money to taxes and the vendor’s profit.

But what choice did you have? What other options were there? For Mary and Joseph, transporting a lamb (if they could have afforded a lamb) or even a pair of turtledoves from back home would have been impossible. Yes, they were being ripped off by the vendors and the moneychangers, but that’s just the way it was.

Mary and Joseph purchase their offering, and now we walk with them across the Court of Gentiles to a gate that leads to a smaller, inner courtyard that, by itself, is still as big as two football fields… and there, at the gate, we see a sign, written in Greek, warning non-Jews to pass no further, or they would be put to death.

In the ancient world, everyone had their place in society, and the boundaries that separated people by category were firm. Both Jewish holiness codes and the Roman codes of conduct enforced this separation of people. 

For the Jews, it was about purity. For the Romans, it was about maintaining social order. Whether Jew or Gentile, male or female, slave or free, everyone had their place in society, and that place needed to be respected.

Mary and Joseph are Jews, so they are allowed into the next courtyard, which is called the Court of Women. It’s called that because that’s as far into the temple as women were allowed.

Years later, this court is where Jesus would do much of his teaching, all those times when scripture says he was teaching in the temple. Anytime you read in the gospels about Jesus teaching in the temple, you should picture this courtyard.

At some point in all this, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus attract the attention of a man—a righteous and devout man—named Simeon.

And they also attract the attention of an elderly woman named Anna, described in Luke’s gospel as a prophet and a widow.  

Because she’s a widow—with no children to care for her, apparently—she has no home. There was no social security, no safety net. Widows almost always found themselves without means of support, and thus, without a home. 

In Anna’s case, Luke says she lived there at the temple, never leaving. Perhaps she slept under the colonnade surrounding the courtyard at night.

In Luke’s gospel, Simeon and Anna are lifted up as people of wisdom and faithfulness. They are the “holy people” in this story: the ones guided by the Spirit, who recognize the significance of this moment: the arrival of Jesus and his parents.

Neither one of them is described as a priest. Where are the priests? The priests don’t appear at all in this story. All this takes place in the temple; there must have been priests around. But Luke doesn’t mention them.

Because Luke isn’t impressed by titles. Luke isn’t impressed by the magnificence of the temple, and the rituals that take place there. Luke isn’t impressed by displays of human power and strength and authority

This, according to Luke, is all part of the great reversal that is central to the gospel. The people with power, the wealthy ones, the rulers—they are not first in God’s kingdom. 

But Anna, the poor widow; and Simeon, the faithful-yet-humble servant of the Lord; they are lifted up as models of faith. They are the ones who matter, and it is their words and their actions that Luke includes in the story.

Now, think back to what has happened already: the announcement of Jesus’ birth was not made to the priests, but to shepherds in the field. Filthy young men who probably were prone to cursing on occasion, who were so desperate to make any kind of a living that they left their homes to go and live out in the fields…

Where were the priests then? They weren’t at the stable. They weren’t in the countryside ministering to the shepherds. They were busy worrying and working, spending all their energy trying to maintain Herod’s favor so that the mighty fist of Rome didn't come crashing down on them.

Which it would seventy years later.

There is so much irony here. The massive, gleaming temple, financed by Herod, overseen by Herod-approved priests in their fancy clothes… and yet Luke pays so little attention to any of that. Luke is not impressed. In fact, Luke is making an emphatic point here, that those whose attention is drawn to the grandeur of the temple miss the truly important thing that is happening here.

They miss seeing God.

Because God is not in the glitz and the glamor. God is not in the gleaming white and green marble, polished and shining in the sun. God is not in the orchestration of orderly conduct, with separate courtyards for people depending on their status in society … “separate but equal” courtyards.

God is not there in “separate but equal.”

This is Luke’s message. This is the point Luke is making. 

As travelers to Jerusalem, our eyes are drawn to the gleaming, polished marble rising to the sky. Our attention is drawn to power, to wealth, to grandeur, to celebrity. 

But Luke says no. No, no, no. Luke says: that’s not what you should be paying attention to. 

Because the real wonder, the real holy of holies, is among the poor and the humble.

It’s among people like Simeon.

People like Anna.

And people like a baby born in a stable, whose parents were so poor, they couldn’t even afford a lamb.

Imperfect Christmas (Luke 2:1-7)

 I remember, from a few years back, a Sunday morning worship service that happened just before Christmas, a special worship service that was filled to the brim with music. 

The choir, filled with regular members as well as other singers who joined just for the occasion—and accompanied by several musicians—had worked extra hard on its songs.

We even had a handbell choir perform that day. In fact, the very first thing in the order of worship was the handbell choir calling us to worship with their rendition of “Silent Night.”

At the appointed time, the members of the handbell choir took their places. The congregation eagerly waited for the music to start. Everyone was ready for what we expected would be the perfect Christmas Sunday worship.

The bells began to ring, and it sounded heavenly. The angels themselves could not have done it better. This was Christmas worship at its finest!

And even though it was all instrumental, we knew the words, and could hear the words in our heads as the bells rang.

Silent night. Holy night. All is calm…

The church where this took place was located not far from an airport. Now, the church was far enough away that the sound of airplanes taking off didn’t normally affect the worship service.

But a couple of times every year, the U.S. Navy F-18 fighter jets conducted training operations at the airport. They always flew in pairs, so when they took off, it was always one right after the other.

And they were loud.

And as it turned out, they were conducting maneuvers on that particular day.

So, as the handbells were ringing the notes that went with the “all is calm,” we began to hear a sound that started quietly at first, like a whisper, but which gradually got louder. 

By the time the bells got to the end of the verse—the part that goes, “sleep in heavenly peace”—we couldn’t hear the bells at all, because of the roar of the fighter jets. We could see them being rung, but all we could hear was the jets.

The musicians pressed on, however. And wouldn’t you know it: the next song was also interrupted, this time by some fire engines passing by on the street in front of the church, their sirens blaring.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As pastor, I had wanted this special Christmas Sunday worship to be perfect. 

It was turning out to be anything but perfect. We couldn’t even get one song in without being interrupted by noises from outside!

My mood turned sour. Instead of being transported to a heavenly realm by wonderful out-of-this-world music, the thunderous interruption at the start of our worship, and the other unwanted noises that continued, did not allow my mind to escape this world and rise up to heaven, which is what I wanted for me and for all those who were present. I wanted a worship service that took us out of this world with all its troubles, and transported us to where the angels are.

*Sigh*

It wasn't until halfway through the service that a thought occurred to me. Maybe Christmas, I thought, isn't about being taken out of this world, and transported to a heavenly realm. 

After all, 2,000 years ago, God didn't choose to take the faithful out of this world. Instead, God chose to come down to this world, to dwell among humanity, to share all the worldly experiences humanity deals with, all the imperfections, all the trials and tribulations…  

At Jesus's birth, there were angels singing, but there were also sheep bleating and oxen lowing and snorting. (Try imagining the sound of a snorting ox in your ear while your child is born; not very romantic or idyllic, is it?)

Also, at Jesus’ birth, there was the distant (and perhaps not so distant) sound of Roman soldiers marching through the streets, which I guess would be even worse than the sound of those fighter jets, because the Roman soldiers were not friendly.

Yet that’s how that first Christmas was. It wasn’t perfect. At all. It wasn’t an experience that lifted hearts to heaven.

But it was an experience that brought heaven down to earth.

The beauty of Christmas, I realized, isn't that we are taken out of our world and all its troubles. The beauty of Christmas is found in the fact that God chooses to dwell with us, in the midst of this world and all its troubles.

And I was reminded: that’s what the word Emmanuel means: God with us.

By the time worship ended, my mood had improved. I was even filled with joy, a joy that was perhaps greater than it would have been if I had felt transported to a heavenly realm, because I was reminded that God is here in this world, with us - with me - in our lives - working to bring wholeness to a world that is troubled, and broken, but still good.

This world, with all its imperfections, is still good; and God still loves this world in all its brokenness so much. 

In the Bible, among the Jewish people, the idea of “perfection” doesn’t really exist. As Christianity developed and was influenced by Greek ideas and Greek philosophy, the Greek idea of “perfection” did creep into some Biblical passages, but generally speaking, perfection was not the highest ideal in the minds of biblical writers.

Instead of perfection, what the prophets and other Old Testament writers emphasized, and what Jesus emphasized, was goodness.

Goodness; not perfection.

We see this starting with the creation story: In the beginning, God created the world… and it was good. (It doesn’t say it was perfect.)

And when God created humanity, and creation was complete, it was very good.

That worship service wasn’t perfect; but it was good.

The first Christmas wasn’t perfect; but it was good.

Six years ago, just a few days before Christmas, my mom died suddenly and unexpectedly.

…Which made that Christmas the least perfect Christmas I’ve ever experienced.

On Christmas Day, just a few days after, there was a big family gathering planned. Most of my mom’s seven brothers and sisters would be there, along with their spouses, and a great many cousins.

At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. But then, I realized: I had to go.

It wasn’t easy.

To see my mom’s siblings, who naturally resemble mom in appearance and in the way they talk, was difficult. But together we mourned, together we cried, together we even laughed some. 

And never have I felt more loved and supported and cared for than at that Christmas.

And even though it wasn’t perfect, it was good. It was very good.

For Mary and Joseph, the night Jesus was born:

They were not where they wanted to be. They were far from home. There was no room for them in the inn. They didn’t have much money. There didn’t seem to be any extended family members around to tend to their needs.

The only people present were some strangers, some shepherds from the field, and shepherds—they were a bit rough around the edges, to say the least.

Then, after Christmas, did things get better? No. Herod made their baby his number one most wanted, so instead of going home to Nazareth, Mary and Joseph had to flee to Egypt. They became refugees.

And yet, we know that—because God was with them and with their baby—goodness was present. There was still reason for joy and celebration and praise, even in the midst of those most trying circumstances.

Because God had come to earth; God had chosen to be a part of this troubled, broken, world, to be actively present among humanity. God was present in the lives of Mary and Joseph, and especially in the life of their newborn baby.

And the presence of God is present with us today. Present through the Spirit of Christ and the body of Christ.

I don’t know how perfect or imperfect your Christmas will be this year, but no matter what, God is present. Christ is present. In whatever you’re going through, God is with you and God’s love surrounds you.

And in this troubled world, where homelessness and war and hate and bigotry and injustice and all sorts of brokenness keep this world from being perfect, God is still present. God is still with us. And God still shows us the way to healing, wholeness, and salvation.