"What's In a Name" (Matthew 1:18-25)

 

1. Translations

For me, the first step in writing a sermon is to read the scripture. Then, the second step in writing a sermon is also to read the scripture.

And then, while the sermon is being written, it’s good to read the scripture a few more times.

When I’m writing a sermon, I often read the scripture using more than one translation. The two translations I use most often are the New Revised Standard Version and the Common English Bible. Both are great, and were put together by the finest scholars and translators.

I also have a bilingual translation of the Bible, where the words appear in two side-by-side columns in English and Spanish. Mostly, I read that one to improve my Spanish, but sometimes it helps me understand the scripture better as well. 

A few times I’ve been surprised by the Spanish word that was used, and when I compare that to the English word, it helps me understand Spanish a little better, and it helps me understand the original meaning of the word in Hebrew or Greek a little better.

And when it comes to Hebrew and Greek, I can use all the help I can get, since I only really know a few words in those two biblical languages. 

My newest Bible is called the First Nations Version. It’s an English translation, but the translation is meant “to provide an English Bible that connects, in a culturally relevant way, to the traditional heart languages of the over six million English-speaking First Nations people of North America.” 

The First Nations Version was particularly helpful as I prepared today’s sermon. Let me explain why…

2. Bitter Tears

Today’s focus is on names. Jesus - the one who saves. Emmanuel - God with us. We heard about those names.

In the First Nations Version, everyone is given new names. The name for Jesus is “Creator Sets Free.” This is a name that reflects the Hebrew or Aramaic meaning, “God saves.” Through Jesus, we are set free. Set free from sin. Set free from oppression. Set free from all that prevents us from living lives of abundance, lives of shalom.

“Creator Sets Free” is a biblically appropriate name for Jesus.

In the First Nations Version, it says that Emmanuel means “Creator Is With Us,” which parallels the familiar “God With Us” of other English translations.

In the First Nations Version, “Mary” is called “Bitter Tears.” Did you know that’s what “Mary” means in Hebrew? “Mary” is the English form of Miriam, and Miriam means “bitter tears.” So, instead of calling her “Mary,” the First Nations Version always calls her, “Bitter Tears.”

Now, why would she be named that? Why did so many parents give their daughters a name that means “bitter tears?”

Mary lived in a time of bitter tears for the Jewish people. The Romans worked to dehumanize the Jews. The Romans did everything they could to make the Jews feel like they weren’t a people, weren’t a nation, weren’t any kind of group with its own identity. 

And Jews in Nazareth and other areas of Galilee had it doubly bad, because the more powerful, influential Jews in Jerusalem looked down upon the lower-class Jews in that backcountry region. 

In the background of this story is Caesar - a name that means “venerable” or “majestic;” and Herod, who the First Nations Version calls “Chief Looks Brave.” Everything about Caesar and Herod - including their names - was meant to impress on the people the incredible power and awesome might of the Roman Empire.

It’s all more than enough to make anyone name their daughter, “Bitter Tears,” because the Jewish people cried many bitter tears in those days, as they suffered under the dehumanizing oppression of the Roman Empire.

The strict, oppressive rule of Caesar and Herod was ostensibly done in the name of peace. With the most powerful army and a ruthless response to any and all agitators, any rebellion could be swiftly snuffed out. No one dared start a war against Rome, because they didn’t stand a chance. And since there were no wars, Caesar was given - or maybe he gave it to himself - the titles, “Prince of Peace” and “Savior of the World” - titles which were later given to Jesus by those who considered his way an alternative to the oppressive ways of Rome.

But the pax romana, the peace of Rome, was an oppressive peace. It was peace in the sense that there were no wars; but there was no true shalom for the people. 

Anyway… all this has me thinking about names - the names we get called, the names we call ourselves, the names we call others - and, how those names can foster, or hinder, true peace…

3. Attack of the Orbeez

On some recent substitute teaching assignments, one particular group of middle school students was being particularly difficult… No, that’s putting it too mildly. They were being downright unruly.

The first time I had this group of students was for a music class, which took place in the school auditorium. One of the students hid a small bluetooth speaker in the auditorium somewhere and was broadcasting disruptive sounds and music throughout the class. It took me a day and a half to find the speaker and confiscate it.

The next time I had these students, it was for P.E. I’m not sure how I ended up teaching P.E., as I usually try to avoid teaching P.E., but there I was - there we were - in the gym, and the students were throwing these little objects that at first I thought were some kind of juicy candy, but which turned out to be something called orbeez. 

(If you don’t know what orbeez are, just know that they were specifically invented to drive substitute teachers crazy.)

They were throwing these orbeez and making the floor of the gym wet and slippery, and even though some students were cleaning them up, others kept throwing them; and I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. Finally I took the whole class outside and made them sit on the asphalt until the bell rang.

A few weeks later, I was with these same students in an actual classroom. One of the students who I didn’t even have until the last period of the day kept wandering into the room, kicking the door, and ultimately declaring to my face, “I’m going to make your day a living hell.” I got some help from the office for that last period of the day, and fortunately that period passed without incident.

Throughout all this, I did my best to stay calm, because I knew that the students’ behavior was intended to make me lose control, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I couldn’t! 

So I did my best to be calm-yet-firm, and attempted to maintain classroom discipline. Inside, I felt like I was failing miserably at this, but I must have been doing something right, because eventually some of the students calmed down enough to ask me, with looks of surprise on their faces: “Aren’t you going to yell at us?” “How are you so calm?”

Then some students admitted that the reason they behave the way they do is that every time they’ve had a sub, the sub ends up yelling at them. Previous subs have screamed at them, and have even told these students that they were “pure evil.”

And the students said: “if the teachers are just going to yell at us and call us horrible and evil, then we’re just going to act that way from the beginning.”

And that made me think… What must it feel like to have someone - someone in a position of authority - label you as pure evil, to give you that name.

And I wondered what other names these kids get called in their lives; what other labels get applied to them… I began to wonder what sort of trauma or pain exists at home for them, that - when combined with the names and labels that get thrown at them - could create a situation that was more than they could handle.

And I began to realize how easy it would be to believe as true, those negative, dehumanizing names and labels, and to let those names define who you are.

4. Ksitigarbha

This week I read about Ksitigarbha, one of the bodhisattvas of Buddhism. Ksitigarbha felt called to go where there is suffering and pain and anger. Ksitigarbha knew that, in order to go where there is suffering and pain and anger, “You have to be fresh, you have to be patient and persevering, you have to be armed with non-fear. And you come not to blame but to help stop the fear, the anger, the violence. You come to offer understanding and compassion and to help generate understanding and compassion in their hearts.”

Teachers can learn a lot from Ksitigarbha.

Many teachers are already doing amazing work, but they need our support. They need our prayers. They need resources. One can’t do this work everyday, day after day after day, without encouragement, without opportunities for rest, without having prayers said for them. 

As a substitute, I get to teach one day and spend the next day at my desk in prayer, or even out in nature somewhere, walking, meditating, reflecting; That makes it easier for me. And I get to preach and lead worship with all of you on Sundays, and so far no one has ever been defiant or thrown orbeez across the sanctuary during my sermon. 

So I’m able to restore my calm, my inner peace, which probably helps me prepare for situations like the one I had with those middle school students, so that I can help bring peace to them. Not everyone has that luxury. 

 But it’s important to understand that peace in the world is directly connected to peace within ourselves. Thich Nhat Hanh wrote that “Everytime you have a thought that is full of anger, that is also a war.” Your anger eats away at your own self, your own mental health, your own well-being. It’s a war against yourself. 

And if that anger is expressed without love or compassion, in a way that is meant to hurt another person, mentally, or emotionally, or even physically, that is a war against another person.

So. How do you transform your anger into compassion? How do you maintain peace within yourself so you can be a peaceful presence to others? 

5. New Name

One way is to pay attention to names.

If you’ve been called names that make it hard for you to have peace within yourself, it’s time to listen to some different names. 

That’s what Mary did. She who was known as “Bitter Tears” was good, and faithful, and was able to maintain at least some peace within her heart. And when she listened to God, she realized that God had another name for her besides “Bitter Tears.” 

After the angel Gabriel spoke to her about the child she would bear, and after her cousin Elizabeth helped her make sense of the angel’s greeting, Mary said:

“Surely, from now on all generations will call me Blessed.”

And what a beautiful name that is. In the midst of dehumanizing Roman oppression and in the midst of her own poverty, Mary learns that she is, indeed, blessed.

And so are you. “Blessed” is just one of the names God calls you. God calls you “blessed,” God calls you “good,” God calls you “beloved.” God calls you “fearfully and wonderfully made.” God calls you “son; daughter; child of mine.”

History and tradition have given Mary another name: theotokos. It means “God-bearer.” And in one sense, we are all theotokos, for we all have been created in the image of God. We all bear God’s image within us.

I’m sure you get called lots of other names and have lots of other labels thrown at you. But these are the ones that matter. These are the ones that are most true.

You are beloved. You are blessed. 

And when you accept these names and allow them to shape who you are, it will help lead you to peace. It will help lead the world to peace.

Ancestor Stories (Matthew 1:1-17)

 

1. Matthew’s Begats

What a fun scripture to start our Advent season with. Right? 

It’s just a long list of names, some of them difficult to pronounce. Names going back 42 generations…

When I was working on this sermon Friday morning, I found this Peanuts comic strip… in it, Linus walks out on stage, the spotlight comes on, and Linus begins reciting the scripture we just heard, except Linus read it in the King James version… “Abraham begat Isaac; and Isaac begat Jacob…” and so on.

The last image shows him walking off, and Lucy says: “Why didn’t you just start with the first chapter of Genesis while you were at it?” 

And Linus replies: “Don’t be sarcastic. ‘Tis the season to be jolly.”

This scripture never appears in the lectionary; but we read it anyway, because it does appear in a resource we are using to shape our Advent worship services this year.

2. Jesus’ family tree

And it is how Matthew’s gospel begins. Matthew is the first book of the New Testament, so this is how the New Testament begins. This is how the story of Jesus and his followers begins.

I know; the list of names doesn’t mean much to us. We look at it, we hear it read, and it’s just a list of names. Nothing more. 

But to people in the first century, it was something more.

For them, this was not something to be read through quickly. It’s not like the opening credits of a movie. It wasn’t something you just needed to get out of the way before the real story could begin.

Because for each of these names, there is a story; some of those stories are familiar to us. Many more - perhaps most of them - would have been familiar to those early followers of Jesus. 

And when each name is read, we are meant to remember those stories, and to realize that these people, and their stories, are all a part of Jesus’s family tree. They are all his ancestors. 

And it is the stories of our ancestors that help shape who we are. All our ancestors are a part of us. Our ancestors help make us who we are.

Now, in every family tree, there is a mixture of good and not-so-good. There is a mixture of pride and embarrassment. There is joy and love, and there is pain and trauma.

And for many of us, there is that one relative, that one ancestor, who we don’t talk about. The one ancestor who brought dishonor on the family, or turned their back on the family, or who withheld love from those who needed love the most. The one ancestor whose memory we try to erase.

Their name is never brought up in conversation. Their picture is taken down off the mantle. They aren’t honored by having any descendants bear their name.

Believe it or not, there were people like this on Jesus’ family tree. Not all the people on this list were saints. 

The list includes liars and cheaters and murderers. The list includes those who used sex as a way to manipulate and control people. The list includes some who were considered enemies of God’s people, according to the Hebrew scriptures.

It’s quite embarrassing, really, to have these people on Jesus’s family tree. More than that, it’s scandalous! Jesus is God’s son. Jesus is God-come-to-earth. How could people like these be part of God’s genealogy?

3. Joseph & Mary

Even Joseph and Mary were a disappointment. 

Think about it: Joseph was descended from kings like David and Solomon. Joseph was descended from those we consider to be “heroes of faith,” like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 

What a disappointment Joseph must have been to those ancestors. He was an artisan, a carpenter, which was even lower on the social hierarchy than a peasant. He was poor. 

So poor, that when it came time for his wife to give birth to their first child, he couldn’t even secure a decent place for her! She had to give birth in a barn!

If you lived in the first century, when society was more patriarchal than it is now; and if Mary were your daughter, and her husband couldn’t do any better than that for her - how would you feel? How would you feel about having Joseph on your family tree? How would you feel about having Joseph as the father of your grandchild? 

From beginning to end, on Jesus’ family tree, there is so much disappointment. So much embarrassment. So much scandal and shame.

Follow along on the stories that go with the names on this list, and you’ll encounter moments of pride and triumph, but they are always followed by moments of disgrace and dishonor. 

As if all that wasn’t enough… Matthew included the names of four women on this list. In the first century, that just wasn’t done.

Were the men so bad, that Matthew had to fill out the list with a few women? You might be tempted to think that, except that, by the norms of the day, having these women on one’s family tree wasn’t exactly something to brag about.

4. Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba

Some were tricksters. Some were manipulators. I spent an entire Advent preaching about just these women a few years ago.

Tamar. Rahab. Ruth. Bathsheba.

Tamar was considered cursed by God because her husband died, and she remarried, and that husband died, and both husbands had died before any children were born. So Tamar was twice-widowed and childless, with no one to provide for her.

So what did Tamar do? She disguised herself as a prostitute, and had sex with Judah, the well-to-do father of both of her deceased husbands! This led to her getting pregnant - pregnant by the father of her two deceased husbands!... How’d you like to have that story on your family tree? Is it one you would boast about?

Now, it is true that Tamar did all that in order to obligate Judah to provide for her and for her child, and that, had she not done all that, she would have remained childless and uncared for, and the family line would have ended. And we can’t hear this story without wondering: is the story of Tamar a story of a manipulating deceiver? Or is it the story of a woman so oppressed by society, but who fought for her rights by doing whatever it took to overcome that oppression?

Either way, it’s an interesting story to have on one’s family tree.

Then there’s Rahab, who was a prostitute, who betrayed her own king and country to help God’s people. Like Tamar, she was caught in a desperate position, and suffered under the oppression that many women suffered under in patriarchal societies - maybe that’s why she was willing to help the people of Israel instead of her own people. I’m not sure, but it does add another layer of complexity to Jesus’s family tree.

Next we have Ruth the Moabite. The Torah says that Moabites were enemies of God’s people, and that God’s people shouldn’t associate with them or even allow them into the temple.

Yet one of God’s people - a man named Boaz - went ahead and married Ruth anyway, and welcomed her into his household; and Ruth (even though she is a Moabite) is praised in scripture not only for who she is and what she did, but also because she was the great-grandmother of King David.

And then we have Bathsheba, who has been blamed throughout history for tempting King David, luring him into adultery - although, in all honesty, all the power and responsibility in that situation belonged to David and not to Bathsheba. King David’s coercion of Bathsheba led to a potential scandal that David tried to cover up by having Bathsheba’s husband killed.

All this would have been easy to omit from Jesus’s genealogy. Just don’t talk about it! It could all be so easily whitewashed, like so much of history. Just leave Bathsheba out. Just leave all these women out. These women are troublesome, they upset the perfect little world and the perfect little life and the perfect little history we want to imagine. 

But Matthew chose to include them.

Then there are the men. Like I said, their stories are just as complicated, just as troubled, just as conflicted, as the stories of these women, if not more so. 

Can’t we just change some of the names, and the stories that go with them? Can’t we just omit the particularly offensive ones, and rewrite the others? It’s what we do, right? We don’t want to talk about racism in our history, so we pretend that racism didn’t happen. We don’t want to talk about scandal in our past, so we pretend scandal didn’t happen. We don’t want to admit that we came from a troubled, not-entirely-innocent past, so we invent a new past for ourselves.

It all makes you wonder why Matthew didn’t just leave out the genealogy completely.

After the genealogy, in verse 18, Matthew writes, “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place this way…” Why didn’t Matthew just start with that? He could have just left out the genealogy, and all its complexity, all its problems…

But Matthew brought them up, opened that can of worms, and placed it at the beginning of the story, to make a point. And that point is that, when God came into the world, God came to truly be with us. In every sense.

5. Still Loved

When we hear about the ancestors in Jesus’ family tree, we are more likely to acknowledge the entirety of our own family trees. We’re more likely to admit that we, also, come from a past that isn’t entirely innocent. 

And we don’t have to pretend that the stories of our own ancestors are without complexity and issues. We can look at the pain, the trauma, and whatever else is there, and recognize that healing and wholeness come when we are honest about our past. We can see the good and the bad, and we can learn from both. And we can maybe see deeper, and discover some of the reasons for why our ancestors did what they did. Maybe they, like some of the women I’ve mentioned, were desperate. 

No matter what we find there - no matter what’s in our past - we have a God who fully understands what we’re going through, and all the conflicting emotions we feel, because God experienced all that as well. Whatever situation you’re in: God’s been there.

Mary and Joseph might have been a disappointment to their ancestors, and certain stories of their ancestors may have been an embarrassment to Mary and Joseph.

But because of all this: ...because Mary and Joseph were poor nobodies, and because their family tree is filled with stories of shortcomings and scandal and sin, and because the Bible includes all these stories anyway, we see that God really is right there with us, that God understands what we’re going through, and that God’s love will never leave us. 

Because despite the blotches on our family tree, and despite the non-innocent history from which we come, and despite all our own shortcomings, we are still worthy of God’s love.

You are still worthy of God’s love.

Nothing you do can ever change that.

Nothing in your past can ever change that.

Nothing about who you are or what you’ve done or what your ancestors have done can ever change that.

Even if you yourself are the one relative that no one in your family likes to talk about… God still loves you and God still rejoices over you.

As Paul writes in the book of Romans: “Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11, Matthew 1)

1. Bathsheba

The book of Matthew begins with a list of Jesus’ genealogy. (That genealogy comes right before the scripture we just heard.) And on that genealogical list are four women, which is significant and unusual in a patriarchal society. 

Today I preach on the fourth and final woman on that list: Bathsheba.

What do you think of when you hear the name Bathsheba? 

Some of you have been hearing Bible stories, and reading and studying Bible stories, for many years, so you may have heard Bathsheba’s story before, and you may have been exposed to some ideas about what kind of a woman Bathsheba was. 

But what does the Bible actually say about her? 

We know very little about her background. Only that she was the wife of a man named Uriah, who was a soldier in the king’s army. In fact, Uriah was off at war, fighting on behalf of the king, when this story takes place.

One evening, Bathsheba went up to the roof of her house to bathe. In that part of the world, people often went up on the roofs of their houses, especially in the evening, to take advantage of the cool evening breezes. The warm mediterranean sun would heat their houses so that, by late in the day, it could be unbearable inside, but to sit up on the roof and enjoy the evening breeze would be quite pleasant.

2. Taken

On this particular day, Bathsheba was bathing. People in ancient communities could not really demand or expect privacy the way we do today, but the rooftop of one’s own home was about as private a location as one could get. Yes, there were other rooftops around, but in the evening, as the light slowly dimmed, one could almost feel hidden away from the public eye.

So Bathsheba slipped out of her outer clothing. Perhaps she left her inner clothing on; the scripture doesn’t say. And maybe she did notice one building that rose above the others: the king’s palace. But since it was the time of year when kings went off to war, she wasn’t worried about the king looking out on her.

But the king wasn’t off to war. We don’t know why. 

The king’s army was off to war. Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah - a soldier in that army - was off to war. But the king was at home. And in that evening darkness, he was up on his roof, and he looked out, and in the twilight he caught sight of Bathsheba.

The king - King David - thought the woman he saw was very beautiful. So he sent someone to find out who she was. They reported back that she was Eliam’s daughter, Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite.

In ancient patriarchal society, the wording of that report made it very clear: she already belonged to someone. She was Eliam’s daughter. She was Uriah’s wife. She was spoken for. 

Yet the very next sentence in the story reads: “So David sent messengers to take her. They took her, brought her to him, he had sex with her, and then he sent her back home.”

Bathsheba had no say in this. None. David was the king, he could do what he wanted, and who was she to say no? If she dared object, she could suffer the king’s wrath. This rape by the king was not something she could have prevented or avoided. Her life literally depended on being silent and submissive.

3. Pregnant

Some time passes. Then Bathsheba sends a message to King David. This message is only two words long, and they are the only two words spoken by

Bathsheba in this part of the story. 

Those two words are: “I’m pregnant.”

Those are two very significant words. Those two words are always filled with emotion. However, the particular emotion they contain can vary widely. Depending on the circumstances, the words “I’m pregnant” can be words spoken with great joy or great fear.

If you’ve ever spoken those words, or had them spoken to you, I’m sure that was a moment filled with great joy, or great fear, or perhaps a mixture of both.

For Bathsheba, I’m pretty sure these words were spoken with great fear. Her pregnancy threatened to expose both her and her king. And, being a woman in a patriarchal society, most of the blame would be directed at her, even though she was, in fact, blameless.

But some of the blame would also go to the king. So he acted quickly to cover up what he had done. He sent word for Uriah to come home on leave, to spend some time with his wife Bathsheba. Maybe he could convince everyone that the baby was Uriah’s.

But apparently there was an oath all loyal soldiers took which forbade them spending intimate time with their wives while wars raged; and since Uriah was a good, upstanding soldier, loyal to his king, he refused to break that oath and spend time with his wife in that way while the king’s army was out in battle.

So David sent him back, and ordered him to be put in the front of the fiercest battle, and then ordered the army to pull back, so that Uriah was left alone, vulnerable… a move which quickly resulted in Uriah’s death.

David, relieved, no longer feared Bathsheba’s pregnancy. The one who could accuse him of raping her was now dead. With nothing to fear, David brought Bathsheba into his house and made her his wife.

But, according to the scripture, what David had done was evil in the Lord’s eyes.

4. A Woman, Not a Slave

Women were considered property. Bathsheba is referred to in scripture more often as “the wife of Uriah.” Her very identity depended on her attachment to a male. Without that male, she had no identity.

Unlike the other women we’ve learned about this Advent season, Bathsheba does very little. She is passive, she is mostly silent…Her life depends on that silence… and she is used and abused…

And this was how things were… David was clearly the more guilty party, but he was king, and he was male. He could use his position to avoid punishment, but Bathsheba could very easily have been accused of adultery and sentenced to death for it. The law dictated death for anyone guilty of adultery, but do you honestly think those punishments were handed out fairly? That a man - a king! - would be treated as harshly, would be punished as severely, as a woman?

Her fear must have been overwhelming and all-consuming.

But God saw, and God noticed, and God was upset … with the king. God knows who the victim is, and who the abuser is. And God knows that Bathsheba is a woman; more than a man’s property; more than someone’s slave.

It reminds me of the time some religious leaders brought to Jesus a woman accused of adultery; those leaders asked Jesus what should be done with her. After all, the law clearly stated that the penalty for adultery was death.

But Jesus knew who had the power in society, and how women were treated; and why was it that the men wanted to punish the woman - the one without power - yet refused to hold accountable the one who did have power? 

Which is why Jesus said to the men: “whichever one of you is innocent can condemn her and punish her.” And what happened? They all turned and walked away.

Even now blame is often cast on those who are, in fact, the victim. Rape victims, even today, are made to feel like what happened was their fault. 

She was drunk. She was wearing tight jeans. She was flirting.

But Jesus does not allow those with power to blame their victims. On another occasion, some men came to Jesus once; I think they were complaining about women who were tempting them into sin.

And Jesus said to them, “If your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. If any part of your body is leading you to sin, cut it off. It’s better to go through life maimed than it is to allow yourself to fall into sin.”

See? Jesus doesn’t allow anyone with power or privilege to pass blame onto those who are oppressed or victimized. 

5. Nativity

So far this sermon isn’t very Christmas-y. I know. 

So let’s consider the circumstances surrounding Jesus’ birth. It was precisely those who were oppressed and victimized, the used and abused, who received the angel’s greetings, and the news of the messiah’s birth… and overwhelmingly, this message consisted of the phrase, “fear not.”

The fear that Bathsheba experienced as a poor, on’ry, oppressed, victimized person, is overcome by the birth of Jesus. The fear - that paralyzing fear - of all who live with great anxiety, is replaced by an awesome peace and calm. In a time of great apprehension, all is calm. All is bright.

And this is, in part, because God does not tolerate abuse of power. 

Whether that abuse is committed by King David, or King Herod, or the high priests, or the Pharisees, or the president of the United States… God does not tolerate abuse of power. It is evil in the Lord’s eyes.

God does not tolerate the blaming of victims.

God does not tolerate oppression and injustice.

Instead, God delights in justice, and in what is right.

God’s desire is for justice to roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.

God’s desire is for good news to be proclaimed to 

those who are poor, because God knows that poverty is often the result of injustice.

God’s desire is for release to be proclaimed to those who are captive. Whether they are prisoners of fear, or of corruption, God’s desire is that they be released from that captivity.

God’s desire is that sight be given to the blind. Too many would place blindfolds over truth and blindfolds over justice, but God desires the light of truth to shine.

And all this is good news for Bathsheba and anyone else who has been victimized in any way.

After all, God is the one who takes the stone that the builders rejected, and uses it as the cornerstone of his kingdom. God takes rejected people - people like Bathsheba and Tamar and Rahab and Ruth - and gives them a central role. 

The story of Jesus’ birth is a story of radical resistance to powers of corruption and abuse. The fact that Matthew thought to include Bathsheba - the wife of Uriah - on Jesus’ family tree is just one example of how this is true. 

It’s said that history is written by the victorious and the powerful, and that’s true - unless it is God writing the story. When God writes the story, someone who has power stolen from them, who has been victimized and abused, somehow finds their way to a place of honor. 

This is because our God is the one who takes the stone that the builders rejected, and makes it the cornerstone. 

Our God is the God who makes a way out of no way.

Our God is the God who makes the first last, and the last, first. 

Our God is the one who - in the words of Mary, mother of Jesus - scatters those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations; God is the one who pulls the powerful down from their throne and lifts up the lowly; the one who fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away empty-handed. The one who comes to earth not as a king, but as a poor baby born to poor parents, who couldn't even secure an appropriate dwelling for his birth, but instead had to settle for a stable filled with a barnyard's worth of animals. 

It's quite remarkable when you stop and think about it, that God would show such love and concern for the least of these. Yet this is the God we worship. The God of people like Tamar and Rahab and Ruth and Bathsheba. 

The God of Joseph and Mary. 

The God of you and me.