The Road to Bethlehem
Dec. 21, 2008
Luke 1 (selected verses)
BBC correspondent Aleem Maqbool has been retracing the trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem on a donkey. Despite what our friend John Bell insists, that there was no donkey in the Biblical story, Maqbool decided that the 70 miles needed a beast of burden.
Alas, the first donkey he took refused to budge, the second one could not make the border crossing from Palestinian territory to Israeli territory because its papers were not in order. So, by day three of his trek, Maqbool was already on donkey number three.
It seems the political situation – as well as the stubbornness situation – has not improved a great deal in 2,000 years since King Herod’s threats caused the wise men to reroute their trip and forced Mary and Joseph to flee to Egypt. Indeed, UN officials told Maqbool that if Mary and Joseph were to make the journey that Luke describes in the Christmas story, they would have to go through five permanent check points, three temporary check points and get a permit to go into greater Jerusalem.
Maqbool’s reporting reminded me of the intimate connections between the spiritual and political, the personal and the public, the ethical and the ephemeral that always exist in Christian life and faith from its humble beginnings in the experiences of poor folks existing on the margins of first-century Palestinian life and in the writings of the earliest Christian communities.
The beautiful Christmas story from Luke, that we read again every year, begins not by accident with a description of the political situation. “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.”
A decree: in other words, a political announcement as distinct from, say, an oracle or a heavenly announcement.
Emperor Augustus: in other words, a political leader as distinct from a religious one.
Governor of Syria: in other words, a leader from a particular political jurisdiction.
In passing, I would simply say that when folks complain about mixing politics and religion I always think of the Christmas story and “blame” the mixing on the authors of scripture who so clearly understood that if the Advent story – the coming of Christ into this world – was to have any meaning worth celebrating, worth recalling, worth opening our hearts to again and again, that meaning must essentially involve transformation – repentance, in the Biblical vernacular – a turning not only of our personal lives but also a turning of the world.
On the road to Bethlehem the intimate details of our personal stories intersect with the broader sweep of the story of our time. Each informs and shapes the other.
That is why, in the first place, we are still here. Why we gather, more than 2,000 years after the fact, to remember. But more than mere memory – which is all too easily reduced to nostalgia and fuzzy images on pretty Christmas cards – more than mere memory, we gather to rededicate ourselves, our lives and our treasures, to this story of transformation.
We gather to join together on the road to Bethlehem, to journey again to the manger.
And the manger, as Bonhoeffer pointedly reminded us, is one of two places, two sites, that cause the powerful to tremble. The second site is the cross.
For the journey to Bethlehem and the manger must also be, always and already, a journey toward Jerusalem and the cross.
The Christmas machine of American consumer culture wants no part of this journey.
But followers of Jesus have always been on this path. We know that the road to Bethlehem is also the road to Jerusalem, and we walk it nonetheless.
This year the journey finds me particularly moved by some of the folks I have been sojourning with. I hope I do not embarrass anyone here as I name a few names. It’s not my intent.
Naming names is important because it draws us down to specifics, and if Christian faith is about anything, it must be about specifics, it must be about incarnation. The Christ of our faith is, above all else, about making the generalized God of heaven specific and incarnate in our lives.
I was thinking about this the other day when I was visiting Woody in the hospital. I asked him my standard pastoral question, “how goes it with your soul, Woody?” He chuckled and said, “my soul is fine; it’s my body that’s worn out.”
Woody was part of that generation of American Mainline Protestants who wear their faith quietly, and don’t talk a great deal about spiritual practices or personal relationships with Jesus. But as I thought about making the generalized God of heaven specific and incarnate in our lives, it struck me that Woody, for many, many years, made incarnate among us, right at the front door, the deep and foundational Christian spiritual practice of welcome and hospitality. He lived a long, long time on the road to Bethlehem.
Sojourners, fellow travelers, if you will, are crucial to our journeys, and we never know just who they will be for us. I don’t imagine Mary and Joseph expected to encounter an inn-keeper who couldn’t give them a room, but who could find some space in the barn for them.
I doubt that Woody and Evelyn ever anticipated that some of us would be sojourners with them. Evelyn told me Friday that Ron and James had brought them cookies from the cookie bake last week, and that Ron had stopped by the day before on his way to work.
Imagine that: a D-Day vet and his war bride of 60-some years, being cared for by a gay Presbyterian elder and his partner of 20-some years. Two men who have, for many of us over the years, made incarnate the deep and foundational Christian spiritual practice of compassion, of being present with us and in solidarity with us in times of suffering and also in times of celebration and joy. They have lived a long time on the road to Bethlehem.
The road to Bethlehem stretches out before us, and the Spirit of God beckons us to gather round close to the manger again and open our hearts to the possibility of transformation.
Of course, we don’t have to have been on our journeys for a long, long time to make a difference in the life of the world.
I’ve been smiling all week thinking about the Christmas story as it was told to us last week by our young people. The wise boys and girl who brought their gifts to the moose/Joseph. The bunny-eared angels. Mary the cat.
It was as if the angel Gabriel came down to our Sunday School classroom and said, “Greetings favored ones. The Lord is with y’all! You have been called to bear God’s word into the world!”
As the moose/Joseph might have said, “what?”
Or, as Mary said in Luke’s gospels, “how can this be, for I am but a child.”
“Nothing is impossible with God.”
And so it was, that the youngest members of this community made incarnate for the rest of us the love and the joyousness of the gospel. They have not lived long, but they are living on the road to Bethlehem.
It is out of such living that the turning of the world, of which Mary sings, becomes possible.
Such turning is necessary, and if we are journeying on the road to Bethlehem as faithful followers of the Prince of Peace, then we do not have to look too far to understand and feel that urgency.
As Henri Nouwen reminded, “you are a Christian” – a follower of Jesus – “only so long as you constantly pose critical questions to the society you live in … so long as you stay unsatisfied with the status quo and keep saying that a new world is yet to come.”
In other words, if you are to live on the road to Bethlehem, you must live with eyes wide open to what is going on all around you, while at the same time, casting a vision of that kingdom that was launched through the curious imagination of a God who understands greatness in the least of these, who understands the true power is born in a manger.
I think of Woody’s deep sense of welcome and hospitality, and understand in it the seeds also of his passionate concern for peace. The most anger I ever saw him articulate came through in his disgust with the war in Iraq and the terrible waste of so many young lives.
I think of Ron and James’ deep sense of care and compassion, and understand in it the seeds of their commitment to justice for the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community.
I think of the kids’ creativity, joy and love, and can imagine in it the seeds of their future commitments –to a world that honors creation, to communities marked by deep joy, to lives defined by the love that radiates out from them. That joy reminds us that though the journey will be difficult at times, that the road we travel goes by way of the cross, that there will be tears along the way, it is a journey of life, of new life and of resurrection.
As Isaiah cried out for the exiles, “comfort, comfort ye my people,” trusting that the rough places would be made smooth, the crooked straight and that all of us will see the glory of the Lord, as the psalmist put it, in the land of the living.
As we journey along the road to Bethlehem, as we gather again close by the manger, may we together, through our hospitality and welcome, our care and compassion, our creativity, joy and love, and all the other gifts that we have been given – may our souls magnify the Lord, may our spirits rejoice in God our savior. For God has looked with favor on us. And through our lives, may the great turning of the world begin again in the small and intimate turnings of our own lives, as our mourning is turned to dancing, as the proud are scattered, the powerful brought down from their thrones, and the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled with plentiful food and the poor brought good news of a gospel that begins again and again on the road to Bethlehem.
May the way be made clear for all who want to travel it.
Amen.
Luke 1 (selected verses)
BBC correspondent Aleem Maqbool has been retracing the trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem on a donkey. Despite what our friend John Bell insists, that there was no donkey in the Biblical story, Maqbool decided that the 70 miles needed a beast of burden.
Alas, the first donkey he took refused to budge, the second one could not make the border crossing from Palestinian territory to Israeli territory because its papers were not in order. So, by day three of his trek, Maqbool was already on donkey number three.
It seems the political situation – as well as the stubbornness situation – has not improved a great deal in 2,000 years since King Herod’s threats caused the wise men to reroute their trip and forced Mary and Joseph to flee to Egypt. Indeed, UN officials told Maqbool that if Mary and Joseph were to make the journey that Luke describes in the Christmas story, they would have to go through five permanent check points, three temporary check points and get a permit to go into greater Jerusalem.
Maqbool’s reporting reminded me of the intimate connections between the spiritual and political, the personal and the public, the ethical and the ephemeral that always exist in Christian life and faith from its humble beginnings in the experiences of poor folks existing on the margins of first-century Palestinian life and in the writings of the earliest Christian communities.
The beautiful Christmas story from Luke, that we read again every year, begins not by accident with a description of the political situation. “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.”
A decree: in other words, a political announcement as distinct from, say, an oracle or a heavenly announcement.
Emperor Augustus: in other words, a political leader as distinct from a religious one.
Governor of Syria: in other words, a leader from a particular political jurisdiction.
In passing, I would simply say that when folks complain about mixing politics and religion I always think of the Christmas story and “blame” the mixing on the authors of scripture who so clearly understood that if the Advent story – the coming of Christ into this world – was to have any meaning worth celebrating, worth recalling, worth opening our hearts to again and again, that meaning must essentially involve transformation – repentance, in the Biblical vernacular – a turning not only of our personal lives but also a turning of the world.
On the road to Bethlehem the intimate details of our personal stories intersect with the broader sweep of the story of our time. Each informs and shapes the other.
That is why, in the first place, we are still here. Why we gather, more than 2,000 years after the fact, to remember. But more than mere memory – which is all too easily reduced to nostalgia and fuzzy images on pretty Christmas cards – more than mere memory, we gather to rededicate ourselves, our lives and our treasures, to this story of transformation.
We gather to join together on the road to Bethlehem, to journey again to the manger.
And the manger, as Bonhoeffer pointedly reminded us, is one of two places, two sites, that cause the powerful to tremble. The second site is the cross.
For the journey to Bethlehem and the manger must also be, always and already, a journey toward Jerusalem and the cross.
The Christmas machine of American consumer culture wants no part of this journey.
But followers of Jesus have always been on this path. We know that the road to Bethlehem is also the road to Jerusalem, and we walk it nonetheless.
This year the journey finds me particularly moved by some of the folks I have been sojourning with. I hope I do not embarrass anyone here as I name a few names. It’s not my intent.
Naming names is important because it draws us down to specifics, and if Christian faith is about anything, it must be about specifics, it must be about incarnation. The Christ of our faith is, above all else, about making the generalized God of heaven specific and incarnate in our lives.
I was thinking about this the other day when I was visiting Woody in the hospital. I asked him my standard pastoral question, “how goes it with your soul, Woody?” He chuckled and said, “my soul is fine; it’s my body that’s worn out.”
Woody was part of that generation of American Mainline Protestants who wear their faith quietly, and don’t talk a great deal about spiritual practices or personal relationships with Jesus. But as I thought about making the generalized God of heaven specific and incarnate in our lives, it struck me that Woody, for many, many years, made incarnate among us, right at the front door, the deep and foundational Christian spiritual practice of welcome and hospitality. He lived a long, long time on the road to Bethlehem.
Sojourners, fellow travelers, if you will, are crucial to our journeys, and we never know just who they will be for us. I don’t imagine Mary and Joseph expected to encounter an inn-keeper who couldn’t give them a room, but who could find some space in the barn for them.
I doubt that Woody and Evelyn ever anticipated that some of us would be sojourners with them. Evelyn told me Friday that Ron and James had brought them cookies from the cookie bake last week, and that Ron had stopped by the day before on his way to work.
Imagine that: a D-Day vet and his war bride of 60-some years, being cared for by a gay Presbyterian elder and his partner of 20-some years. Two men who have, for many of us over the years, made incarnate the deep and foundational Christian spiritual practice of compassion, of being present with us and in solidarity with us in times of suffering and also in times of celebration and joy. They have lived a long time on the road to Bethlehem.
The road to Bethlehem stretches out before us, and the Spirit of God beckons us to gather round close to the manger again and open our hearts to the possibility of transformation.
Of course, we don’t have to have been on our journeys for a long, long time to make a difference in the life of the world.
I’ve been smiling all week thinking about the Christmas story as it was told to us last week by our young people. The wise boys and girl who brought their gifts to the moose/Joseph. The bunny-eared angels. Mary the cat.
It was as if the angel Gabriel came down to our Sunday School classroom and said, “Greetings favored ones. The Lord is with y’all! You have been called to bear God’s word into the world!”
As the moose/Joseph might have said, “what?”
Or, as Mary said in Luke’s gospels, “how can this be, for I am but a child.”
“Nothing is impossible with God.”
And so it was, that the youngest members of this community made incarnate for the rest of us the love and the joyousness of the gospel. They have not lived long, but they are living on the road to Bethlehem.
It is out of such living that the turning of the world, of which Mary sings, becomes possible.
Such turning is necessary, and if we are journeying on the road to Bethlehem as faithful followers of the Prince of Peace, then we do not have to look too far to understand and feel that urgency.
As Henri Nouwen reminded, “you are a Christian” – a follower of Jesus – “only so long as you constantly pose critical questions to the society you live in … so long as you stay unsatisfied with the status quo and keep saying that a new world is yet to come.”
In other words, if you are to live on the road to Bethlehem, you must live with eyes wide open to what is going on all around you, while at the same time, casting a vision of that kingdom that was launched through the curious imagination of a God who understands greatness in the least of these, who understands the true power is born in a manger.
I think of Woody’s deep sense of welcome and hospitality, and understand in it the seeds also of his passionate concern for peace. The most anger I ever saw him articulate came through in his disgust with the war in Iraq and the terrible waste of so many young lives.
I think of Ron and James’ deep sense of care and compassion, and understand in it the seeds of their commitment to justice for the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community.
I think of the kids’ creativity, joy and love, and can imagine in it the seeds of their future commitments –to a world that honors creation, to communities marked by deep joy, to lives defined by the love that radiates out from them. That joy reminds us that though the journey will be difficult at times, that the road we travel goes by way of the cross, that there will be tears along the way, it is a journey of life, of new life and of resurrection.
As Isaiah cried out for the exiles, “comfort, comfort ye my people,” trusting that the rough places would be made smooth, the crooked straight and that all of us will see the glory of the Lord, as the psalmist put it, in the land of the living.
As we journey along the road to Bethlehem, as we gather again close by the manger, may we together, through our hospitality and welcome, our care and compassion, our creativity, joy and love, and all the other gifts that we have been given – may our souls magnify the Lord, may our spirits rejoice in God our savior. For God has looked with favor on us. And through our lives, may the great turning of the world begin again in the small and intimate turnings of our own lives, as our mourning is turned to dancing, as the proud are scattered, the powerful brought down from their thrones, and the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled with plentiful food and the poor brought good news of a gospel that begins again and again on the road to Bethlehem.
May the way be made clear for all who want to travel it.
Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
5:43 PM
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