"He's making a list, checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty or nice. Santa Claus is coming to town!" Millions of parents have reminded younger children as Christmas approached that Santa was going to deliver presents to all the good little boys and girls on Christmas Eve, but those who were naughty could expect nothing but coal in their stockings. Even children who were beginning to doubt the stories about Santa Claus figured it didn't pay to take any chances as Christmas approached. Among other things, traditions about the jolly old elf are ways to encourage good behavior as the excitement of Christmas grows, as school lets out, and as holiday festivities begin. The historical setting for today's reading from Isaiah is probably the period of the Jewish exile in Babylonia (cf. 63:18; 64:10-11), though the section is in the middle of chapters that presuppose a postexilic frame of reference. The prophet reminds the people of God's grace to his people, particularly during their sojourn in the wilderness prior to entering the promised land. The grace was offered freely, but God expected proper behavior in return. "Surely they are my people, children who will not deal falsely," God says. Unfortunately, the people did deal falsely, abandoning God's way to pursue their own selfish paths. We are that people's spiritual descendants. Just as our ancestors in the faith forsook God from time to time, despite God's acts of deliverance in their lives, so do we abandon God when we begin to feel content, self-reliant, or just plain selfish. If we are not doing all that God expects of us, does that mean that God put a lump of coal in our stockings this Christmas? The season of Christmas reminds us that God loves us in spite of our shortcomings. God loves us despite our failure to follow God's will to the fullest. God loves us so much, in fact, that God became flesh, a mysterious, unimaginable act that we Christians cannot comprehend but which forms the centerpiece of our faith. When we recall the gracious deeds of the Lord this Christmas season, we might think about the gift of our families, our friends, our homes, our careers, or any of a multitude of other blessings, but the one gracious deed that surpasses all the others is the gift of a baby in a manger, the Incarnate Word, God with us. It is his birth that we celebrate at the turn of the year, and it is his special relationship with God the Father that remains the greatest gift the world has ever known.
O to make the most jubilant song! Full of music--full of manhood, womanhood, infancy! Full of common employments--full of grain and trees. O for the voices of animals--O for the swiftness and balance of fishes! O for the dropping of raindrops in a song! O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song!Walt Whitman was one of the most joyful people who has ever lived. William James, in his Varieties of Religious Experience, describes Whitman as a man who was able to find happiness in every circumstance, from a simple walk in the woods to encounters with people of every imaginable background. Whitman's "A Song of Joys," the beginning of which is quoted above, illustrates his attitude toward life. The psalmist responsible for Psalm 148 would have been a soul-mate to Whitman, for he, too, finds joy everywhere around him. Drawing on the creation story in Genesis 1, the psalmist puts the praise of God on the "lips" of angels, the great celestial luminaries, the storehouses of rain, the sea monsters and their dwelling place, all kinds of weather and precipitation, mountains and hills, various trees, animals of all kinds, royalty and peasants, men and women. The people, places, and objects the psalmist calls on to praise God are clearly meant to represent the totality of creation, which ought to praise God as creator. If that weren't enough, the psalmist also reminds his audience that God has "raised up a horn for his people"; in other words, God has acted mightily on their behalf. It is easy to get caught up in the mundane routines of life and fail to rejoice as we should. What are some of the things that remind you to rejoice? For me, one of the most joyous experiences I have is observing the amazing beauty and variety of the natural world. When I see a roadrunner scamper across the street I rejoice. When I see a rabbit or a deer or a hawk or a butterfly my heart soars. When I look into the night sky and see the Big Dipper or Orion's Belt or Betelguese I feel great happiness. Knowing something about the science behind the formation of stars or the evolution of animals does nothing to diminish my amazement at God's creation. On the contrary, the more I know about the science, the more my appreciation of the way every object in the natural world fits in its proper place is enhanced. The owl praises God by its haunting hoots at night, and the butterfly praises God by showing off its extravagant beauty as it flits from flower to flower during the day. They remind us that we too owe God our praise and adoration.
In the days immediately prior to the French Revolution, Queen Marie Antoinette is rumored to have looked out her window at the masses protesting near the palace and asked her companions why they were gathered together. "They have no bread," someone replied. "Well, if they have no bread," answered the queen, "let them eat cake!" Whether this story is true or apocryphal, it is illustrative of the disconnect that leaders sometimes have with their followers. Assuming that she wasn't being facetious, Marie Antoinette really had no clue about the feelings of the typical French peasant, for whom cake was even harder to come by than bread. U.S. vice president Nelson Rockefeller was asked in the mid-1970s how families could make ends meet during tough economic times. "Well," began Rockefeller, "let's assume that a family makes as little as $100,000 a year." At that point he lost his audience, because $100,000 was more than five times the median annual income of an American family in the mid-1970s. The rich and the powerful have a hard time relating to those who struggle to make ends meet. That's why it was important, the author of Hebrews says, for Jesus, as the pioneer of salvation, to suffer. He needed to experience the totality of what being a human being was all about. Because of the development of Christian theology over the centuries, modern Christians usually have no difficulty seeing Jesus' connection to God the Father. However, we often fail to grasp the significance of his connection to ordinary human beings. In what way was Jesus "perfected" through his sufferings? Certainly we can say that Jesus was perfected in the sense that his sufferings fulfilled the divine plan for his life, but I think something more is meant. If we will set aside our preconceived notions of Jesus' divinity for a moment, we will see that this passage teaches that Jesus' suffering was real and painful, as well as redemptive. Jesus learned mercy and endurance through his suffering, and the author suggests that what Jesus learned accrued to the benefit of all his followers. We don't follow someone like Marie Antoinette, who was totally out of touch with the lives of her subjects. Jesus endured great hardship and suffering, just like other humans, and these experiences made him more merciful. From the standpoint of the author of Hebrews, Jesus' fitness for his role as pioneer and perfecter of faith was based in large measure on the fact that Jesus was able to relate to human suffering. Just as important, human sufferers throughout the ages have been able to relate to Jesus. Sometimes Jesus is portrayed as a conquering king, omniscient sage, or even entrepreneurial CEO, but one image that remains meaningful, even if it is less emphasized today than some others, is Jesus as fully human high priest, who, because he himself was tested by what he suffered, is able to help those who are being tested.
Seventeen years ago we celebrated our first Christmas with our baby daughter. My wife and I spent hours just looking at her lie on her bed or on the carpet, smiling or making gurgling noises. Babies are so sweet and innocent that it's almost inconceivable that someone could consider them to be a threat. Yet there are many instances throughout history and literature of people killing babies, or attempting to kill them, in order to eliminate them as a threat to their own power. Outside the biblical text, perhaps the most infamous such instance was when Richard III of England imprisoned his two nephews, the rightful heirs to the British throne, in the Tower of London and eventually had them killed so that he might ascend the throne himself. When we look at the long historical view, Herod's reaction to news of the birth of the messiah is not all that surprising, though it is still reprehensible. Herod saw the baby as a potential threat, and he did all he could to eliminate the threat. Although there is no independent historical record that chronicles Herod's order to kill the children around Bethlehem, such an act is not out of character, for Herod had ordered many other people to be killed, including his wife and some step-children. Augustus was said to have remarked on one occasion, "I'd rather be one of Herod's pigs than his sons" (the word "pig" and "son" sound similar in Greek). In today's world, are there any who still see Jesus as a threat and try to get rid of him? Our first thoughts probably turn to countries that outlaw the propagation of the gospel message, usually to protect another, dominant religious tradition. It seems to me that outlawing the practice of a rival religion is practically an admission that the other religion offers something that the dominant religion doesn't. Some communist countries, most notably Albania, severely limited the practice of Christianity or other religions. In the seventeenth century Japan banned the practice of Christianity. Christians suffer various levels of restriction in many contemporary Muslim countries, though Christian communities themselves are generally allowed to exist. Ironically, Iraq under Saddam Hussein was quite tolerant of Christianity, but it is an open question whether a new government will be as tolerant. Of course, there are numerous instances throughout history where Christian rulers have outlawed the practice of other religious traditions as well, most notably the prohibition of Judaism in Spain in 1492. Even Christians are sometimes afraid of the Jesus followed by other branches of Christianity. Some Orthodox priests in Russia advocate making Orthodoxy the official religion of the country. Some Catholic priests in Latin America teach their followers to hate Protestants. Some Protestants and Evangelicals in America teach their followers to be intolerant of Catholics, Mormons, and others. To this day, the baby Jesus remains a threat to many, even many Christians, and his followers are forced to take cover, keep quiet, or even flee for their lives, like the Holy Family did according to Matthew's gospel. Maybe the biggest problem, though, is that too many Christians follow a Jesus who no one could possibly perceive as a threat. That Jesus is meek and mild and doesn't demand much of his followers. Such a Jesus would not have posed a threat to Herod, and leaders of other religious traditions would not have bothered to persecute his followers. As progressive Christians, we must maintain a balance in the message we preach. Our Jesus is neither a wishy-washy milquetoast or a brazenly obnoxious demagogue. The Jesus we follow wants his followers to practice tolerance, but he also demands justice. The Jesus we follow loves everyone, but he also demands a life of self-sacrifice. The Jesus we follow came as a baby, but he grew up to be a man of strong convictions and radical demands. If this Jesus were to come into the world again as a baby, he might well be viewed as a threat by the powers that be, both religious and irreligious. Is this the Jesus we follow?